Something to Inspire

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“Courage requires wisdom and compassion, two primary Buddhist values. Wisdom offers understanding and perspective, so that we don’t freak out when things go haywire. Compassion softens the heart, so that we don’t deny reality and pretend everything is ok. Courage also draws strength from self-compassion, which soothes us during difficult moments…

…But when our minds amplify a threat or simply imagine one, that evolutionary mechanism makes things worse, adding spin to an already tense situation. There’s a difference between feeling afraid and panicking or freezing. Discerning this difference is where contemplative practice shines. It takes courage to be with things as they are, to turn toward and be with the truth of each moment – pleasant or painful. Contemplative practice opens the door to more versatile, morally nuanced courage in meeting what is.

For courage is protective. The first step toward not succumbing to panic is recognizing what’s happening (a function of mindfulness) and stepping back (a function of wisdom). Courage begins with one moment of awareness and the possibility of taking a pause. We can ground ourselves in the present moment, breathe and bear witness to the discomfort of fear without letting it take over. The word courage comes from the Latin cor, for heart. It takes heart to meet life on its own terms, rather than through the illusions of safety, comfort, and predictability that we crave as humans. It takes a heart full of courage to face the truth and act in alignment with our values, just as it takes tremendous courage to look squarely into the horrific, violent history of racism, terror, land theft, genocide, and broken treaties in the United States.

History offers countless examples of humans mustering courage in extraordinary and deeply inspiring ways, often placing their bodies on the line to confront unjust systems…”

~ Excerpted from Your Heart Was Made for This (p. 90-91) by Oren Jay Sofer

There is no way out but through

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“Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” ~Leonard Cohen

Over the past ten months, I have become intimate with heartbreak and familiar with loss. My twenty-one year relationship abruptly ended. My beloved dog Maggie died; and two of my close family members are very unwell. It has been both an exceptionally difficult and a transformative time.

Heartbreak is a visceral experience. Your heart literally feels like it is breaking inside of your chest. It clenches. It aches. Pain manifests itself as tightness in your throat and tension in your shoulders. It pulls down heavily on your ankles and arms. It whispers seductively in your ear: “Lie down. Rest here. Don’t move. Stay still.” It is in these moments that I cling onto the mantra: there is no way out but through.

Through the experience of loss, I have been given the gift of seeing the people and world around me, with new lens. I have experienced the incredible kindness, love and compassion of those around me: my friends, family, work colleagues and community. I have realized that I am not alone. People want to help. They walk the path alongside of me. They will hold me up, when I cannot walk by myself. My biggest challenge is to accept this help and to receive this love: something that is difficult to do when you are used to giving it all away.

I have learned that when a heart breaks, it not only cracks open, it expands. Grief reveals the depth of sadness and it reveals the breadth of love. It will show you the sphere of life, if you let it: birth. death. love. loss. light. dark. All of it interconnected sides of one perfect whole.

Someone once told me: “You cannot selectively numb yourself. When you numb pain you numb joy.” This is so true. I have learned that it is essential to allow space for sadness, grief and anger to come through. It is not only key to healing; it will give you a deeper appreciation of joy and love. I now understand that, despite my deepest fear, allowing these emotions to just be will not swallow me. Feeling these emotions deeply will not cause lasting harm. They will come and then they will go. It is all temporal and transitory. Less resistance equals less suffering.

In and amongst all of the changes in my life, I have gained clarity on what I deeply care about: the things that creates inner peace; the actions that offers me joy. I have defined where my boundaries start and where they end; and the more that I clearly understand these things, the brighter my inner fire burns. The easier it is to stay rooted yet pliable while the ground around me shakes.

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