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Be Different: Because in being different, we are all the same

Posted on December 9, 2010 by Lauren

During the month of December, I’ll be participating in a project called Reverb 10. Reverb 10 is “an open online initiative that encourages participants to reflect on this year and manifest what’s next. It’s an opportunity to retreat and consider the reverberations of your year past, and those that you’d like to create in the year ahead.”

Each day during the month of December, participants are given a writing prompt to help them reflect on the year that is coming to an end . . . and imagine the year that is swiftly on its way.

Today’s writing prompt, from Karen Walrond asks about Differences:

Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.

Here is my response. Sort of.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

– Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

Just the other day I was watching a cute human-interest story on the local news. The subject of the report was a local school production of “Honk”, a musical adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s classic tale of the Ugly Duckling. I had my selfish reasons for watching. It just so happens that two of my children were in the play, so I was hoping to catch a glimpse of them. And I did get to do just that. I thought they were adorable. What else would I think? I’m their mom. But that is not what I wanted to tell you about.

The Ugly Duckling is a timeless tale of how difference is misunderstood as making us separate, when in truth it is difference that can draw us together

What struck me most in the video was another little boy, about six years old. He was being interviewed about what the story of the Ugly Duckling teaches us about how to treat others who are “different”.

The interviewer, standing off camera must have asked the little boy something simple like: “How do you treat people who are different than you?”

The boy answers precisely as you would expect him to: “If people are different from you,” he says, “you still should be nice to them.” And of course he is right. You should. But that is not enough for the interviewer. She poses a follow up question.

She asks him ever so gently but persistently, “Why?”

The little boy pauses. “Because if they’re different . . . and you’re different,” he says slowly. . . and then he stops and you can see the wheels turning in his mind and the light come to his eyes, “then how different are they from you?”

I paused the video. And then I replayed it. Once. Twice. Three times. I was just bowled over. It’s a stunning paradox stumbed upon by a six year old and held out humbly for the rest of us to witness. A complex, yet delicate equation that twists and turns back on itself. A logic that defies logic: If I am different and you are different, then we are no different at all. We are the same in that we are different. Our differences – which are very real – are our common ground. How amazing would it be if we could all see the deep truth in this?

Of course I am different. Nothing could be more remarkably clear. As a wise teacher of mysticism once told me: I am a unique revelation of the Divine in this world. In the history of the universe, there has never been an expression of Divine creativity quite like me. But I am not unique in my uniqueness. You are also a unique revelation. And in that, we are no different. We are of the same origin. And we carry that origin within us. Yet we have manifested into this world very differently.

In Buddhism, I believe this truth is described as “No Sameness. No Otherness.” We are not precisely the same, nor are we precisely different. Can we rest in that contradiction and allow it to draw us together and not drive us apart?

Further along in “Song of Myself”, Whitman asks (then confidently asserts):

“Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)”

Perhaps our greatest truth lies in that contradiction: that when we celebrate our differences and let our differences be the commonality that draws us together, we are infinitely enlarged. So, let’s do as Walt Whitman proposes. Let’s celebrate our differences. Sing of our differences. For your difference is mine. My difference is yours. Because in the end — just as in the beginning — we have always belonged to one another.

Posted in be compassionate, be healing, be openminded, be yourself | 1 Comment

How To Be Connected: A Class Reunion in Cyberspace

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Lauren

Each day during the month of December, participants are given a writing prompt to help them reflect on the year that is coming to an end . . . and imagine the year that is swiftly on its way.

Today’s writing prompt, from Cali Harris, asks about Finding Community:

Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

Here is my response:

Thirty years ago, we all seemed very different from on another. We were branded by the groups we ran with. We were cheerleaders. Jocks. Braniacs. Slackers. Smokers. Potheads. Partiers. We were black. We were white. We were straight — and though unfortunately we didn’t talk about it very much except to gossip or tease — we were gay. We were popular. We were unpopular. Bullies. Bullied. We were often lonely in a crowd but we were afraid to say so.

Class reunion in cyberspace

And now, three decades later, we are all smack dab in the middle of our lives. And we are (many of us, anyway) on Facebook. In the years that have intervened, we have labored in the working world. We have gone to college. We have served in the military. We have been married. Divorced. We have had children (and some of us have even had grandchildren). We have made our way down treacherous paths. We have seen broad and breathtaking vistas. We have come into our own. We have come out of the closet. We have lost parents, siblings, friends, and lovers. We have succumbed to addictions — and with grace and courage we have recovered. We have been challenged by illnesses. We have lost jobs. We have found faith. We have been supported by family and friends. We have struggled to make it on our own. We have endured great pains and felt great joys. And in the process we have gained significant wisdom (much of which is ignored by our children in the same way we ignored our own parents back in the day).

Thirty years of living is a great leveler. And in the leveling, the walls that once separated us have crumbled. And it appears in retrospect that those walls were always illusory and mostly of our own creation.

People who would not have thought of joining one another for lunch three decades ago are now LOL-ing it up together online. We are praying for one another’s loved ones. Cheering each other on in new ventures. Celebrating one another’s successes. “Liking” one another’s corny jokes and deep thoughts.

It’s been a fabulous reunion. A true learning experience. And one that — like all true gifts — has been delightful to the degree that it was unexpected.

In 2012 we’ll gather again in person. We can’t wait to throw our arms around one another . . . and we say so.

Posted in be compassionate, be connected, be grateful, be supportive | 1 Comment

How To Be True: Remembering your divine purpose

Posted on November 26, 2010 by Lauren

Imagine the moments just before you were born — milliseconds before you made your grand entrance and drew your first, jagged, shocking breath of air. In those last few moments before you emerged, your soul, held tenderly in the hands of the Divine One, was about to be placed within your tiny body. The Source of your Being, smiled to your soul and whispered a set of final instructions that, if you listened carefully and with profound intent, would guide you on your path in life as your body grew from infancy, to childhood, to maturity to old age.

Imagine that before your were born, you were touched with infinite wisdom. Can you remember what it was?

“Listen, Dear One,” your Creator told your soul, “You are about to make your way into the world I created. It is not a perfect world. In fact it is far from that. There is a great deal of pain and suffering in it. But there is remarkable beauty as well. And I am placing within you the ability to perceive all of it. This perception is a gift. But in order to live a good life, you must not simply perceive, you must also understand.

“I want you to understand, Dear One, that you are being given a mission, no more or less important than any other mission that I have given to any other soul that I have sent out into the world. Unfortunately, in that first shock of air you will breathe in, there is a forgetfulness that can overcome you. You might forget what I am about to tell you. Most souls do. In the fury of life that follows that first breath, there are many messages you will receive that are transmitted in a frequency that is easier to hear and at a decibel level that is far louder than the voice I am placing within you.

“These worldly messages can be very convincing, Dear One. And very alluring. They will tell you to acquire as much as you can in your lifetime at the expense of your own happiness and the happiness of others. They will tell you to move faster. To work harder. They will tell you that the value of your life is much greater than the value of other lives – and they will tell you to ignore the needs of others and pay attention only to your own. They will tell you that you have very little time so you must take as much as you can while you can – for life, they will tell you, is finite and fleeting.

“They might insist that your life is of lesser value than the lives of others. They may insist that your life is meaningless. They might lead you in the direction of despair. They might counsel you to numb yourself to life’s tender mercies or turn your back on life’s beauty.

“Do not listen to these voices. The only reason they are so loud is because they do not speak the truth. They are trying to drown out what I am about to tell you: Your Greater Truth.

“Listen, my Beloved: You may be born into a family where these loud and insistent voices prevail. You may be born to parents who have forgotten my whispers. Into a community that has forgotten my truth. Into a society that has forgotten it is comprised of Divinely gifted souls. So you must find a quiet place. Find yourself a place, away from the din. A place where you can look within and find my message: your purpose.

“Dear One, here is what you must always remember: I am sending you into this world to love. So love with an open heart. Love courageously. Love in the face of fear. Look for my presence wherever you go, not just in life’s beauty, but in life’s ugliness as well. Guide others toward the beauty that you see. Listen with a heart of understanding. Act with a heart of compassion. Give of yourself generously. For the life I am giving to you is eternal. Without end. It cannot be depleted by giving. In fact, it will grow in proportion to the willingness with which you are willing to share it.

“Go now, my beloved. The time is approaching. You will soon emerge into the world. Air will rush into your lungs. And with it, forgetfulness of who you truly are and the infinite nature of your origin.

“But Dear One, I will have placed within you a great gift. You have the ability to remember. And this is your journey: to find your way back to remembrance. Back to Me. Back to wholeness . . . ”

And with that the Divine One kissed your soul and it was released. And you made your way into the world. And you drew into your body that first life-sustaining breath. And your cried. Because you heard the message fading. And you feared that you would forget.

But deep within you is a profound remembrance.

So find that quiet space. Go deep within.

And remember.

Posted in be compassionate, be loving, be wise | 6 Comments

How To Be Devoted: Wishing won’t make it easier. Practice will.

Posted on November 12, 2010 by Lauren

I wish . . .

I wish I could play the cello. I wish I could do calligraphy. I wish I could rock climb. I wish I could grow an organic garden. I wish I could speak a foreign language.

I wish . . . I wish . . . I wish . . .

I wish I could do a lot of things. But of course I am experienced enough to know that wishing alone will not get me there. I have to apply myself. Practice, devotion, and discipline: these are the vehicles that will ultimately move me from simply wishing to have a talent to manifesting that talent. If I want it enough, I have to choose to make the effort and apply it.

being patient strong courageous takes dedication and practice

You would not expect to run a marathon without training. Why would you expect to be patient or strong or courageous without practicing?

Imagine this scenario. A man wishes he could run a marathon. He is out of shape. He has not so much as jogged to his mailbox. But he has a wish. So he buys himself some good sneakers and on the appointed day he shows up smiling and ready to go. The starting gun fires. And he is off. He is panting and he is puffing. He is sweating like mad. After a few blocks he sits down on a curb, dejected.

You approach this man and ask him what went wrong. “I don’t have the slightest idea. I wished I could do it. And then I tried and I failed.”

What would you tell this man? Would you point up the obvious? Would you explain to him that he should have trained? That he should have practiced? Maybe you would tell him that he should have started out walking. That he should have started with shorter distances and slowly built up his strength and endurance. Perhaps you would tell him that he should have been exercising regularly. That if he really wanted to run in a marathon he should have devoted himself to the discipline of running.

At this point the man turns to you with a sadness born of resignation: “I guess I am just not a runner.”

You can do nothing more at this point except shake you head. He doesn’t seem to get it. Wishing does not make a person into a runner. Running does. Could anything be more clear?

One the other hand, when it comes to emotional states of being that we know to be healthy and beneficial, we hear people make statements like this all the time:

“I’m just not a patient person.”
“I’m not all that brave.”
“I can’t seem to relax.”
“I just don’t have compassion for that person.”

And then we hear wishes:

“I wish I were more patient.”
“I wish I could be that brave.”
“I wish I could just relax.”
“I wish I had more compassion, I just don’t feel it.”

We wouldn’t expect to run a marathon without training. What makes us think that we could be patient, brave, relaxed, or compassionate — or any number of other positive states of being — without practicing them with the same kind of discipline or devotion that we would use to train for a race?

All of these things are not just emotional states, they are actually spiritual disciplines. And if we want to get good at them, we must find ways to practice.

And just like exercise we need to start out with the easy lifting. If you go to the gym, you don’t start out by bench pressing your weight. You pick up enough weight to challenge your muscles without hurting yourself. If you begin with too much weight too quickly, you will end up being discouraged or injured or both.

I have been a classroom teacher for many years. Often when people hear this they say, “Oh I just don’t have the patience for that.” Well, of course. If you’ve not spent a lot of time around children, you certainly would not want to start with a roomful of wild-eyed toddlers or petulant adolescents. Of course you would lose your patience. You haven’t practiced. But does that mean you are not a patient person.

That is like the logic of our friend the would-be runner who never trained and expected to finish a marathon. We think if it does not come to us immediately and with ease, it means something essential about who we are and what capacities we have. Nothing could be further from the truth.

We all have essential capacities that can be strengthened through practice. We can practice being patient while waiting on hold on the phone. While waiting in line at the store. While waiting for a friend to return a phone call. But we have to do it consciously, with the awareness that we are practicing. And over time, we will get better, stronger, more talented.

The same could be said of courage, inner peace, and compassion. We need to identify what we want to get good at and practice at it daily. With discipline. With devotion. And with the knowledge that with this kind of practice, we strengthen our inner being and we develop a talent.

So no more wishing.

If you want to be it . . . don’t just wish it . . . do it.

Posted in be calm, be healing, be kind, be patient, be relaxed, be strong | 1 Comment

Plan a Party for an Everyday Miracle

Posted on November 11, 2010 by Lauren Rosenfeld

Imagine you are party planner. It’s your job to gather people together to joyously celebrate a special occasion. You get to choose the music that will play, the food that will be eaten, the tributes that will be made, and the parting gifts that will be given to the guests that come and join in the celebration.

Isn't a beautiful day cause for a celebration?

Isn’t a beautiful day cause for a celebration?Now decide what you will be celebrating. This does not need to be something big that we generally throw parties for. This can be a small element of your daily life, something so typical and ordinary, something that you see or experience so regularly that you fail to see it as a reason to celebrate.

Who would you invite to the celebration? What music would you play to make the moment seem more special? What food would you cook? What would you inscribe on the cake? What would you say in tribute to this moment in your life?

Feel the joy you would experience at such a party — and the next time you encounter this small (or not so small) ordinary miracle, call to mind this celebration, and the feelings that it brings to your heart!

Posted in visualization | Comments Off

How To Be Supportive: Why we should all aspire to be like floorboards

Posted on November 8, 2010 by Lauren

Our house is just a couple years shy of its centennial.

The floorboards of my home have supported countless steps for nearly a century.

What I love most about our house are its floors, which are for the most part original to the home. Sturdy as they are, the boards are swayed in places, especially in the living room, which has supported nearly a century residents and guests that have made their way from the front door to the kitchen and back again. Most of the people who have traipsed across our floorboards have passed from this world. I frequently think about all the steps that did the work of swaying those boards: mothers who paced the floor with their sleepless infants; children running breathlessly from the front door to the kitchen to show their parents a straight “A” report card; men who walked through that same door only to collapse in exhaustion on the couch during the Great Depression. I imagine joyful steps, mournful steps, tentative steps, and baby steps – which over the years have created enough of a dip in the floorboards that if you drop a marble on my living room floor, it will roll back in forth across the room for several seconds before finally settling in at the lowest point in the center of the room.

I also think about the boards themselves, which are bent and dimpled and in some places even splintered. These boards that have upheld the countless footsteps of people I never knew. These boards that have carried people through illnesses and recoveries. Crises and celebrations. Births and deaths. These boards that have held up stoves that have cooked nourishing meals, chairs where people sat for hours engrossed in deep conversations and wiping away tears of laughter, and beds that have provided rest to the weary.

Nearly a century ago, the first owner of this house must have walked through the front door with a heart full of hope for the future and stood in smiling admiration at the gleaming amber finish on its newly laid floors. But even before that person could have smiled in pleasure and pride at this pristine and welcoming new surface, these boards were cut to size and laid across joists by carpenters. They were sanded and polished by craftsmen. And before that they were carried from a mill by a cart driver who patted his horses and fed them oats when they pulled up in front of the property that is now our home. Prior to their transport, they were sawed into boards at a mill where millworkers labored lifting heavy logs onto powerful machinery. And even before the wood was lumber, it was a noble old oak tree that was discovered by lumberjacks: lumberjacks who walked around and around that tree, patted it thoughtfully, and then nodded to one another that this tree was just right and ready to give its life to become part of a home.

And perhaps one hundred years before those lumberjacks arrived in the forest, that tree was a seed that was dropped on fertile ground by a squirrel that dashed heedlessly across its great limbs. And then that seed took root where it lay, watered by spring rains, until it gathered enough energy to finally stretch its tender leaves toward the sunlight.

Some evenings when it is quiet and my children are asleep, I walk downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water that is dispensed from a refrigerator that is a miracle of technology that would have been unimaginable to the first residents of this home. I walk across these boards, feeling their sturdiness under my bare feet. I look at the imperfections in their surfaces that are a result of a hundred years of footsteps like my own. I think about those people who made those steps. I think about their dreams and their disappointments. And I think of how those dreams must have created lighthearted, quick steps and how those disappointments must have created heavy, slow steps. And I can see clearly that all these dreams and disappointments had made their impressions on these boards and now reside in deep within their grain.

I also think of the people who laid these boards on the joists. I think of the people who sanded and polished them. The people who sawed them at the mill and carried them on carts. The people who found the tree in the forest and chopped it down. And I think of the seed that would give birth to the tree. The rich earth that enveloped it. The rain that watered it. The sunshine that touched it and encouraged it to grow.

All of these things – from the sunshine that touched a seed two centuries ago, to the people who crafted this house, to the people who lived out their lives in this home – are now a part of every board. And as they uphold my own steps, they all become a part of me, and I with each step I carry them forward.

I have a wish. An intention. When I am gone from this world, let me be like these old boards. Let me live my life in such a way that even when I am nothing but a vague impression of a memory — a dimple, a sway, a small crack in the surface of lives unknown to me — I will be there uphold the steps of others. Let me be there to tenderly uphold the tired steps of mothers who pace the floors in the late hours with crying babies. Let me rise to uphold the celebratory steps of children as they race home and crash through the front door to show off a well-deserved, straight “A” report card. Let me be the strength that upholds the steps of those who come to the end of their day with little hope and give them a place to find rest and ease – and reason to hope again. Let me be there for all of them. Let me become a part of who they are. Let my joy be heard through their laughter and my love through their words of comfort and encouragement.

And though they may never know who I am, or even that I am there, let me be like that first ray of sunshine that touched that seed in the forest that gave birth to my home – giving light to life and smiling deep from within it still.

Posted in be supportive | Comments Off

How To Be Compassionate: You really have nothing better to do . . .

Posted on November 5, 2010 by Lauren

My clock-radio is always set to wake me to the morning news. Sometimes I question the wisdom of this decision. Most of the stories that are broadcast in the morning are not especially uplifting or motivating. I often think that a tooth-rattling alarm might be more pleasant to wake to.

This morning’s news was especially hard to hear. Over one million people in Port au Prince Haiti, still living in tents and makeshift shelters following the devastating earthquake earlier this year, are facing both the threats of a cholera epidemic and a hurricane that is quickly bearing down on them. And there is no place for them to seek shelter.

Over a million people in Haiti are still living in tents and makeshift shelters with an epidemic and a hurricane approaching.

How does one react or respond to devastation upon devastation like this. It is so massive. So mentally and emotionally unwieldy that it nurtures a sense of powerlessness and helplessness.

But I didn’t hit the “off” button. I continued to listen. And I’m glad I did.

The second story I heard on the radio came via Story Corps (which happens to be my all-time-favorite radio show, and if you haven’t listened to it, you truly should; their tagline is “Every Life Matters” — a rallying call I can really stand behind) In this morning’s segment, a woman named Showaye Selassie was being interviewed by a friend about her childhood, growing up with a mother who suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. The greatest part of her mother’s constant, fearful delusions was that Showaye and her brother would be poisoned, killed, or kidnapped. They moved constantly from place to place since her mother was so convinced they were being followed. And so she never let her children out of sight. Every day she dropped her children off at school and then would wait outside until they were released at the end of the day. This deep and painful delusion persevered to the degree that she eventually locked her children in their rooms with a combination lock on the outside so that no one could get into their rooms. And as a consequence, the children could not get out.

When her friend that is interviewing her asks her what got her through such a painful childhood, her answer floored me: “I could have had it much worse. I could have had a parent who didn’t care about me. So even though she went through what she went through, I still consider her one of the most fascinating people I’ll ever meet.” The depth of compassion that arises from this simple statement is just stunning: Compassion for her own experience. Compassion for the child she was. Compassion for the mother who caused her so much pain and suffering. And also (and perhaps most importantly) compassion for children who suffer even more than she did, because the abuse they endure came from a lack of care, not an overweaning, overprotective, delusional love born of an uncontrollable mental illness. I felt so grateful to have heard her tale this morning.

There is a third encounter with the media that I had to reflect on today. I am a Facebook fan of Neale Donald Walsch, the author of Conversations with God. His post this morning said: “See everything for what it is; the perfect event perfectly timed to provide you with the perfect opportunity to express in the perfect way that which is Perfection Itself.” At first glance it seemed kind of glib to me. I have always had this slightly uncomfortable reaction to this kind of “everything for the best” theology. Sure it works in some circumstances: A friend loses her job and ultimately finds a job that is even better suited for her talents. “See?” you say with smiling and wise eyes that know all, “It was just perfect timing.” And she will smile and agree, that yes, everything worked out just as it should, with not a moment or an opportunity misplaced. And perhaps you both are right.

But would you dare lay your hand on the shoulder of a Haitian refugee of the earthquake who is homeless, stuggling to stay alive, and facing both the potential devastating epidemic and a hurricane and say to them, “This is a perfect moment, perfectly timed. Indeed, it is perfection Itself,”? Gosh, I sure hope not.

But before you dismiss Neale’s statement as hopelessly optimistic at best and unconsionably heartless at worst, stop and think — perhaps it is saying something deeper: maybe this moment in time — a moment where countless people, struck by devastation and powerless to change its course — is a perfect moment for you. Perhaps this very moment, a moment that finds you residing on this same earth, breathing the very same air as those whose depth of suffering is beyond your experience, your imagination, and your comprehension, is the most perfect moment to encounter your essential, God-given compassion. It is the perfect moment to reach out to your fellow human beings with understanding, with love, with strength, and with courage. When we are able to set aside our discursive negative thoughts about our own difficulties, our expectations of a painless life, and our sense of entitlement to it — when we are able to see clearly that the suffering of others is in fact our own suffering — we will see opportunities to express compassion and care — which in the end, I believe, is our greatest human calling. When there is nothing left to do, lower your bucket into the well of goodness that waits within your heart to be touched, and offer a cup of lovingkindness to those whose wells have run dry. When there is nothing left to do, offer compassion.

And any moment that we are able to touch and express our compassion, is indeed, the most perfect moment.

———————————————————————————

Post Script: You can still donate to many organizations that are providing relief to Haiti. James and I personally support the work of Mercy Corps, an organization that provides relief efforts and works for social and economic justice around the world.

Posted in be caring, be compassionate, be healing, be loving, be openhearted, be supportive | 1 Comment

How To Be Unburdened: Stop wrestling with your negative thoughts!

Posted on November 4, 2010 by Lauren

Yesterday on Facebook, I posted a simple proposal: “Name one thing you can let go of today to lighten your load.”

I expected to get concrete answers: meetings, errands, appointments, household clutter, or chores.

What I got back surprised me. Most of the answers were not about concrete objects or time-sensitive work, but about habitual thoughts, unproductive emotions, and damaging perceptions.

Here’s a sample of some of the answers:

“My obsession with not being able to say ‘no’ to anyone.”
“Expectations . . . for myself and others.”
“Worry about the unknown.”
“Disappointment about things I can’t control.”
“Aggravation.”

How to stop wrestling with negative thoughts

Want to release your negative thoughts? Stop treating them like wrestling opponents!

I can even add my personal list of burdens to theirs:

Perfectionism.
The gnawing fear that I am not doing things right.
Annoyance with people who don’t think like me.
Frustration when things don’t go my way.
Judgement of others and myself
The fear that I am being judged.

So it seems that the heaviest burdens we carry — the things that weigh us down the most in life — are the most insubstantial: our thoughts, our habits, and our emotions.

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised. If I want to lay down a physical burden, that is easy. If am carrying a bag of groceries and it feels heavy to me, I put it down on the kitchen counter and . . . voila . . . I am immediately that much lighter. The same can be said of appointments, errands, or chores: I can pick up the phone and reschedule an appointment or (even simpler) I can leave a chore or an errand for another day and I have automatically liberated time and energy in my day. I have a little more breathing room and I feel lighter.

But our thoughts and our emotions are different, aren’t they? Even though they have no weight and do not show up on our calendars or our to-do lists, they consume enormous amounts of our time and energy. But unlike physical burdens, we can’t simply lay them down. Wherever we go, they come with us. And unlike chores, errands, or appointments, we can’t just cross them off our list when we are done with them. One thought leads to another thought in an endless and exhausting procession. And our negative emotions take hold of us without notice and refuse to let go until we succumb to their power.

So how do we let go of these burdens? How do we lay down the insubstantial? How do we let go of that which we cannot hold in our hands?

Well, first of all, I think we need to see that thoughts, though they carry no physical weight can literally feel very heavy. We have real physical responses to them. Worry can create a twist in the gut. Fear can make the heart race. Aggravation can give us a headache. And perfectionism can make us pull our hair out! Our negative thoughts and emotions feel very real because we have very real, measurable reactions to them.

And unfortunately, wrestling with these thoughts, trying to reason with them, trying to appease them, reacting to them as if they were a genuine, only makes them more powerful. Imagine you are in a wrestling match with a worthy opponent. The more time you spend wrestling them, the more skillful they will become in learning ways to wear you down. The opponent learns your habits. They learn your vulnerabilities. Their muscles flex and build. Until you are no match for them at all.

I have a trick.

Rather than treat these thoughts like adversaries, treat them like well-meaning, but unnecessary guests. And if you think about it, this is true. Every negative thought or emotion you have — from worry to fear to annoyance — is trying to help you. Trying to protect you. Trying to keep you intact. Except they are doing the opposite — they are actually eating away at your strength and consuming your precious time on earth.

Here’s a quick rundown of some of these negative thoughts and emotions — how they are trying to help and how their work ends up being counterproductive:

Worry is trying to keep you safe from future harm, but it is actually causing you harm in the present.
Judgment is trying to help you discern from what is threatening and what is not, but it may actually be ruling out possibilities that may be opportunities for understanding and growth.
Fear is trying to keep you safe from danger, but it may be keeping you from exploring reasonable options.
Annoyance is trying to keep bad influences out of your mental and emotional landscape, but it actually wreaking havoc on the very thing is is trying to protect.

You get the idea, I hope.

So what do we do? When these overly-solicitous, pushy “friends” come knocking, rather than succumbing to them (how depleting!), or pushing up against the door with all your might (how exhausting!), or hiding and pretending you are not home (how debilitating!) . . . open the door wide and look them right in the eye. Yes, that’s right. Say hello. Recognize them for what they are. Thank them for what they are trying to do. Smile politely. Then send them on their way. Think of these thoughts and emotions as very persistent vacuum-cleaner salesmen. They are convinced they have just what you need to keep your house clean and in order. It’s just that you aren’t in the market for what they are peddling. All you need to say is, “Thanks, for coming by. I am sure your product is very good. But I already have what I need to keep my house clean. I’m really all set. And good luck to you, today.” And with that, gently close the door, breathe a sigh of relief, and get on with your work in the world.

Posted in be calm, be happy, be healing, be light | 1 Comment

How to Be Courageous: Is love really a battlefield?

Posted on November 3, 2010 by Lauren

Back in 1983, Pat Benetar released the song “Love is a Battlefield”.

Well, some three decades later, it continues to strike a chord in many people. It has been covered by singers like Cher, Carrie Underwood, Selena Gomez, Shakira, and Mary J. Blige. And if you search for the words “love is a battlefield” on Twitter, you’ll see tweeters world-wide paying homage to the song and the sentiment several times an hour. Recently I saw it spray-painted across the side of a building in bright red letters, crying out to passersby the pain of a broken, bleeding heart.

When we treat love like a battlefield, we are bound to get hurt.

“Love is a battlefield.” The words make a great rock anthem. But does its rallying cry ring true? Consider these statements:

If love is a battlefield, then we had better march into our most precious relationships girded with armor, wielding sharp instruments of torment in an attempt to subdue the object of our love into submission.

If love is a battlefield, then the love we “win” in the end will have been taken by force.

If love is a battlefield, then we must be constantly be on guard that our hard-won spoils of war are not taken from us.

If love is a battlefield, it is a place where we meet our love object/enemy and make them our prisoners and our servants.

If love is a battlefield, we must live in constant fear that love will be wrestled painfully from our grasp and we will be left in despair.

So let’s look at some of the key words that arise in these statements: torment, enmity, imprisonment, servitude, force, fear, pain, despair.

I believe that many people feel this way about love. But does this really sound like love to you? If it does, why in the world would we seek after it? Why invite something into our lives that will decimate our happiness or leave us on constant, fearful guard. Better to walk away from love altogether and seek the neutrality of emotional distance. If we perceive and believe that love is a battlefield, we are bound to be hurt by others . . . but the greatest enemy of our happiness is ourselves and our misapprehension.

I have a different view of love. And it’s pretty straightforward: Anything that is happening on a battlefield, by definition, is not love at all. Perhaps it is the desire to subdue. The will to power. A deep and constant craving for things we can never really possess driven by a pressing fear of loneliness. It could be many things. But it’s certainly not love.

Love is not a battlefield. Love is sacred ground.

Love is the sacred ground upon which we lay down our armor and our instruments of fear and intimidation.

Love is the sacred ground upon which we throw open our arms with strength and courage that our hearts will endure an encounter with another.

Love is the sacred ground upon which we plant seeds of understanding.

Love is the sacred ground through which storms of anger may blow and threaten to uproot what we have toiled so hard to plant . . but if we are able to weather these tempests with courage and skill, we will find the seeds of our understanding watered and nurtured.

Love is the sacred ground upon which the delicate blossoms of forgiveness take root and come to flower.

Love is the sacred ground from which we harvest trust and compassion.

Love is the sacred ground upon which we feast together on the fruits of our devotion.

Love is a broad and fertile field where we meet another human being and find within them a wonder and mystery that is constantly evolving.

But we will only see this when we are willing to be truly courageous, put aside our burdensome shields and our fearsome weapons. We will only see this when we act with faith and great courage, making ourselves vulnerable and trusting that love is nothing like a battlefield.

Posted in be caring, be healing, be kind, be loving, be nurturing, be strong | Comments Off

How To Be Joyful: Don’t wipe that dumb grin off your face

Posted on October 26, 2010 by Lauren

I can often be spotted driving along in my minivan, all alone, grinning to myself.

Sometimes I think for all the world I look as if I don’t have a brain in my head. But isn’t that interesting? Why is it that when we see someone smiling “for no reason at all” we assume that they are daydreaming at best or dim-witted at worst? And why if we see someone all by themselves smiling do we imagine that they are smiling “for no reason at all”? What’s more, if we see someone frowning, we assume it is because they are lost in deep thought, contemplating life’s most serious and intricate puzzles.

It’s a fascinating cultural bias. And like all biases, we should really explore it and investigate it to see if it is true and warranted (spoiler alert: most biases never pan out).

There are plenty of people who believe, for instance that the Dalai Lama is not the brightest bulb in the house because he smiles and laughs so much. Here’s a man who has been exiled from his homeland and has watched mostly helplessly from the sidelines as his people have been systematically persecuted and oppressed. I mean, really, what does he have to smile about? It’s a very good question. And not a rhetorical one.

Is it possible the happiest among us are the most enlightened? And those of us who etched frown lines in our foreheads (I count myself in that crew) may be lost in a prison of thought where the light of reality may never reach? We sometimes use the words “empty headed” to refer to someone who isn’t thinking very much. But maybe that is not such a bad thing. When we clear our heads of thoughts — truly emptying them of the worries and regrets that consume so much of our mental energy, we may be able to see the world for the miracle that it is — even in the face of pain and suffering. It could be that having an “empty head” is a state we should all aspire to.

And perhaps smiling is a signal that we are waking up and encountering the very real blessings of life.

Posted in be delighted, be happy, be humorous, be light, be relaxed, Videos | Comments Off

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