Insight

Insight abstains when I actively do or think. Insight arrives when I'm spacious and aware. Last weekend I sat, ate, and walked in silent meditation. Cheri Maples described her experience with social justice and equanimity. She posed a question: how do I engage in the very habit I complain about? That struck me. Because earlier in her dharma talk--when she mentioned the doing, individualistic nature of society--I felt anger (read: complaint). How do I engage in this particular striving habit? By pushing myself to produce; by judging myself harshly; by not forgiving myself for even small infractions. 

I felt clearly the hard edges of my life--the inner-places not yet accepted. I walked and wept. I sat and wept. And in this process I developed deep tenderness for myself. A tenderness I hadn't yet realized I needed. Though I practice loving-kindness for myself and others, I was blind to the beauty of self-forgiveness. 

When I felt shame, I gently said: I forgive you. When I noticed myself lost in thoughts, I gently said: I forgive you. When I glimpsed my judging mind, I gently said: I forgive you. When I stumbled (or dropped a fork or misread words), I gently said: I forgive you. I not only whispered the words, I felt the forgiveness in my body.

Frustration and complaints are signals; they serve as bells of mindfulness. Sometimes the anger is at our own mistreatment of ourselves. I'm grateful for this insight. And I forgive myself for previous (and future) blindness.

Tolerance

A few years ago, I took myself out of the news world--no longer read newspapers, limit my intake of web articles, and don't follow social media. This was a purposeful choice. After reading the news, I physically and emotionally felt worse. Now I don't. This doesn't mean I'm separated from the world; I feel deep in my bones the joys and sorrows that happen daily. Plus, Mark is a wonderful filter for information (as are my friends and family).

Because of my news freeze, I was unaware of Ann Coulter's post-presidential-debate tweet: "I highly approve of Romney's decision to be kind and gentle to the retard." I only heard about this Tuesday night, while at our friends' house. Andrew & Jen are the closest of friends and their home is warm, cozy, and a lovely gathering spot. Their daughter, Madeline, is a gift. She's 16 months old and filled with spirit. She loves music and has a repertoire of dance moves. She's curious and smiles easily. She gives me hugs when I need them the most. And she also happens to have Down Syndrome.

When I heard about Ann Coulter's tweet, I immediately filled with anger; but this was only  a temporary cover for my sadness and hurt. I felt hurt. As if Madeline, whom I hold so dear in my heart, had been insulted. But then I softened and realized the painful place from which such mean-spirited comments originate. Ann Coulter's life must be filled with suffering. Otherwise, she wouldn't use (and defend) such unskillful speech.

These are times when I'm not sure how to work with the world in which I live. How can I make sense of fear-based media, mean-spirited comments, and intolerance? Then Andrew showed me a response written to Coulter; a response from John Franklin Stephens. I read this letter and cried. I cried tears of sadness, but also of relief. What if we, as a community, interacted in the way of John Franklin Stephens? What if we invited questions and friendships from those different from us? What if we responded to intolerance with tolerance? What if we kept our hearts open--risking being hurt, but making space for acceptance?

Ultimately, I realize I can't control the community in which I live. But I can change how I live. John Franklin Stephens is a wonderful role model. As is Madeline:

Us-and-Them Thinking

Last weekend I sat & walked in silent meditation. In this setting, it's very easy (and often unpleasant) to see the judging mind. My thoughts are filled with judgment--of me, of others, of the world. An example:

Breath.

You're not very good at meditating.

Judging.

Breath.

Breath.

Why is that person making so much noise?

Judging.

Breath.

My back hurts; maybe something is really wrong with me.

Breath.

Smile.

Judging mind is part of being human. It's the fabric with which we work, but it need not consume us. On retreat, it's easy for me to notice the judging mind, smile, and come back to the breath. In daily life, with all the busyness, it's difficult to see the seeds of judgment. Then they sprout into crankiness or unskillful speech or punishment of myself.

The judging mind is rich soil for us-and-them thinking. The ego concretizes a certain identity (e.g., gender, job, political affiliation, charitable cause) and then locks down. In that mind frame, there's no openness; no space. It's us versus them. If you're not on my side, you're wrong. In my experience, this is a very unpleasant place to inhabit. It feels constricted and untrue. 

Election season is prime time for us-and-them thinking. Yard signs signal sides. Media discourse is telling with no listening. Hallway conversations include criticisms of the other side. Emotion--fear, sadness, hurt--underlies these actions. Fear of change; hurt if someone challenges a cause we hold dear; sadness for the state of the world. These emotions are difficult. Our judging mind would rather us draw lines in the sand. Yet our hearts would rather us open to the emotion, see the middle ground, and work more skillfully. Vote for the candidate you think is best; do good work for causes you hold dear; yet see the human-ness in everyone, especially those on the other side. 

Recently, I watched a movie about World War II. Afterwards I sobbed. I cried for the state of the world--for the horrific things we do to each other. Then I realized these horrific things start very small--as seeds of judgment. And then they build. 

How do I live in a world where people kill other people? By getting more in touch with my kind heart. By setting my own intention to be mindful, tolerant, and kind. By holding the killers and victims closely in my heart.