Who needs the Negro? What does the Negro want? I grew up hearing these types of questions. I don’t recall my parents losing sleep over them; they were busy placing food on the table so that I could eat. 

Black intellectuals have always wrestled with the riddle of how to survive in the United States. Think of W. E. B. Du Bois wrestling with his double consciousness—American and Black. Then there was Malcolm X who discarded his slave name, and Carter G. Woodson who centered Black history. We can spend entire lifetimes wondering, how do we handle not just segregation and prejudice but heartbreak and the blues? How do we understand what often renders us invisible to others?

Changing narratives about race in our nation requires a new vocabulary. As a poet and a creative-nonfiction writer, I use my imagination and the fluidity of language to examine things critically from different perspectives. I often use humor, which can be a tool to dismantle the status quo and lift the veil of oppression. 

I interviewed novelist and Buddhist Charles Johnson almost every day for an entire year. Our dialogue resulted in The Wit and Wisdom of Charles Johnson, a 672-page book. Frequently during our email correspondence, Charles would become upset with me for not being serious about philosophical matters or what I viewed as the deep and heavy blues. 

I felt a desire now and then to be Eshu, the trickster found in the Yoruba religion, the one you might find near the crossroads talking with the guitar-playing singer Robert Johnson. I began to riff off of Charles Johnson’s Buddhist beliefs, including writing humorous riddles about race in my emails. I call them “Race Koans.” 

A Race Koan is a commentary on a Black matter or concept designed or asked only to ponder. There is no answer, only an encouragement to reach a higher level of racial awareness. Call it a Black person’s nirvana without cultural or political chains.

Two of my Race Koans are in the anthology Of Poetry & Protest: From Emmett Till to Trayvon Martin, edited by Philip Cushway and Michael Warr. Race Koan #1 in my poem, “The 10 Race Koans as presented to Charles Johnson on the morning of July 13, 2008” asks a historical question:

Race Koan #8 has some humor
and sarcasm:

When thinking about writer June Jordan’s line “things that I do in the dark,” which describes her poems and how they reach out to the reader, I wrote Race Koan #5:

The Race Koan condenses the Black experience down to a question that is presented without the expectation of an answer. It is not an afterthought fortune cookie; instead, the Race Koan is language to go steady with. It can be used as an appetizer to one’s creativity. 

It can also help a person navigate the trauma created by race relations. The Race Koan is a way to understand the thorns that cling to race matters. You can hear and feel the blues contained in them, a resilience that reminds each generation that they must master what writer Amiri Baraka called “the changing same.”

The Race Koan helps with public thought, to move us beyond logical reasoning and the acceptance of things as they are or appear to be. 

Black is beautiful when it becomes Enlightenment.

The post The Race Koan appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post The Race Koan appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

Intersectional Black activists have been part of and at the forefront of many liberation movements. From Black Lives Matter to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, Black activism has addressed issues such as Black mental health, trans rights, voting rights, ending mass incarceration, disability rights, and more. All these causes work to recognize the injustice or suffering of Black intersectional identities and alleviate that suffering through social and political change.

I work with many activists whose hearts are loving, tender, and ablaze with the dedication to liberate others. In many ways, their goals are similar to the motivations of a bodhisattva, or “spiritual warrior,” whose action is directed to freeing all beings from suffering. However, these activists struggle to find time to rest, feed themselves well, or know what they’re experiencing and how their emotions affect their mind-body. We cannot guide people to liberation if we ourselves do not know our own experience.

“The path of activism, just like meditation, is a practice, not a destination.”

Many of our obstacles are deeply connected to our dependence on and at times inadvertent perpetuation of white supremacy and capitalism. Black activists internalize values of American individualism and the American Protestant work ethic, leading to feelings of urgency that embolden toxic productivity. We fail to realize that accepting such ideologies diminishes the full expression of our humanity, taking us away from being with ourselves. 

In How to Connect, Thich Nhat Hanh explains, “Our communities have a deep desire for social justice. This can be obtained only through the transformation of our collective consciousness. All political actions, from protests to lobbying campaigns, will be meaningful only when they are born of our freedom, our understanding and compassion, and our peace and joy.” This points to the first obstacle to our collective liberation—our view. Our view can also be called our “vision” or “intention.” It’s what motivates our actions.

Sometimes in activist spaces there are unrealistic expectations around workload, always at the detriment of connection with the self and others. Many Black people have internalized unhealthy ways of surviving, including normalizing mania, holding the view of us versus them, glorifying a lack of self-care, having the inability to measure what is enough, and focusing on what we didn’t do or accomplish. We’re constantly judging ourselves by the measure of expectations set by the white majority.

Countless times I have seen well-meaning leaders arrive to lead but end up collapsing because their care was left off the agenda. Our disconnection with self, others, and the earth is the crisis and the agenda. If we connect meditation practice to our cause, then we will discover a stable and clear motivation to continue our activism. We will see how differently we engage when we maintain a balance between our activism and our individual, inner practice. The revolution starts within, and it starts with seeing clearly, so that we can guide others to do the same.

I hear you ask, “When do I have time to practice?” The practice is meditation, or bringing your awareness to something in a nonjudgmental manner. Meditation is the natural activity of the mind. If you have made it this far into this essay, it is because you chose to bring your attention to this text. See, you’re already doing it!

When starting, start small; small is not insignificant. Find a space where you can be comfortable and undisturbed for five to ten minutes. Turn off all pings, pongs, and dings from your assorted devices. Ideally, find a position that is upright yet relaxed. Are you still worried you will be interrupted? Put folks you trust on watch—imagine those you trust creating a circle of protection around you, enabling you to attend to your practice. 

Now, notice what is actually happening—what do you see, feel, hear? What happens when you bring attention to your breath? We are merely observing; there is nothing to analyze or change. We are observing the fullness of our humanity in this moment. You may notice spaces of tension or confusion or tingling or fear or ease. You are free to experience it all, touch it, and find your breath.

Bring to mind a specific challenge you are facing in your activism. For example, it could be organizing an event, reading an article or book to further your knowledge, dealing with an interpersonal dispute, or collaborating with another activist group. Notice what arises in your mind-body. Thank it for sharing its wisdom and return to the breath. Keep repeating with three to four other challenges, notice what arises, thank it, and return to your breath.

As you allow yourself to touch these experiences, you’re deepening your awareness of what is happening versus your story of what is happening. The stories we create about our experiences are based on emotion and are obstacles to clear awareness. Keep returning to the breath when an experience surfaces; this will loosen your attachment to getting swept up in it. It’s just a cloud passing by. Your breath is your anchor to the power spot of now. When the time has expired, thank your protectors for holding space and thank yourself for choosing to turn toward collective liberation and collaboration for that time.

The path of activism, just like meditation, is a practice, not a destination. Our commitment to practice strengthens the view. We are practicing to end the cycle of separateness (of self from self, from others, from the divine). We do this by connecting regularly with the body, emotional landscape, and mind. In doing this we are becoming familiar with ourselves, and this increases our capacity to be with others. 

The “success” of our activism and our liberation is predicated on our ability to stick with our individual practice and hold it as interconnected with collective liberation. The toxic systems we are fighting against are sustained by a divide-and-conquer mentality, so we must come together and see the ways our paths, like limbs on the body, are interconnected.

As Lama Rod Owens tells us, “there is no ultimate liberation without a commitment to social liberation” and that revolution begins with the self. It begins with learning that when we work with all of the confusion of our complex identities and bodies, discomforts, traumas, and dramas, we can gain the clarity to guide others who are suffering. Individual change is for all of humanity. We are all uniquely placed to liberate ourselves and others.

The post The Revolution Begins with the Self appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post The Revolution Begins with the Self appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

I am so excited about this issue that it’s impossible to be still, even after years of practice! Nevertheless, I will joyfully reflect on the ebony jewel box of an issue that you have just received. 

In 2014, while earning my doctorate in pastoral counseling, I began mining gems of wisdom from Black Buddhist practitioners in the U.S. I wanted to find out if Buddhism is good for Black people, because for years, it had been ingrained in me that it was not. From my research I learned that—contrary to what I’d previously been told—Buddhism isn’t just helpful for people of Asian and European descent. Black practitioners in the Insight tradition who responded to my research told me that they felt profoundly and remarkably more resilient as a result of their Buddhist practices, and I published those findings.

“You are about to enter a world known only to a relatively few people on this earth. It is the world of the Black Buddhist experience in America.”

Over the past decade, other research focused on Black Buddhists has taken place, most notably by Professor Rima Vesely-Flad in her book Black Buddhists and the Black Radical Tradition: The Practice of Stillness in the Movement for Liberation (NYU Press, 2022). Now more such research projects are in the works, so what is emerging is increased attention from academia. For example, Princeton University’s Center for Culture, Society, and Religion is launching a project to support the study of Black Buddhist writings and experiences across various academic disciplines. I hope this special issue will be a crowning onyx in its offering.

This issue is a unique collection. All the teachings, stories, and illustrations in it are by Black creators, some with celebrity status, and some you may be encountering for the first time. Within these pages, Black Buddhist practitioners from different traditions offer fine art, literature, insights on activism, and more. They discuss African and Buddhist deities, provides practices for folks in different economic situations, and offer powerful reflections on the ten paramis, the perfected qualities of enlightened beings. If you don’t find your favorite Black Buddhist creators in this issue, please search our archives for the many creators who have contributed to past issues, podcasts, and courses.

Now, you are about to enter a world known only to a relatively few people on this earth. It is the world of the Black Buddhist experience in America. No matter who you are, reading this issue will be like looking in a mirror and through a window at the same time. You will see part of yourself while also seeing some things unknown. As you prepare to enter this world, allow yourself to open your mind, your heart, your history, your conditioning, and be blessed by the lived experiences, the insights, the art, the practices, and the wisdom of African Americans practicing the buddha­dharma today. Reach deeply into this ebony box of onyx gems and see how blackness shines within the triple gems.

The post The Black Onyx in the Triple Gem appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post The Black Onyx in the Triple Gem appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

Dr. Kamilah Majied’s Joyfully Just: Black Wisdom and Buddhist Insights for Liberated Living (Sounds True) invites us to exercise playful curiosity. The book’s expansive embrace of contemplative practices supports wellness and justice for people from all spiritual traditions and cultural backgrounds. “Well minds nurture justice and just minds nurture wellness,” Majied writes. Drawing deeply on Buddhist teachings and Black creative expression, Majied guides us on a path for how to reclaim and engage with a holistic joy, one that recognizes and integrates the realities of suffering, but then flowers in unique expressions as we fully embrace our culture. This book is Majied’s invitation for us to embark on a transformative quest, one that can elevate our consciousness, deepen our resilience, and prepare us to participate in the emergence of a world that is freer, more joyful, and more just.

Healing Our Way Home: Black Buddhist Teachings on Ancestors, Joy, and Liberation (Parallax Press) is a unique “trialogue” between Black Plum Village dharma teachers Valerie Brown, Marisela B. Gomez, MD, and Kaira Jewel Lingo. Though Brown, Gomez, and Lingo share lineage, teacher status, gender, and culture (in varying degrees), their individual lived experiences and complex perspectives add to the many twists and turns found in this book. Integrating Black intellectual thought into the dharma, they cite bell hooks, Cornel West, Malidoma Patrice Somé, angel Kyodo williams, Lama Rod Owens, Jasmine Syedullah, and more as influences. One of the most remarkable features of this book is the trialogue’s developing friendship and appreciation for each other. The speakers model respectful communication, displaying curiosity despite their familiarity, while avoiding feigning familiarity about experiences that are not shared. This book illustrates that making any sangha a deep well of refuge requires dedicated spiritual friends.

In Lifting as They Climb: Black Women Buddhists & Collective Liberation (Shambhala Publications), Toni Pressley-Sanon celebrates six phenomenal Black women who have elevated and expanded the Buddhist tradition. Writing, “I am a witness to their scars,” Pressley-Sanon explores the autobiographical writings of Jan Willis, bell hooks, Zenju Earthlyn Manuel, angel Kyoto williams, Spring Washam, and Faith Adiele. Invoking the intimate practice of self-revelation, each woman’s story unapologetically “speaks to the importance of centering one’s personal experience as part of a commitment to collective liberation.” These women transmute their personal pain and expand their personal power by drawing on a broad spectrum of spiritual traditions and practices including Christianity, shamanism, activism and organizing, divination, African and Indigenous beliefs, animism, and embodied practice. This book is a cornucopia that lifts up the stories and embodied teachings of Black women who are illuminating liberatory ways of being that dharma practice makes possible for all. 

Trauma-informed Buddhist teacher Valerie Mason-John’s First Aid Kit for the Mind: Breaking the Cycle of Habitual Behaviors (Windhorse Publications) is a book centered on mind-body practice, which asks, “What should we do when we are hurting?” Mason-John demonstrates how to come home to our bodies both when we’re distressed and when we are at ease, so that we can have our own emergency medical technician of the mind to help us identify and work through the shame we feel when what we’ve tried in life hasn’t worked. Drawing on Buddhism, mindfulness, the performing arts, psychology, and physiology, they use mnemonics to help readers remember the practice. This short book offers more than a Band-Aid approach to covering over a scar; it is a tool for self-diagnosis and a salve for the weary-hearted.

Rock star Tina Turner, one of the world’s most famous practitioners of Nichiren Buddhism, described chanting the daimoku (Nam-myoho-renge-kyo) as life-changing. Her dramatic story of personal transformation is told by Ralph H. Craig III in Dancing in My Dreams: A Spiritual Biography of Tina Turner (Eerdmans). This ambitious account draws on media profiles, interviews, articles, documentaries, and earlier biographies of Turner’s life, while also situating Turner’s spiritual journey within broader understandings of American metaphysical religion and African American religious history. Documenting what Craig calls “Turner’s combinatory religious repertoire,” this book travels from the Black Southern Christianity of Turner’s family home and the spiritual naturalism of her maternal grandmother, through the parlors of European psychics and astrologers, and into the hidden guest rooms, dressings rooms, and stadium concert stages where Turner eventually practiced her Buddhist faith. Dancing in My Dreams is a tribute to the opportunities for rebirth, which are born of impermanence.

“Welcoming is our true nature,” writes Gaylon Ferguson in Welcoming Beginner’s Mind: Zen and Tibetan Buddhist Wisdom on Experiencing Our True Nature (Shambhala Publications). Continuing in the tradition of masters Shunryu Suzuki Roshi and Chögyam Trungpa, Ferguson offers an experiential guide for spiritual development. He invites us into deep reflections on Zen’s ancient ox-herding pictures, which show the stages of a practitioner’s progress toward enlightenment. Using clear and accessible prose, he discusses each image from “Seeking the Ox” to “Being in the World.” In order to cultivate the ground of our understanding of the path, Ferguson also provides an iterative exercise of welcoming practice at the end of each chapter. A generous offering of rich reflection and easeful practice, this book invites us to enter into intimate exchange and to inhabit the spacious meadow that is the direct experience of our true nature. 

In bell hooks’ Spiritual Vision: Buddhist, Christian, and Feminist (Fortress Press), award-winning journalist Nadra Nittle offers both the novice reader and the longtime enthusiast unique insight into the people and personal struggles that influenced the spiritual development of well-known feminist scholar bell hooks. Nittle quilts together formative stories from hooks’ life, guiding readers on a journey through her explorations and critiques of Christianity, Buddhism, and other approaches to spirituality. Broadly surveying hooks’ writings and celebrating the popularity of All About Love following hooks’ death in 2021, Nittle traces the evolution of the deeply integrative spiritual approach that ultimately rooted hooks in the “transformative power of love,” and by which hooks asserted love’s essential role in countering interlocking systems of oppression. We come to understand bell hooks as a powerful woman of faith who reimagined more liberatory approaches to healing, self-realization, spirituality, and relationships, and we learn why hooks ultimately came to view all her offerings, personal and professional, as spiritual work.

In the beautifully curated collection bell hooks: The Last Interview and Other Conversations (Melville House), we witness bell hooks’ creative and intellectual brilliance through her conversations with seven writers and editors. We discover hooks’ reflections on race and feminism, Buddhism, popular culture, love and relationships, political and patriarchal domination, and on the primacy of place and the Appalachian values that made her. In these interviews, which span thirty years, we learn how hooks challenged material definitions of success, pushing beyond academic, feminist, and spiritual theories to elevate the immediacy and relevance of lived experience. She called for practical tools that “give people strategies in everyday life for justice” and that expand our individual and collective capacities for self-determination. Through these dialogues, we see hooks integrating personal narrative, engaging in self-critique, and sacrificing notions of privacy for the higher purposes of collective progress and collaborative exchange. “Revolution must begin with the self, she wrote, “but it has to be united with some kind of social vision.”

The post Lion’s Roar Book Reviews May 2024 appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post Lion’s Roar Book Reviews May 2024 appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

I’ve had many experiences that have left me wanting to create meditation spaces for myself and others. I recall, as a child, seeing my grandmother sit in a chair next to a small table with pictures of my dad, aunts, and uncle, along with a bible. In that space, she’d quietly hum or read from the scriptures, while my cousins would caution, “Don’t bother Grandma, ’cause she’s sitting.” My dear grandmother would later emerge with what seemed to be revived faith.

“You can create your own peaceful refuge, no matter where you live.”

Growing up as a military dependent, I traveled to many places throughout the world where contemplation, prayer, and meditation had standing. I paid attention to those public places where people gathered for contemplation. I’ll never forget spending a day with my dad at the Pentagon in the early 1970s and coming across a meditation room. I was surprised and delighted that the country’s most important military facility had a room dedicated to meditation.

Then, in 2014, following a monthlong pilgrimage in India, I was returning to the U.S. when I had a six-hour layover in Amsterdam. As I walked around the terminal, I came across something familiar: pairs of shoes placed outside a door. Behind the door was a meditation room with cushions, chairs, and meditation shawls. It was truly an oasis, especially just coming out of a Buddhist pilgrimage. 

There are so many wonderful meditation spaces in the world, but—for me—the most profound meditation space is in my apartment. This is home base for my meditation practices.

I’ve lived in my rent-stabilized, four-room apartment (one bedroom), on the fourth floor, at the tip of Manhattan, for over thirty years. This space has supported my meditation practice as it has developed over time. Years ago, when I first moved into my apartment, a blessing and clearing was done by an African healer/shaman. Herbal sachets and smudges were burned in all corners of the rooms. I sat and meditated on loving-kindness and welcomed ancestral spirits past and present. Many Buddhist monastics have visited and offered blessings and dharma teachings in my apartment. I’m fortunate to have the space I have. It provides room for three altars—dedicated to the Buddha, ancestors, and protectors respectively. There’s also space for a small table, bench, and chair, allowing me to practice Zen calligraphy with an emphasis on African pictograms and Adinkra alphabets, write haikus, practice kado (the art of arranging flowers and branches), and play the mbira.

Creating a meditation space in my apartment has been a wonderful way for me to find tranquility amidst the hustle and bustle of New York City. You, too, can create your own peaceful refuge, no matter where you live. Of course, you can dedicate a whole room to meditation—if you have the space—but it isn’t necessary. A small corner, lovingly set aside for meditation, can be just as nourishing.

The most important aspect of a meditation space is that it feels peaceful and conducive to your practice. Here are some general suggestions for setting up such a space:

1. Sit and bring the motivation of bodhicitta (awakened heart and mind) to the fore. Then select a quiet area in your home, as out of the way as possible.
2. Provide the space with comfortable seating. Use a comfortable cushion(s) or chair for meditation. Consider foldable or stackable options if space is limited.
3. Incorporate nature into the space, for example, flowers, plants, water, and natural light. This will foster a serene atmosphere.
4. Personalize the space with essential oils, calming artwork, incense, and candles. Add cherished personal items that promote relaxation.
5. Are there mindfulness tools that would be helpful? Get a zafu and zabuton, yoga mat, or a small altar if it aligns with your practice.
6. Can you hear city sounds from your meditation space? If so, minimize outside noise with soundproofing materials or use soothing sounds of nature recordings.
7. Don’t let “stuff” take over your meditation space. Keep the area free from clutter to create a calming, spacious atmosphere.
8. Keep your space clean. If your meditation space is in a corner of a room, such as your living room, bedroom, or kitchen, it’s helpful to keep the whole room clean and tidy. This will make your meditation space easier to access.

People dealing with homelessness and confinement can also benefit from developing and holding a meditation space. I’m a social worker and have been a therapist for a long time. I work with people who have suffered deep, painful emotional and physical trauma in their lives. Some have come to therapy in conditions of homelessness. Trying to navigate out of a homeless situation and processing trauma at the same time requires equanimity. Creating a meditation space while homeless is challenging. Here are a few suggestions:

1. Some community centers, shelters, and libraries have designated quiet areas where you can meditate. And no matter what your beliefs are, churches, temples, and synagogues are often good places to access quiet. 
2. Seek out quiet spots in public parks where you can sit and meditate. If possible, bring a small portable cushion or mat with you.
3. If you have access to a smartphone, tap into meditation apps or guided meditation videos to help create a peaceful mental space, even if your physical surroundings are challenging. 
4. Remember that mindfulness and meditation can be practiced anywhere. You can focus on the breath even in noisy or crowded places. The external environment can impact your meditation, but the essence of meditation lies in finding peace within yourself regardless of your surroundings.

The challenge of creating a meditation space while incarcerated requires patience, grounding, and awareness. At best, you might have an eight-by-ten-foot room that may be shared with another incarcerated person. Creating a meditation space in a prison cell can provide some solace and a sense of calm in an undoubtedly challenging environment.

Having worked with many incarcerated people, I offer these suggestions for setting up a meditation space in a prison cell:

1. The concept of personal space is nearly nonexistent in the carceral environment. But try to explore ways that a specific corner or area of the cell can be dedicated to meditation.
2. If possible, use a pillow, folded blanket, or sit on the bed to provide cushioning from hard surfaces.
3. Practice mindfulness exercises, even if that means simply sitting quietly and focusing on the breath and body. 
4. In your space, place a small object or image to serve as a focal point for meditation.
5. Try to find ways to observe noble silence. Coordinate quiet time with the prison schedule to find opportunities, such as during designated recreation periods or before lights out, for contemplation and meditation. Utilize the prison chapel.
6. Consider using visualization. If possible, create a mental image of a peaceful place during meditation to transport the mind away from the prison cell environment.
7. Ensure that any items or arrangements adhere to the rules and regulations of the prison.

Remember, despite the limitations, finding a few moments of peace and centeredness through a meditation practice can be beneficial, even in a confined space.

The post How to Create a Meditation Space  appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post How to Create a Meditation Space  appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

The paramis or paramitas are qualities that help us develop and reach true happiness, our highest potential. They are often translated as “perfections,” as they are the perfections of character necessary for enlightenment. 

Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh called them practices that help us cross from the shore of confusion and suffering to the shore of liberation. Kittisaro, cofounder of Sacred Mountain Sangha, speaks of them as “the essential qualities of heart that carry us safely through the swirling floods of existence to the unshakeable groundedness and well-being of our true nature.” 

“May we all be guided by the beautiful paramis and paramitas on our path of awakening.”

While parami and paramita are both Pali terms, Pali literature mostly uses the term parami, while paramita is more common in Mahayana teachings. In the Pali canon there are ten paramis, and in Mahayana texts there are six paramitas. As you will see, there’s quite a bit of overlap. 

The ten paramis are:

1. Dana: generosity

2. Sila: virtue, morality

3. Nekkhamma: renunciation

4. Panna: wisdom

5. Viriya: energy, vigor, effort

6. Khanti: patience, tolerance

7. Sacca: truthfulness, honesty

8. Adhitthana: determination, resolve

9. Metta: goodwill, loving-kindness

10. Upekkha: equanimity, serenity

The six paramitas are:

1. Dana: generosity

2. Sila: virtue, morality

3. Ksanti: patience, tolerance

4. Virya: energy, vigor, effort

5. Dhyana: one-pointed concentration, meditation 

6. Prajna: wisdom

I learned about the six paramitas when I was twenty-three, the first time I attended a retreat in Plum Village, France. I was deeply moved by their nobility. While hiking in the Pyrenees after the monthlong summer retreat, I remember coming upon a beautiful tree covered in soft, emerald moss. In that moment, I spontaneously improvised a paramita prostration practice with the tree as my altar. 

I knelt with reverence to the tree. I placed my forehead on the earth and turned my palms upward. I breathed in and out, contemplating how I could be more open to the paramita of giving, looking for concrete ways to cultivate generosity in the coming days. After a few minutes, I stood and bowed. I prostrated again, nestling into the soft earth, and contemplated how I could deepen my ethical conduct in daily life. Then, in turn, I contemplated the other four paramitas. 

Looking deeply to see how I could bring each paramita into my daily life was profoundly uplifting, helping me embed them more deeply in my consciousness. It also gave me a clearer sense of direction for the path of transformation I was walking on.  

It’s common for practitioners to take one of the paramis or paramitas as the focus of their practice for a week, month, or year, and then move on to another. For the paramita of generosity, I’ve found Joseph Goldstein’s practice very helpful. He tries to listen to and follow the impulse to give when it first arises. He tries to not be swayed by second thoughts or doubts, which could dampen or lessen the initial thought of generosity. Try it!

In the pieces that follow, ten Buddhist teachers each talk about a different parami. They share how the paramis are classically understood and how practicing with them enriches their lives.

May we all be guided by the beautiful paramis and paramitas on our path of awakening. May they ripen in us more and more each day.

Kaira Jewel Lingo is the author of We Were Made for These Times and coauthor of Healing Our Way Home.

Generosity

Gaylon Ferguson on the three types of giving—and why they’re all important.

The path of wisdom and compassion begins with the discovery of our basic goodness. Basic goodness is not just a theory or idea to believe in; it is a direct experience of warmth and clarity. This spiritual realization has many practical implications for a world filled with suffering.

Fundamentally, in our true nature, we are beings of great insight, loving-kindness, and compassion. Actions we take based on this innate awareness flow generously, harmoniously, and skillfully, and they help and benefit others. However, when we lose touch with this natural wakefulness, our actions become confused and aggressive, selfishly limited to “me first,” or even “me only.” Confusion is the root of stinginess, while wakefulness is the ground of generosity.

“When our hearts are moved to action, we give.”

A person dedicated to realizing wisdom for the benefit of all beings is called a “bodhisattva,” one dedicated to universal awakening. Being a bodhisattva requires transcending concepts of being the center of everything happening around us. We must give and give and give again, while simultaneously shedding idealizations of ourselves. Awakened giving lets go of the small and self-serving storyline in which I, the super-heroic “giver,” gives to you, the “needy recipient.” 

Liberated giving is an acknowledgement of flux and change. Today the temporary roles of “giver” and “recipient” flow this way, as I share with you; however, tomorrow things may go in the other direction when you share with me. Neither of us is permanently fixed in the roles of codependent “helper” or “needing to be helped.” Here, giving is less of a big deal, and there’s less sense of who owes what to whom. 

Traditionally, there are three kinds of generosity: (1) giving material things such as food, clothing, or shelter; (2) giving fearlessness; and (3) giving the dharma. 

The teachings on giving material gifts remind us that practical, down-to-earth engagement is important. Humans’ basic needs must be met before they can engage with anything else, including the dharma. So, we must consider: what does someone actually need? We must listen carefully, beyond our habitual preconceptions. When our hearts are moved to action, we give. It’s crisp, clean, and direct with no sense of “Oh, look at me and how good I’m being by giving you this.” 

The teachings on giving courage are particularly fitting in our time of pervasive fearfulness. Giving courage may not involve offering spoken words as much as sharing our presence by simply showing up—being with, feeling with those who are afraid. In such times as these, who is not afraid? By openly acknowledging our fear, we demonstrate basic bravery, which can inspire courage all around.

When we give the gift of the teachings—for example, when we share a dharma book—we are affirming and supporting the recipient’s innate awakening. We’re giving helpful hints to spark the enlightenment already present in us all. As Bob Marley sings in “Redemption Song,” “None but ourselves can free our minds.” Just like the Buddha, we awaken ourselves into our own vast enlightened, compassionate activity. May it be so!

Gaylon Ferguson, PhD, is the author of Welcoming Beginner’s Mind and Natural Wakefulness.

Morality

There’s a clear path to virtue, says Larry Ward. It’s the five precepts common to all Buddhist traditions.

Our world is in a moral emergency affecting our social, personal, and spiritual well-being. Every day, our hearts break from what we see and endure. Fortunately, a new morality is emerging in response, catalyzing social, cultural, and political change.

We’re witnessing radical shifts in social consciousness around sustainability, racism, gender equality, LGBTQ+ rights, and more. With these shifts occurring at all societal levels, we encounter resistance—reactivity, extreme dualism, and even violence. 

Our collective patterns of resisting change are centuries old; many people stubbornly resist change, however positive. 

“Virtue allows us to find fresh vision for individual and collective wellness.”

Amid this fray, sila (morality or virtue) shines, pointing the way to goodness, kindness, and safety, offering a healing balm to suffering. When we’re overwhelmed with confusion, temptation, and weariness, we can take refuge in practicing sila. This paramita can transform our habitual responses, activate our courage, allow us to transcend outdated ideologies, and awaken the natural morality in our hearts. Sila helps maintain our stability, offering a practical way to untangle the delusions separating us from the earth, one another, and all beings.

Virtue is at the core of Buddhist understanding and practice. The root energy of sila lies in observing the original five precepts taught and transmitted for centuries by all Buddhist traditions. My teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, reframed the precepts with clearer, more accessible language. Renaming them the “five mindfulness trainings,” he expanded and updated them so we can bring mindfulness into every area of our lives. Rather than strict rules, the trainings offer a path to create a more compassionate world. We’re invited to receive, learn, and embody the trainings.

The first training is reverence for life. Aware of the suffering caused by killing, we commit to cultivating the insight of interbeing, growing our compassion, and learning ways to protect the lives of all beings.

The second training is true happiness. With this training, we’re aware of the suffering caused by exploitation, stealing, and oppression, and we practice generosity in all our thoughts, speech, and actions.

The third training is true love, which is grounded in an awareness of the suffering caused by sexual misconduct. Guided by true love, we protect the safety and integrity of individuals and couples, families and society.

The fourth training is loving speech and deep listening. Beginning with an awareness of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and a lack of listening, we commit to engaging in compassionate speech and listening. We promote reconciliation and peace in ourselves and among other people, groups, and nations.

Finally, the fifth mindfulness training is nourishment and healing. This training brings us into awareness of the suffering caused by unmindful consumption. We practice mindful eating, drinking, and consuming in order to cultivate good health—physical and mental—for ourselves, loved ones, and society.

With these five mindfulness trainings, we practice virtue. This allows us to find fresh vision for individual and collective wellness, and to develop and sustain the embodied perfection of wisdom. As virtue takes up residence in our hearts, it brings love, peace, and resilience to our world.

Larry Ward is a senior teacher in Thich Nhat Hanh’s Plum Village tradition and the author of America’s Racial Karma.

Renunciation

Renounce the ego, the small self, says Tuere Sala. It feels good to let go.

Renunciation, the third parami, is often spoken of or looked upon as harsh and restrictive. Whenever we are in some difficulty where we need support, harshness and restrictiveness don’t resonate. But what we should know is that renunciation actually strengthens our capacity to choose nonsuffering over suffering. 

We usually move through life using our reptilian brains, which rely on quick thinking and impulsivity. Our reptilian brains exist in the primal world of habit. A habit gets formed at some point in our lives, and the tendency is that we continue with that habit forevermore. The longer you live, the more habits you have. Most of our habits arise out of one of the three poisons—greed, hatred, and delusion—which means they are continuously leading us into suffering. 

“Renunciation creates a gap, so we can see the presence of choice.”

Renunciation acts as an interference to this habitual way of living. It creates a gap, so we can see the presence of choice. This choice, which exists in every moment, is the difference between suffering and nonsuffering. The more we see choice as a real option, the more we can choose nonsuffering over suffering. Renunciation is how we see the existence of choice; it’s what gives us the time to choose nonsuffering.

When I first came into the practice, I created a ceremony for myself to become a Buddhist. I didn’t have a sangha; it was just me and my intention to be a good Buddhist. As part of my ceremony, I vowed to do the least amount of harm possible, to be as kind as I could, and to live with restraint.

At the time, I thought doing the least amount of harm and being kind would be the most difficult things for me to do, mostly because I was very self-centered, arrogant, and overly reactive. It turned out, though, that the vow to live with restraint made the other two vows much easier to live. Ultimately, renunciation is about renouncing the ego, the small self. While renunciation can be about renouncing worldly pleasures, I equated “living with restraint” to not always getting my way.

It was not easy for me to renounce getting my way. As a practicing lawyer, I was smart, articulate, and always assumed I was right. I felt like my way was the most efficient and logical. The idea of following someone else’s way didn’t make sense to me. I considered fully living the vow of renunciation to be an act of generosity. Time and time again, I kept feeling the tension of wanting to get my way. That tension reminded me of my vow. I then had the space to choose to be generous, which allowed me to accept another person’s way. 

In the beginning, I mostly ignored the vow. Over time, however, I began to see the choice between enduring the pain of forcing my way upon a situation or being generous. I willingly began to choose being generous over and over again, creating a new habit of mind toward renunciation, generosity, and open-heartedness.

Tuere Sala is co-guiding teacher at Seattle Insight Meditation Society and co-chair of the guiding teacher’s council at Spirit Rock Meditation Center.

Wisdom

Wisdom, says Justin Miles, is a knowing that sees, instead of scrutinizing what it sees.

When I was on a meditation retreat over twenty years ago, people were paired together for an exercise. One person was to ask a question; the other was to listen openly before responding. 

I was paired with the director of the retreat. Wanting to impress him, I asked a “deep” question that started something like, “According to the Buddha, the nature of the mind is said to exist as…” He interrupted, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Ashe!”

Everything in the room and everything in me stopped. I stared at him stunned and embarrassed, not knowing what to do or say. As uncomfortable as I felt, I understood that his response was an invitation to experience the moment in a different way. I bowed, and our exchange was over. 

“An aspiring bodhisattva infuses prajna into all the paramitas.”

I’m grateful for my teacher’s sword-like wisdom and compassion. Seemingly without thought, he cut through my attempt at deceiving him or myself into believing that either of us was anything other than what we were. Trying to be something I was not was unkind to myself; it was kind of my teacher to wake me up to this.  

His response was an example of prajna paramita, one of the perfections of a bodhisattva. Prajna can be translated as “wisdom,” “insight,” “transcendent knowledge,” or “superior knowing.” But what’s superior knowing? 

“Knowing” typically refers to intelligence or how well we relate to an experience. With prajna, we ask, “How do I relate to the experience of the mind that’s beyond the usual knowledge-gathering process involving our senses?” We ask, “What’s it like to completely relax my idea-making and idea-holding about myself and the world?” When all conceptualizing has been let go of, what’s left is prajna: a direct, sharp knowing that sees, instead of scrutinizing what it sees. It’s full awareness of the nonconceptual experience of nonself and emptiness.

An aspiring bodhisattva infuses prajna into all the paramitas, turning practices like generosity and patience into nonconceptual experiences. In turn, the practice of the other paramitas informs our relationship with prajna. 

Prajna is cultivated through shamatha vipashyana practice, which introduces the meditator to a state of relaxed attentiveness and natural, boundless compassion. To practice shamatha (calm-abiding meditation) find a quiet, comfortable place to sit, either on a cushion or a chair. Close your eyes and notice the sensation of your inhalations and exhalations. Rest your attention on the breath, without trying to control or manipulate it. Whenever your mind wanders, simply acknowledge the thoughts or distractions and gently bring your attention back to the breath. Continue this practice for a designated period of time, starting with short sessions and gradually increasing the duration. 

Once you’ve developed some stability, clarity, and strength through shamatha practice, move on to vipashyana (insight) meditation. To do this, choose an object of focus, such as a physical sensation, emotion, or thought. Direct your attention to the chosen object and observe it with curiosity and nonjudgment. Notice its qualities, arising and passing away, and associated sensations or thoughts. Try to gain insight into the object’s true nature and the interdependent nature of all phenomena. If your mind gets distracted, gently bring it back and continue the investigation. 

A sustained commitment to shamatha vipashyana cultivates a mind free from conceptual limitations and a bravery that defies convention in order to benefit all beings.

Justin Miles is a Buddhist teacher as well as a counselor who works in the field of community mental health and substance abuse.

Effort

When you see the power of practice, says Venerable Pannavati, you naturally practice with more vigor.

I hear a lot of talk in Buddhist circles about practice, but very little about attainment. Cultivating viriya improves our chance of success on the eightfold path. Viriya is the lifeblood of the paramitas; it is the quality necessary to actualize the others. Someone who embodies viriya has a mind intent upon living and realizing the highest dharmic principles, moment by moment, never slacking, never capitulating. 

In English, viriya is often translated as “effort.” Other translations include “energy,” “enthusiasm,” and “diligence.” It is a mistake to consider viriya just “energy” or “effort”—that is too vague. Viriya specifically denotes a kind of effort that is conducive to attainment, allowing us to persist in our aspirations until we are victorious. It encompasses the highest degrees of commitment, virtue, fearlessness, will, exertion, and vigor that a disciple of the Buddha can attain. 

“Viriya enables us to develop positive attitudes that support beneficial outcomes.”

Viriya is a joyful perseverance, where we feel happiness in overcoming defilements and obstacles, inspiring us to embrace practice. For example, we may oversleep one morning, but we delight as we hop out of bed, determined to keep our vow to start our day with meditation.

Viriya is also focus, inner strength, and determination in practice. It is faith in the truth and efficacy of the dharma that solidifies viriya. This is not blind faith, but a confidence born of experience; we know that dharmic practice delivers results because we have experienced it. If we have viriya, our faith is sufficient to motivate us to be unwavering in the face of life’s unknowns. 

Viriya enables us to develop positive attitudes that support beneficial outcomes. For example, one morning we may wake up on time, but we may not be enthusiastic about our spiritual practice. However, we do it anyway, because we are faithful to our vow to start each day with spiritual practice instead of following what feelings arise in the moment.  

The Buddha said this skillful attitude is necessary to overcome obstacles and complete the path to liberation. In the Kitagiri Sutta, the Buddha advises faithful disciples to tell themselves, “Let my skin, sinews, and bones dry up, together with the flesh and blood of my body, but my viriya shall not be relaxed so long as I have not attained what can be attained.”

It takes time to cultivate this mental quality. As we develop viriya, we build our capacity to remain steadfast and unmovable based on our conviction. This gives us the opportunity for liberation in this life.

A former Christian Pastor, Venerable Pannavati is ordained in the Therevada and Chan traditions of Buddhism.

Patience

Patience, says Zenju Earthlyn Manuel, is tranquility and wellness, security and joy.

Shantideva, a Buddhist sage of old, aligned his teachings on patience with one of the most difficult emotions: deep-seated anger. I suspect his teachings on patience came from his own experience of being disrespected in the monastery where he lived. Anger and rage, along with fear, are obstacles to experiencing patience. 

I’ve not always tamed my temper, which means according to the teachings of Shantideva, I have had little to no patience most my life. I’ve never known cool water, water to rest or reside in. Instead, I have known mostly fire. It has seemed to me that releasing the fiery forces of rage would mean not addressing what I’m angry about. 

“Can we allow pain and suffering to be just what they are without anger or fear?”

Anger and rage are sacred to me. Being black-skinned, I resonate with author James Baldwin (1924–1987) who once said, “To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of rage almost all of the time.” 

If anger and rage are embedded in a dark body, then how will I know patience and what it offers? If I feel dominated by someone, or something, for keeping me from living fully, how can patience enter my life? With these questions in mind, though I walked barefoot on the cold floors of temples, still the heat of what disturbed me surrounded my head. I wanted to know serenity, to reckon with the rage I felt living amid racism and more. Shantideva’s teachings addressed my quest.

When taunted by his fellow monks, Shantideva responded by delivering teachings that were so profound they still exist today, more than a thousand years later. That delivery was an act of patience. In his epic poetic teaching, The Way of the Bodhisattva, he expounded:  

I heard Shantideva calling us to freedom from the consequences of anger and rage. He was saying that the results of patience are tranquility and wellness, pleasure and joy, sleep and rest, and security in living a life without feeling threatened. 

Can we allow pain and suffering to be just what they are without anger or fear? If the volcanic experiences of rage feel sacred, can they be held sacredly at the altar by which we have made our offerings, instead of harming others through revenge or defensiveness?

Shantideva did not perceive the monks as enemies. There are no enemies that we must set straight, attack, or mistreat. There are only terrorized people of all backgrounds, trying to control life’s circumstances through combat. The way of patience is to see that perceiving others as “the enemy” is the way of aggressive and militarized societies. The way of patience is not to wait, or take a breath, and see at a later time what is to be done; it is to completely withdraw, to take no further action, not now or in the future. The way of patience is to recognize anger and rage as unattended fear boiling over. Once we understand this, tranquility and peace will grace us.

Zenju Earthlyn Manuel’s books include Opening to Darkness and The Deepest Peace.

Truthfulness 

Aishah Shahidah Simmons on how she learned to be honest, not just with others—but with herself.

I grew up hearing about the need for truth, justice, equity, and peace. I’m a middle-aged daughter of human rights activists who put their lives on the line upholding their values. They were incarcerated for registering Black people to vote in the Jim Crow South and for their conscientious objections to the Vietnam War. 

I’m also a survivor of childhood sexual violence. I told the truth to my parents about the harm my grandfather was causing me. Initially, they didn’t want to believe it. They didn’t remove or protect me, because while my parents were working for peace and justice nationally and internationally, my grandparents were my caretakers. 

“Practice is discovering the truth in all its complexities and beauty.”

As a result, I’ve had an interesting relationship with truth. I learned to lie to myself to survive the harm I endured for two years as a tween and to survive my parents’ roles in ignoring my pain for decades.

Like many, I joined Buddhist practice because I was suffering. I’m a Black feminist lesbian who thought my suffering was solely because of the external conditions of racism, sexism, sexual violence, and betrayal that I endured. I believed we required truth from others, not necessarily from ourselves. 

However, Buddhist practice teaches me that awakening the truth from within is integral to liberation. Practicing awakening sacca (truth) from within deepens my ongoing experiential understanding about the universality of suffering through the four noble truths. In practice, sacca invites us to be present in acknowledging suffering, understanding how it arises, and how we can attenuate and end it. Sacca turns us again and again back to the noble eightfold path. 

This is rigorous work. Instead of turning away from suffering, mine and others, or reacting to suffering without any discernment or compassion, I turn toward and respond to the truth of suffering by seeking the way out of suffering. 

I do not suffer uniquely; neither do you. While there’s a broad spectrum of suffering, all suffering is fueled by greed, hatred, and delusion. Seeking truth from within creates fertile ground for me to hold the apparent reality of differences with the ultimate reality of oneness simultaneously. Without spiritually bypassing one to get to the other, I try to hold the truth of both.

I’ve dedicated my adult life to breaking silences about sexual trauma, offering healing paths, and seeking noncarceral accountability for harm. Before my practice, I didn’t fully understand that I run the tremendous risk of replicating harmful behavior if I’m not in touch with the truth from within.

There are times when we, as laypeople engaged in everyday society, are called to act immediately in the face of suffering. We cannot bypass that call. Instead, we can pause, even briefly, and be attuned to the truth from within to not exacerbate our suffering and the suffering of others.  

The Buddha said, “We should investigate the very heart of things.” Practice is discovering the truth in all its complexities and beauty. We want to unveil the most profound truth in our own experiences. With truth, we see things as they are, not as we want them to be. Here, wisdom emerges from seeing reality, not delusion. That’s a pathway to freedom.

Aishah Shahidah Simmons is the editor of the anthology Love with Accountability and the producer/director of No! The Rape Documentary.

Determination 

To overcome a lack of self-confidence, says Jan Willis, cultivate joyous resolve.

I’m deeply moved by the image the great poet Shantideva gives of the courageous bodhisattva who glides down into the sufferings of samsara “as swans sweep down upon a lotus lake.” As he described it, there’s such joy and ease in the bodhisattva’s determination.  

The Pali term adhitthana (determination) and the Sanskrit word virya (effort) have much in common when it comes to describing a bodhisattva’s conduct. They each refer to the bodhisattva’s unshakable resolve, her strong and joyous determination, to fulfill the promise to liberate all beings and to carry out all the necessary activities to do so. 

Awakening itself depends on determination. The Buddha, we’re told, was once an ordinary person like us, but he attained awakening owing to his strong resolve to aid others. This opportunity to reach enlightenment is there for all sentient beings! As Shantideva tells us in The Way of the Bodhisattva: 

My root teacher, Lama Thubten Yeshe, was well-known for his joyful attitude; nothing ever seemed to annoy him or bring him down. And he sought to pass on this calm and ease to his students. As a graduate student I remember often coming to him with worries, complaints, and feelings of despondency. His first remarks were always, “Oh, that’s so simple, dear! Don’t worry; that’s so easy!” I now see that advice as a mark not only of his great compassion, but of his own practice of determination. 

“Awakening itself depends on determination.”

Lama Yeshe once told me, “Study and learn well everything—whether languages or other skills—because, one day, you might be able to help just one person because of knowing that language or skill!” He said I should “approach every chance to learn with that kind of attitude!” He was showing me how to practice determination in earnest. 

Training in the perfection of determination helps us overcome the three types of laziness: having no wish to do good, being distracted by negative activities, and underestimating or doubting one’s ability. When I first met Lama Yeshe, I was particularly shackled by the third laziness. Beset with low self-esteem, I doubted my ability to do good and thought I could never accomplish any big goals—to say nothing of achieving awakening! Yet, over the fifteen years that I studied with him, developing my self-confidence was his biggest gift and teaching. He did this in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, from once tasking me with writing his lecture for that evening—using only Sanskrit terminology, in two hours!—to praising my quick intelligence at every turn and encouraging all my academic pursuits. By the time I earned my graduate degree from Columbia, I’d taken twice the number of required courses in half the time! Even today my heart delights when I have a Buddhist topic to investigate, or a lecture to prepare that helps others better understand a principle of Buddhism. 

I smile now, thinking of my lama’s loving remarks: “That’s so simple, dear! Of course, you can, dear!” And of those gnats and grubs, future buddhas all.

Jan Willis is the author of Dreaming Me Black, Baptist, and Buddhist, and Dharma Matters: Women, Race, and Tantra.

Loving-Kindness

Combat veteran Ralph Steele explains how metta meditation supports his healing from PTSD.

At Vipassana meditation retreats in the early 1970s, when people found out I was a Vietnam combat veteran, many responded with disgust. “How could you do those things,” they asked, “and come to a retreat like this?” 

They did not understand how recurrent trauma from war activates your nervous system—how anger, anxiety, and frustration arise as devastating poisons for mind and body. Removing the uniform is a massive, lonely transition. While I continued practicing and attending retreats, I refrained from sharing my veteran status. It was difficult to be in a meditation community that opposed my former livelihood.

“I embarked on the eightfold path to manage trauma, using loving-kindness in every step of the path.”

Even when trauma shuts down the heart, we can cultivate universal love. In the Karaniya Metta Sutta, the Buddha’s discourse on loving-kindness, he talks about how important it is to be “one who is skilled in goodness and who knows the path of peace.” Learning to skillfully cultivate goodness means developing loving-kindness as we walk the dharma path. 

Loving-kindness (metta or maitri) practice begins with tenderness toward oneself, by saying “May I be well.” Then, we focus on comforting relationships: a partner, an elder, a pet, or someone we highly regard who loves us unconditionally. Visualize them and, in your mind, express loving words for them, like, “May you be well.” This practice can continue until we sense our comfort zone growing. Next, we picture someone we have neutral feelings for—maybe this is someone we only know casually—and we practice metta for them. Finally, we visualize someone with whom we’ve had difficulties, and again we wish them well until we sense growth. 

As proven by researchers, we’re naturally social beings and suffer when alienated. In 1987, I began teaching Vipassana meditation. This was a social endeavor that helped my PTSD. My teammates and friends had not only died from war, but also from heroin overdose. My dharma community became my new team. I ramped up the practice of loving-kindness to ease my mental, physical, and emotional pain. We were guided by the four noble truths: recognizing an illness, examining its causes, treating it, and managing it through a safe environment to let love flow and reach new levels with a team. 

I embarked on the eightfold path to manage trauma, using loving-kindness in every step of the path. I cultivated loving-kindness in my speech, actions, and livelihood. With loving-kindness flowing from my open heart, my mindfulness grew. My effort became motivation, and my concentration became calm alertness. Wisdom was invaluable alongside love to cultivate right view and healthy thinking.

Working with metta soothed my PTSD, and it helped me understand my perceptions, resolve uneasy mental formations, and find the right choice of words. Loving-kindness infused my body, expanding my comfort zone in my dharma community and personal relationships. Feeling wordlessly at ease in such a wonderful community was like coming home. 

Using the teachings of the Kariniya Metta Sutta combined with the four noble truths with emphasis on the eightfold path builds self-confidence and helps us work with life’s difficult moments. When we come into equanimity, we understand the skills of goodness, and the path of peace becomes clear.

Ralph Steele is the founder of Life Transition Meditation Center in Santa Fe where he serves as the guiding meditation teacher.

Equanimity

In any given situation, how can you know if, when, and how you should respond? Bradley Donaldson explains.

For some reason, equanimity—the last of the ten paramis—has a bad reputation. I imagine it is because the word “equanimous” brings to mind the image of a cold and unmoving practitioner. Yet it’s actually about peace, not apathy. When I think of equanimity, I picture the face of the legendary bodhisattva Guanyin. With a serene smile, she aids those in need.

In addition to being a parami, equanimity also shows up in another well-known Buddhist list of qualities: the four brahmaviharas, or sublime attitudes. The other brahmaviharas are loving-kindness, compassion, and appreciative joy. Like the roots of a tree, the previous paramis and brahmaviharas reinforce equanimity. 

“Breathing in, we see the situation for what it is. Breathing out, we stay curious. ”

Indeed, the late Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh often offered the image of a tree swaying in violent winds when he discussed equanimity. Its leaves and branches may flutter about, but the trunk stays centered, supported by a strong root system. Equanimity is that stable center held up by the other qualities of heart.

Of course, we’re not literal trees. We are not inert, and equanimity is not inertness. We can and should respond to moments and conditions that arise as we go through life. Equanimity is being centered enough to know if, when, and how to respond to life’s opportunities and challenges. Equanimity is the wisdom to accept circumstances beyond our control.

Now that we have some understanding of what equanimity is, let’s talk about how to cultivate it. Like any skill we would like to develop, being equanimous takes practice. Our practice takes place on and off the cushion.

When we meditate, equanimity is about cultivating stability while remaining curious and open to our experience. We might use mindful breathing to do this. While breathing in and out, what do we confront on the cushion? Discomfort, perhaps, or painful memories? Maybe restlessness and boredom? All that we suppress tends to rise to the forefront when the mind is quiet. Equanimity becomes about accepting these arisings. The breath, then, becomes our anchor, our tree trunk.

Off the cushion, the practice is similar in that we are cultivating stability, but now we’re doing it while contending with the challenges of day-to-day life. So, how do we approach what the Buddha called the “worldly conditions” of gain, loss, status, disgrace, praise, blame, pleasure, and pain? Do we react with bewilderment and frustration, or with understanding? Can we hold our experience with loving-kindness, compassion, or even joy? Breathing in, we see the situation for what it is. Breathing out, we stay curious. 

As we practice, we begin to understand the meaning of equanimity on an intimate, visceral level, and this understanding grows within us over time. We can follow the Buddha’s advice to practice equanimity in such a way that it is “abundant, expansive, and limitless.” We can strengthen our ability to hold ourselves, others, and the world with love and compassion, and once we do that, the fuller meaning of equanimity appears: the calm ability to know what to do, what not to do, or whether to even “do” anything at all.

Formerly a monk, Bradley Donaldson teaches meditation. He’s focused on helping queer and BIPOC folks heal and cultivate connection.

The post 10 Ways to Find True Happiness appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post 10 Ways to Find True Happiness appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

I remember being embarrassed doing puzzles with my in-laws for the first time. While it took me quite a while to find a piece, they were fast because they were experienced puzzlers. After discovering the satisfaction of working on a thousand-piece puzzle, I noticed similarities with meditation and dharma practice. 

With a puzzle, a person sits at the table with a thousand pieces scattered in all directions. They may say, “I don’t see any connections. How can I find anything?” After a few minutes they may say, “I can’t do this. This is not for me.” So, they give up. It may be true that the activity doesn’t work for them, but by giving up without putting in a good effort, they’ve lost the opportunity for their attention to grow.

“When we learn to see thoughts come and go, we develop the attitude of the observer.”

For many, meditation is similar. They say, “How can I meditate with these thousand thoughts swirling in my head?” They don’t see the connection between following their breath and cultivating well-being. Nothing seems to make sense, so they think, “This is not for me,” and they give up quickly. Their attention does not have the chance to stabilize, nor does tranquility have the chance to arise.

Doing puzzles is a humbling experience, since we see how dispersed our minds can be. Our field of vision is bombarded with puzzle pieces, but when we try to focus on one piece, another attracts our attention. We then let go of that distraction and return to finding our initial piece. As we return, another thought pops up and takes our attention away. We believe we saw the piece before; we just don’t remember where. We can even swear that a piece is lost, simply because we cannot find it. That’s how unfocused our minds can be.

The good news is that as long as we keep returning to the task of finding the puzzle piece, eventually we will “see” it. This is what makes attention grow: a gentle but consistent persistence. It is like dripping water filling a bucket drop by drop. In my community in Brazil, we have a similar saying: It is grain by grain that the hen fills her gullet.

Thanissaro Bhikkhu says that mindfulness “is the ability to keep something in mind and remember to keep it in mind.” He also reminds us that the Buddha taught right mindfulness and not simply mindfulness. With right mindfulness, together with other aspects of the path, we keep in mind and remember to keep in mind what is beneficial and abandon what is not.

The simple task of finding a puzzle piece cultivates mindfulness and concentration, which spills over into our meditation practice. Moments of concentration in meditation then lead to additional moments of mindfulness in daily life. It is a snowball effect. This fundamental aspect of the Buddha’s teachings helps us understand cause and effect and can be applied to any part of our lives. We do this, that arises. We stop doing this, that ceases.

If there is a messy pile in front of us, it will take longer to see connections. So, separate the puzzle pieces by color or shape. In meditation, we see connections as we return over and over to the object of our attention. That process of returning is what gives the mind a chance to calm down, rest in the present moment, and watch our thoughts. In time, we realize how we create stress for ourselves by the frenetic way we think.

Sometimes we focus on small details in the puzzle. Other times, we look at the whole picture. In observing the breath in one spot, we narrow our attention. Other times we make our awareness broad. In the Anapanasati Sutta, for example, the Buddha encourages us to make our awareness include our whole body. 

At one moment, the puzzle seems easy. Another moment, we want to quit. Similarly, we may be hitting a plateau in our meditation practice or encountering a seemingly insurmountable challenge. In moments like these, patience, creativity, persistence, and a gentle touch can help.

In the essay “A Decent Education,” American Buddhist monk Thanissaro Bhikkhu says, “when things like pain and distraction come up in the meditation…don’t get discouraged by how big the task is. Just keep chipping away, chipping away….when you come to meditation you need to develop the basic skills needed to deal with a long-term project: Keep chipping away, chipping away, step by step.”

We can train ourselves to improve our attention. A puzzle is one of endless activities that can increase our attention by bringing our minds to the present moment. At first it is all a blur, but with time it starts to make sense. Finishing a puzzle can bring a sense of accomplishment. We have cultivated attention and can now notice what we didn’t before.

As we meditate, we see our thoughts more clearly and question their reality. Insight meditation teacher Tara Brach says, “Thoughts are real but not true.” What this means is that their effect on the body is real, but we are often making them up.

When we learn to see thoughts come and go, we develop the attitude of the observer. This is an important step because observing our thoughts is a major goal of meditation. Otherwise, unskillful thoughts spill out in our words and actions when we are irritated.

Sometimes, simply acknowledging a thought’s presence is enough for it to go away. At other times, we need an active approach, especially with persistent and negative thoughts. Deal with those like a call from a strange number or a scam text—see it but don’t answer it, or glance at it and delete it.

We learn to notice that thoughts of understanding, forgiveness, generosity, compassion, and goodwill for ourselves and others have a positive impact on our emotions. How we think affects how we feel. This is the principle of cause and effect. Test it to see if it is true for you.

With more moments of mindfulness, continue observing your thoughts. Engage with thoughts when needed, or just step back and watch. By stepping back from our thoughts, we create moments of rest despite the conditions of our lives and this unjust world. Most importantly, we create positive causes for this moment and the next. The practice is to pay attention to one breath at a time, one moment of mindfulness at a time, and one thought at a time. Even when there are a thousand thoughts.

The post A Thousand Thoughts, A Thousand Pieces appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post A Thousand Thoughts, A Thousand Pieces appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

Pamela Ayo Yetunde: How do you understand the particularities of Black people’s suffering in the United States? 

Jean Marie Robbins: I understand them as an intentional device to maintain an enslavement mentality, in order for the people on top and in power to do as little as they need to and reap the benefits of very inexpensive labor, if not free labor. That was intentional from the beginning, and it took time to take root. Now it’s so deeply rooted that it’s rooted in my own consciousness, and I have to work intentionally against the idea that I’m indebted and I have to always pay my way and pay twice as much, just to belong and to stand alongside people in white bodies.

Pamela Freeman: Jean, you said it very clearly, and I would echo what you said. We’re still living in a post-Confederacy. There is this whole thing of taking away of our rights and chipping away at everything we have in order to keep us controlled. Think about slavery. Our children were taken away from us; marriage was something that couldn’t happen for us. Now they’re trying to eliminate public schools, trying to eliminate everything that can empower us. I see what’s happening in this country. It seems to be getting worse, not better. 

Ramona Lisa Ortiz-Smith: I didn’t want to deal with race when I first started practicing. I just wanted to sit and meditate, but there is a force in meditation that brings up the truth. So, I’m rediscovering and peeling back the layers to figure out my understanding of blackness in America. It’s an oppressive system that was created to oppress Black people and other peoples who were not part of the dominant culture. And it still exists, it still persists.

I was writing something the other day about people wanting us to forget about slavery because it was a long time ago. But when I sat down and looked at it, I’m only maybe three generations out of slavery on my mother’s side, and maybe four generations out on my father’s side. Then I look at what’s happening today. 

What really gets me is the economic oppression—the hundreds of years that we worked as enslaved Africans, without any compensation, with barely any food, while the ways we had of supporting ourselves culturally were stripped from us. Given all the time we were building wealth for this country and for the world, to have it turned around—to say that it’s my fault that I’m in this economic situation—is crazy. If the economic system doesn’t change, the situation is not going to change. 

We’ve tried over the years to have our own this, that, or the other, then it gets destroyed, blown up, taken, stolen again. I’ve been thinking, “Where in the world can I live outside of the system?” because I’m tired. What countries have not been colonized? Where is there not racism against this Black woman’s being? We’ve got to change the economic system, destroy it completely—in some peaceful way.

Victoria Cary: We are a diverse people, so it’s difficult to generalize, but what comes to mind is our exhaustion at having to still fight for equality, equity, and for our lives. 

Given the particularities of the suffering of Black people in the United States, how can Buddhist practice help?

Ramona Lisa Ortiz-Smith: The dharma is a healing force. It’s medicine for the soul. That is why I do it. I practice because everything that is a part of life is in the dharma—the truth of the nature of things. It is a language that I understand, I think, from way back to all of my different indigenous roots. It is the language of what is present, what is real. 

Practicing the dharma allows me to contemplate, discover, and reflect on ways that I might be able to live this life with more ease and peace, love myself, forgive myself, love others, forgive others in a way that includes forgiving them for racism. The dharma is medicine; it provides me with a salve, which to me are the teachings that, when practiced and applied to my life, support the healing of my being. As a practitioner, I have to let go of my views, and I have to reflect on my conditioning and the conditioning of others. It’s deep when you really do that. The dharma says that this is what you need to find liberation and this is how you do it, so go see for yourself. I can bring the dharma to bear on racism or on anything else.

Pamela Freeman: I agree that the dharma is medicine—it’s healing. Before I practiced the dharma, I felt really disconnected. It has helped me to not be agitated, to listen to people better, to be kinder to myself and other people. It’s helped me to be quieter, and it’s given me a lot of hope. When I’m in meditation or walking or thinking or listening to a dharma talk, I feel so grateful that I’m alive. 

The dharma has helped me to be able to deal with some white people, because, before I practiced, I was just done. Now I can be with them and not feel so angry. It’s helped me to not be so reactive, and I think that’s why Black people need the dharma. We can be really mean and nasty to ourselves. This practice helps me give myself a break when I make mistakes.

Jean Marie Robbins: I live in Chicago and I belong to Shambhala Chicago. I came to Shambala about ten years ago in a very resistant mode, but the minute I heard the instructors say that meditation builds confidence in our basic goodness, I was hooked, because as a Black person, I’d never before heard that I was basically even acceptable, not to mention good.

Buddhism’s first noble truth is that there is suffering. Regarding the particularities of the suffering of Black people, I have coped much of my life by expecting to suffer racial harm and expecting white people to look at me in a negative way. Now, I’ve shifted my idea of suffering, and I ask myself, “What can I learn here?” One of the things I’m learning to do is to release what I imagine people are thinking about me—that’s just a thought. When I pause, I’m letting go of that flood of negative talk. Of course, it floods right back. It’s normal to have negative self-talk, so learning to let it go is a process—it doesn’t happen overnight.

I think the idea of no self is such a perplexing idea, but it’s one of the things that has helped me recognize this idea of identity as a trap. In a dharma setting, we can talk about that and really explore what it means to shackle ourselves with the idea that we’re limited to this identity, an identity that is defined by our society as something terrible, when really, it is our incredible resilience and resolve to survive that has made this country.

From Dr. Sheila Walker’s anthropological study of African descendants, especially in the Americas, I’ve learned that Afro-diasporans made the modern world by impacting music, science, business, food, agriculture, sports, and many other fields. Learning this has totally shifted my thinking about what we’ve contributed, what we’re capable of, and what I’m capable of.

Victoria Cary: Dharma is a path toward freedom. The dharma can be that for Black folks, too. It’s certainly been that for me.

If you could give one piece of advice on how to experience liberation, what would that be? 

Victoria Cary: Be curious and acknowledge reality with compassion. 

Ramona Lisa Ortiz-Smith: My advice would be to cultivate embodied stillness and empowered silence. When you choose to be silent—and not silenced by the oppressors—when you stay in the present moment with this breath, this body, there is an element of liberation.

Pamela Freeman: Liberation, to me, is believing in yourself. Trust in yourself, in your stillness, and even in your movement. Know that being yourself and believing in yourself is not something above you—it’s inside of you.

Jean Marie Robbins: In building on that, Pamela, I think that connecting with what we really are—with our basic goodness—and accepting all our stumbles and flaws softens us and enables us to connect with others. And that’s where liberation happens in our relationships, not just with others, but also in our relationship with ourselves.

Ramona Lisa Ortiz-Smith: Movement is such a big part of my Black experience. In moving, the mind gets to settle so that we can just be with our truth, connect to the earth, and see the ideas, views, and the conditioning that trap us, that shackle our minds. In embodied movement, there’s freedom.

Jean Marie mentioned the concept of no self. That word and concept has also been used in Buddhist dialogue to mean that race, ethnicity, the ways we identify socially don’t matter. My question to you is, does it matter to the people you serve in your dharma communities that you are Black? 

Ramona Lisa Ortiz-Smith: Yes, it matters. Before I can actually let go of my identity, I have to embrace all of who I am—all of my life, all of my experiences, all of my views. This way, I get to know all these different facets of my identity and understand where they came from, how they’ve shaped me, and how society persists with identifying me with some of them. 

But “no self” doesn’t mean that I don’t exist. Like Joy DeGruy [author of Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome: America’s Legacy of Enduring Injury and Healing] says, in this skin, it’s a different experience. So, it is true that I look like this—I am Black—and my experience in this world and in meditation and dharma communities is completely different because of it. I have to walk through this world in this skin; I can’t leave home without it. Therefore, I have tangible, visceral experiences as a dharma practitioner and teacher in this skin that are different than those who are not people of color and do not live in this skin. It causes challenging conditions in the practice and in practice communities because I and other people believe that I have a self that is “Black.” 

Jean Marie Robbins: Yes, it absolutely matters that I am Black! I feel like my showing up in my sangha is a practice that I impose on my white colleagues. It is a practice for them to manage their sense of anxiety or curiosity or resistance or whatever. 

My Black body does get a different reaction from others. On an absolute level, there’s no self, and I can see that. I can relinquish the habits that confine me to this sense of identity. I can be totally free, but I am in this body, so I probably am not going to relinquish all these habits until I leave my body. 

Victoria Cary: That statement—that race and other identities don’t matter—is just not true. Race matters, identities matter. It matters to me, and it matters deeply to those Black folks I serve. It matters because if you don’t acknowledge my race, my gender, my sexual identity, you don’t acknowledge me, my suffering, or my humanity. The dharma is about reality, and the reality is that race-based discrimination is still happening today in this country.

Pamela Freeman: Delaware Valley Insight is mixed—mostly white. People tell me it’s important that I’m there, and my experience is very different from the white members of my group. With the people of color group, my presence gives them hope. When I see Black dharma teachers and leaders, I want to cry. When I started this practice, there were two Black people, and now there are many of us. I think we give each other hope. 

As we talked, I felt myself falling in love with you all, and that has to do with feeling like I was receiving a transmission of deep loving-kindness, compassion, and care. You all have committed yourselves to take care of people like me, and I felt myself leaning in for that care. Thank you.

The post True Liberation: Black & Buddhist in America appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post <div>True Liberation: Black & Buddhist in America</div> appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

Lion’s Roar: What drew you to Buddhist practice?

Bryant Terry: Daily sitting practice helped me feel more connected to something greater than myself. 

In 2005, I spent a week at Deer Park, Thich Nhat Hanh’s monastery in Escondido, California. The woman who is now my wife and I were at the monastery at the same time, both sinking into a deeper practice. Being able to support each other in developing sitting practice had a big impact on both of us. Being there together—witnessing each other being vulnerable, deepening our practice, going through whatever we were going through—helped us see each other in a way we would not have if we were just going out on dates and putting on our best face every time we saw each other.

What got you started on cooking?

I grew up in a family with roots in the rural South. Growing, cooking, and eating local, seasonal, sustainable food was just a part of our family’s ethos. That provided a foundation for my interest in cooking, but it was wanting to be a part of the food justice movement that got me moving. 

“Cooking is just one more opportunity to weave mindfulness into my life—along with showering, brushing my teeth, making my bed.”

I went to culinary school with the express goal of getting skills so I could do the work. After that, I founded b-healthy, a five-year initiative that used cooking as a way to politicize young people.

Do you see cooking as a mindfulness practice?

Definitely, which is part of what makes it a challenge. For me, mindful cooking starts with being very attentive to the ingredients I’m using—as much as possible sourcing ingredients locally and making most things from scratch, including toasting the spices and grinding them as opposed to using pre-ground spices. It means taking my time and being mindful when I’m washing, cutting, and sautéing vegetables—being really present with the whole process, not letting my mind wander. This is the only thing that’s happening right now. 

The shadow side of that level of mindfulness is that it’s very labor intensive. I cannot rush and cook, which makes it a much more protracted process than if I were taking shortcuts to get the meal on the table. Even though it’s hard work and I may not be as passionate as I was in the early days, there are times when I get lots of joy making a meal for my family. 

A couple of days ago I made a dish—slow cooking gigante white beans in a tomato-based sauce and then baking them—that we’ve been eating for days. I made the stock from scratch. I soaked the beans. I went to the farmer’s market to get alliums and celery, and I found some really good stewed tomatoes that one stand had from last season. So good!

Cooking is just one more opportunity to weave mindfulness into my life—along with showering, brushing my teeth, making my bed. This keeps me disciplined and honest. I tell my daughters, how you do anything is how you do everything.

Why is community important?

Intentional community has always been paramount to me. It’s a place where practice and politics come together. Capitalism so often makes us feel we have to do things individually, yet we will get much further if we address our societal ills and structural barriers in community.

We can feed ourselves better in community, whether it’s growing food together or cooking together—especially if we’re doing things in bulk that we can share. We can build community around the table, connecting and exchanging and getting to know each other. That’s been a thread throughout my work—how we can lean on each other to push back against our industrialized food system and other systems designed to exploit and harm us. We can’t do it alone.

Why do you say that if we can fix the problems in communities where people are living at the furthest margins, there will be a ripple effect whereby others are positively impacted?

Lack of food access—as a result of economic, geographic, physical barriers to obtaining healthy, fresh, affordable food—is simply one indicator of material deprivation.

 Most often the communities dealing with food apartheid are also the ones contending with environmental racism, where there are industries adjacent to or inside the communities poisoning the air, water, or soil; crumbling infrastructure; segregated, underfunded schools; overpolicing, and so on. 

When communities like these are made whole, that’s a positive step toward making all communities whole. It’s not the trickle-down effect; it’s the trickle-up effect. 

The tendency to pathologize people in marginalized communities fails to recognize that structural inequalities have created this reality. As much as some people may want to eat more healthfully, it’s challenging for them to get fresh food. As much as people might want to be more physically active, it can be hard to find safe green space and adequate recreational facilities. 

Knowing there are so many forces bigger than individuals’ desire to see a different reality, we need to organize, strategize, and work toward change. All hands lifting makes the load lighter. What keeps me hopeful is that I’ve seen so many shifts and so much growth over the past two decades that I know we’re moving the needle. We just have to continue.

How do you show people that they can make healthy food that is also delicious? 

Modeling. People have ideas around eating healthfully that may not be fully accurate, so I’m hesitant to use that phrase because it can mean so many things for so many different communities and people. I’m focused on people disinvesting from the industrialized, standard American diet. I like to show people that food made from scratch, devoid of animal products, can be delicious and satisfying. 

When people have those experiences, it makes them curious. It allows them to understand there can be a different reality, and it’s a lot easier than they might imagine. That’s why cookbooks have been such an important part of my overall approach. They give people the blueprint for fundamental skills they need to take care of themselves and their families.

Get three delicious vegan recipes by Bryant Terry here.

The post Good Food: A Q&A with Chef Bryant Terry appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post <div>Good Food: A Q&A with Chef Bryant Terry</div> appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.

In the family of care and concern, sympathy, empathy, and compassion are kin. Like relatives, these virtues may grow alongside each other, offering their unique perspectives on and responses to the human condition. While the three attributes are connected, it’s helpful to understand how they differ. Sympathy resides in our thoughts. Empathy inhabits our feelings and physical bodies. Compassion moves the heart to action.

The goddess Guanyin, “She Who Hears the Cries of the World,” is the Buddhist embodiment of these virtues. She’s sometimes depicted with a thousand arms and an eye in the palm of each hand—at the ready to see suffering, face it, embrace it, and dispel it. It’s important to have a clear understanding of the qualities Guanyin personifies so we may be inspired by them, use them to fine-tune our hearts and minds, and infuse our movements in the world with  loving-kindness.

It’s also important to understand what in Buddhist terms is called the “near enemies” of these virtues—qualities that resemble, but actually impede them. I like to think of these near enemies as the shadow sides of these illuminating virtues, as they darken them. We need to know what diminishes the light and obscures our sight so, like Guanyin, we can come to see ourselves and the world more clearly.

Sympathy is an understanding of someone else’s misfortune. At a time of so much suffering in the world, sympathy is essential; without it we run the risk of descending into selfishness, indifference, and greater despair. When we sympathize with others, it is possible to recognize their humanity—our common humanity. However, the near enemy of sympathy is pity. It has us hold others at arm’s length, feeling somehow superior to them, emphasizing their suffering rather than their agency and resilience. Sympathy’s shadow is detached, judgmental; it takes little responsibility for assisting those in need and bears little resemblance to Guanyin’s embrace.

Empathy sprouts from the same root as sympathy—the Greek word pathos, which means suffering or feeling. However, empathy moves beyond sympathy because it involves the ability to share viscerally in someone else’s experience; to feel their joy or their pain as if it were your own. In fact, we recruit similar parts of our brains when we experience our own emotions as we do when we witness the emotions of others. When we’re empathic, we have put ourselves “in their shoes,” and also in their brains.

Yet being in another’s shoes or brain can lead us to feel overwhelmed. When confronted with the suffering of mass shootings or masses of unhoused people living on our streets, we might simply shut down because the problem seems too intractable, too big to bear, impossible to hold with even a thousand arms. Empathy in this form becomes a barrier to action. It can paralyze us.

There are other shadows that darken empathy. We humans have the tendency to feel deeply for the suffering of members of our own group, while at the same time being afflicted by a strong in-group/out-group bias. Empathy for “our own” can justify denial of or even violence against “the other.” This “us vs. them” mentality is the nefarious basis of the ills and isms that plague humanity and the planet, including colonialism, genocide, violence, oppression in all its forms, war, religious persecution, and the degradation of the natural world. As the humanitarian doctor Paul Farmer asserts, “The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that’s wrong with the world.”

Compassion extends beyond sympathy and empathy. It involves deep feeling plus wise action. It’s described as the “quivering of the heart” in response to another’s suffering and the movement toward alleviating that suffering. Compassion shares shadow sides with sympathy and empathy—pity and paralysis. But when compassion takes the form of meaningful action, it can counter the feeling of being overwhelmed because it allows us to channel our feelings into a concrete way of expressing solidarity and support for those in need.

There’s a Buddhist story that shines a light on sympathy, empathy, and compassion. In this story, a woman named Kisagotami has a beloved only child—an infant son—who dies suddenly. She goes mad with grief and carries the lifeless body of her child through the village, wildly beseeching her neighbors to give her the medicine that will revive him. All know that no such medicine exists and are at a loss to help her—some pity her and try to talk sense into her to no avail; others empathize but then shut their doors to her because her raw pain is too much for them to bear.

Finally, a compassionate wise elder sends Kisagotami to see the Buddha, who tells her he can give her medicine, but only after she brings back a handful of mustard seeds from a home that has experienced no death. So Kisagotami sets out again, moving from house to house. She can’t, however, find anyone who can help her, because people in every house have endured a devastating loss—of a parent, child, spouse, or beloved.

As night falls, Kisagotami’s understanding dawns. She goes into the forest to bury her son and then returns to the Buddha, brought to her senses by the power of the compassion she feels for her neighbors and herself. She understands that her grief is not unique, that she’s in the good company of all those who have also loved and lost. She understands the reality of our interconnectedness and finds solace in our shared humanity.

I recognize Kisagotami’s story from my own life. Years ago, pregnant with a baby boy, I was at the midwife’s office, when I suddenly heard a loud wailing coming from the room next door. The sounds of lamentation were like nothing I’d ever heard before—raw, primal, agonized, agonizing. My midwife rushed out of the room. When she returned a long while later, eyes red, she explained that the cries were from another patient, a mother who’d recently had a stillbirth and was back for her postpartum exam. My mind reeled; I was stunned into silence. Such a thing could happen? Could such a thing happen to me?

I walked out of the office in a daze, into the too-bright sun of the parking lot. Just steps ahead was the mother, leaning heavily on the arm of her partner, weeping, limping to their car. I clutched the arm of my own partner, feeling the dead weight of the mother’s pain in my own body. But I was overwhelmed by her anguish and felt myself recoiling. Like the villagers who closed their doors to Kisagotami, I felt the shadow side of empathy fall over me like a chill. I got into my car and shut the door to her cries. I was sympathetic to her, but I thought of her as completely different from me. My baby was healthy; my pregnancy was fine; what happened to her would never happen to me.

But months later, out of the blue, like being struck by a truck, it did happen. Unfathomably, I, too, had a stillbirth. My cries joined the chorus of cries heard by Guanyin. Over the course of those dark nights, mercifully held in the compassionate embrace of friends and family, I was able to open my heart to bereaved mothers and broken-hearted people the world over, from time immemorial to times yet to come. The following year, while I was holding my baby girl born just days before, an old friend called with the wrenching news of his wife’s stillbirth. With my two arms, I reached out across the distance to embrace them.

In the face of the suffering we’re exposed to each day—in our own and others’ lives—may we cultivate the qualities of sympathy, empathy, and compassion to do our part to alleviate the suffering of this world without turning away, without shutting anyone out.

The post Hands of Compassion appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

The post Hands of Compassion appeared first on The Urban Mindfulness Foundation.