Susan Piver

What I Believe (About You)

2013-05-02T18:22:53-04:00

A show of hands, please. What do you believe in? What are your values? What do you believe is at the heart of human nature?

What kind of world do you want to live in?

Here is what I say.

There are more people who want to act out love than hate.

There are more people who are neither red nor blue, no matter where they live.

There are way more people who are not fundamentalist than those who are.

There are more people who prize the values of tolerance, openness, and friendship over money, consumerism, and dogma.

There are more people who want our leaders and institutions to make the health and safety of our bodies and our planet their first priority than there are those who want to pillage both for their own benefit.

There are more of us who are willing to make some sacrifices for the greater good than those who believe we are in this alone.

We stand by the principle that all persons have the right to choose their own belief system as long as it does not include violence against others.

We hold achievement and abundance as high priorities, but not at the expense of family, friendship, love, joy, raising healthy children, and the creation of a world of opportunity for all.

These -- family, love, self-expression, creating goodness for ourselves and others, and tolerance -- are the true American values. Beyond this, they are human values.

We want to restore sanity to our systems of governance, education, and commerce. We can do it because wherever lives a person who wants to abuse or kill others, thousands who don't also live in the same place.

For every businessperson who lines his or her pockets at the expense of others (or even of our very planet), there are five who give back.

For every self-interested, disingenuous politician, there are 10 who would take elective office for the greater good.

And for every cynic who believes that power-grabbing and violence are simply human nature, that any person in position of power or influence would turn on his fellow man, I say there are a million who try to do otherwise everyday. I am one. You are too.

A show of hands, please.

For more by Susan Piver, click here.

For more on wisdom, click here.

The Boston Marathon: One Buddhist's Response to the Unthinkable

2013-04-24T16:51:36-04:00

It has been quite a week here in Boston and everywhere, truthfully. The events of the Boston Marathon and beyond have been staggeringly painful, tragic, surreal, and difficult to even believe.

No one can make it less painful, tragic, or surreal -- but we can make it more believable. At such a time, finding a way to connect to this event, horrific though it is, is of the utmost importance. Otherwise it is all conceptual. Conceptuality is the gateway to non-humanity. When we see others as concepts rather than humans, we become capable of great violence.

When we watch the news, we get far more than reportage. We get storytelling. I'm not saying that journalists are lying (on purpose), but nonetheless, anything beyond, well, reporting what has, is, and may happen is a story. Journalists find it necessary to attach a narrative through-line to current events. If the purpose is to keep us paying attention or is an effort to make the insensible sensible, I do not know. But whether an outlet is right-wing, left-wing, or no-wing, we find ourselves in possession of a story ("disgruntled Muslim extremist creates bomb to prove point, younger brother helps," "Boston is a tough town, they'll get by," "Saudi national arrested,"and so on). I'm not saying that these statements are false (or true). I'm simply saying that those who make them may not actually know whereof they speak.

It all came nauseatingly home when, on April 16, one day after the bombing, a very calm and steely-eyed Anderson Cooper of CNN looked right into the camera and talked about how hard-nosed, no-nonsense Bostonians take care of their own (or something to that effect) as his segment wound to a dramatic close. I thought, he has no idea what he is talking about. He just made that up. I live here. Yes, some of us are hard-nosed and take care of our own. Some of us are softies who run away. Most of us do all of the above at various points in time. I truly believe that citizens of all stripes would react with the courage and kindness shown by Bostonians and marathoners. Why do we need to make a movie of our every reality? It is always much more complex than any narrative could convey.

The danger of opting for the storyline over a more complex and present truth is this: When we make up stories, we create an alternate reality. Rather than looking at our situation straight in the eye, we look at it from behind a protective lens that can reflect to us heroes, villains, victims, perpetrators, bystanders, and fools. We are hiding from the rawness of the situation.
When we do so, we also hide from our own hearts and thus from each other.

What we need now more than anything is to connect, human to human, to support each other through grief, pain, and rage, and, above all, above all, keep the situation on a human scale rather than a fictionalized one. It is only through this kind of heart-opening that we can prevent such things from happening again.

I'm not saying I know the solution to political or social problems. I most assuredly do not. But what I do know is this: If we could each agree to look at our heart's reaction first, and through the lens of journalists, pundits, experts, politicians, and well-meaning friends second, we would be creating the circumstances of a good human society, one that we can view with complexity and confusion, delight and terror -- and where we relate to one another rather than images of one another. When we choose image over humanity, as mentioned, we create a very dangerous situation. It's easy to bomb an image. A human, not so much.

Of course, like almost everyone, I was glued to the news on April 15 and 16. The marathon finish line is about a mile or so from our home. Everything I saw on the news was happening right down the street, although in my home all was quiet and normal. How could this be? I couldn't tolerate the dichotomy. So on April 16, I found myself walking through the Back Bay of Boston as close as I could to the marathon finish line. Newbury Street parallels Boylston Street (where the bombings took place) and so I walked from the top of Newbury to the bottom where it ends in the Public Garden, glimpsing Boylston Street at every corner. I just wanted to feel the cement under my feet, smell the air, look at the people, feel the vibe, take it in. I don't really know why. Other people were walking, too. We looked at each other and said hello. Every time I passed a person in uniform, I said, "thank you."

As I walked, I remembered another walk I took that was oddly similar. On September 12, 2001, I was driving from Washington to Boston. I had been scheduled for a book signing at the Borders in the World Trade Center on that day. As I passed the exit for the Tappan Zee Bridge, I found myself veering off to take it. I drove into downtown Manhattan and parked around Union Square. I walked south toward Houston Street, which was as far as pedestrians were allowed to go. The air was so heavy. Many, many others were out walking, too. We looked at each other. We said hello. Every time I passed anyone in uniform, I said, "thank you." Then I got in my car and drove home.

In the Buddhadharma, we talk about "three objects, three poisons, three seeds of virtue." The three objects are things we crave, despise, or choose to ignore. The three poisons are our reactions to these objects: craving, aggression, ignorance. And the three seeds of virtue are freedom from craving, aggression, ignorance.

In the face of such outrageous acts of violence, we have ample opportunity to identify these objects in our experience and feel our poisons. Thus, we also have the possibility of finding the three seeds of virtue. But how? For starters, we could turn toward our agony, hatred, and numbness. We could look at it all, say, "hello" and "thank you." This is a fantastic start.

For more by Susan Piver, click here.

For more on wisdom, click here.

Only Us: Beyond Republican and Democrat

2012-11-05T13:15:22-05:00

My name is Susan Piver and I am a writer and blogger. I have written six books and send out a newsletter twice a week to my list of nearly 10,000 subscribers. My topics include meditation, creativity, and relationships. I'm fortunate to have an active, caring audience and when I upload a post, it may get 10 to 100 comments, depending on the topic. Most of the comments, if I may say, are some expression of gratitude because the reader has found this work useful. Occasionally, of course, someone will really disagree with me. Comments such as, "I can't believe you think something so strange, but to each his own," or "This post is misleading, please be more responsible in the future," are not unheard of. Being called a "self-absorbed navel-gazer" (which is probably true) is considered a vicious insult on my site.

However, a post I wrote on May 2, 2011 (which also ran on this site) went viral and garnered thousands of comments, many of which were filled with vitriol and ridicule. "You are destroying our country, you f**king idiot," "If you spent one day in the real world, you would probably get killed -- good riddance." And my favorite: "If these baboons had gotten their hands on nuclear weapons -- you wouldn't be sitting at your pretty little Mac going on about how conflicted you are." (I am a Mac user -- how did they know?!)

The post in question was called "Compassion for our Enemies." It was published the day Osama bin Laden was killed.

In it, I thought I was being very clear that my argument was not with bin Laden's assassination but with our reaction to it -- that if we treated it as some kind of touchdown boo-yah moment, we were strengthening the conditions that lead to more death and destruction, our own or others'. As we hold our victory with a sense of vengefulness, we create such vengefulness in our enemy. Thus it behooves us to actually care about them. In fact, there is no "them." There is only "us." Apparently, this was an incendiary and absurd position to take.

Now it is election season in the U.S. It is almost impossible to avoid us-and-them thinking. The truth is, I want my candidate to win so badly. Anyone who wants the other candidate frightens me. They feel the same about me.

Half the people in our beloved country are saying about the other half, "How can anyone possibly think that way?" and "Those people are going to be the ruination of us." We are pitted against each other, brother against brother. One side sees the other as socialist, elitist, un-American snobs who are at the very least utterly deluded -- or as ignorant, fundamentalist, uneducated hicks who are at the very least utterly deluded. Each side can come up with charts and graphs to demonstrate its own truths, beyond question.

Many (but not all) of our politicians encourage us to see each other in these ways, and bank on our votes to be based on fear and ridicule rather than belief and devotion to country. They hope to win by causing us to fear, doubt, and dehumanize each other.

We do not have to do this.

When one side wins the election on November 6, the other side will lose. That's just the way it is, and I have no problem with that. We're not always going to agree with each other. But it is our reaction to each other at the point of winning or losing that spells out our future more so than any policies of the winning side.

Right now, we have a chance to take a view that is so much larger than Obama or Romney, Us or Them, My Way or The Highway. Without budging an inch in what we believe and whom we support, we could take a moment, just a millisecond, to imagine that the "other" side feels as much passion, despair, longing, and fear about the election as we do. We could care about each other, American to American.

As winners, we could seek ways to include the losers as we go forward rather than further ostracize them. As losers, we could redouble our efforts to fight for what we believe in from a sense of love for this country rather than hatred for the victors.

In these attitude shifts, even if we can only hold onto them for a moment, everything is possible. We could at least try.

When I touch in with the "truth" of my position, I feel hard and unforgiving. I hate other people. I find that I have enemies. When I touch in with my longing for our country to be a haven for goodness, decency, and tolerance, I feel sad. I see this sadness in everyone. I find that I have fellow travelers.

There is a Native American parable that goes something like this:

A Cherokee chief was teaching a young man about life. "There is a fight going on inside of me," he said. "There are two wolves. One is full of rage, vengefulness, jealousy, and hate. The other is full of kindness, wisdom, and humility." "Which wolf will win?" wondered the young man. "The one I feed," said the old chief.

When we choose to nourish wolf number two, we are not simply choosing what is righteous or morally superior. We are choosing the only path that leads to the kind of world we all want to live in, one where people are kind to each other, help out in times of need, celebrate victories and mourn losses with a sense of humbleness, and maintain a powerful sense of inner balance that enables us to hold these qualities through good times and bad.

You might wonder to yourself, but how can I be this open and generous in a world that is not? Well, somebody has got to go first. I vote for you.

"When two great forces oppose each other,
the victory will go
to the one that knows how to yield."
-- Lao Tzu

For more by Susan Piver, click here.

For more on emotional wellness, click here.

Anticipatory Dread: Stop Putting Things Off

2012-05-13T09:00:00-04:00

This past weekend, I was teaching at the Providence, R.I., Shambhala Center. We spent the entire time talking about fearlessness -- what it was, how fear maintains its grip on us, how to loosen it, and how to manifest fearlessness in our lives. My final talk was on confidence, and it was meant to be a culmination of the entire program.

As I prepared, I thought about my own plentiful experiences with fear and doubt. What right did I actually have to discuss such a topic? How could I find something genuine to say that wasn't merely parroting what I had been taught without any inner connection to the teaching? The more I thought about what I could say that would be true and honest, the more anxious I became. I pictured myself flubbing the whole thing, confusing my students, dishonoring the dharma. I could feel my heart start to pound and my shoulders tighten.

That is when the teaching came clear to me. The opposite of confidence is nothing other than anxiety. Anxiety arises when? Not in giving the talk, but when I was thinking about giving the talk. I'm not saying there was nothing to worry about, but I am saying that my anxiety occurred the moment my mind and body separated, i.e., my body was sitting at my table preparing a talk while my mind had raced ahead a few hours to preview my certain humiliation.

The principle works like this. Have you ever had to have a really difficult conversation with someone, something so potentially upsetting that you put it off and put it off? The longer you wait, the more nervous you become and the more reasons you come up with to delay yet again. This has certainly happened to me and, interestingly, the moment I decide, "That's it, I'm jumping in" -- and sit down to face the person -- something amazing happens. My anxiety recedes. I'm not saying it feels good or easy, but all of that stomach-gnawing, brain-racing, nerve-shaking anticipatory dread recedes. Of course. My mind and body are synchronized. They are doing the same thing at the same time.

We all do things that require synchronization of mind and body, from cooking, to driving, to yoga, to making out. These are things that require your mind to be on what you're doing, sometimes with great delight. We tend to find such things relaxing, not in the take-a-nap sense, but in the refreshing, invigorating, renewing sense. That's just how we're wired -- when our mind and body are synchronized, we relax.

When our mind and body are synchronized, we are present. When we are present, the value plays out in two arenas: within ourselves (we can actually know our own minds from moment to moment) and between ourselves and others (we can read signals and connect honestly).

When we know our own minds, we can be genuine -- which is another word for confident. When we can trust ourselves to interact intelligently with others, there is nothing to fear in reaching out to our fellow humans. We can be open, which is also another word for confident.

And where does all of this good stuff come from? From the synchronization of mind and body, which comes from, you guessed it, your meditation practice. Please know that as we sit together and train our minds to rest on breath, we are doing nothing more or less than sowing the seeds of primordial confidence.

So the next time you face certain anxiety, check your mind. Has it raced ahead to the future or buried itself in the past? Please try to let go and return your mind to what you are experiencing right now. It's always good to begin with your body. What sensations are you experiencing? What do you feel? Turn toward your anxiety rather than away. Open to yourself without hesitation. Greet your experience. What exemplifies confidence better than this?

To learn meditation, receive ongoing support, and become part of an amazing online community of meditators, please join The Open Heart Project. When we open our hearts, we can change the world.

For more by Susan Piver, click here.

For more on becoming fearless, click here.

The Power of Lineage

2012-03-21T18:05:36-04:00

Your life is telling a story. Do you know what it is?

If you reflect, you could see that your life actually has a narrative arc. Themes keep repeating. On any ordinary day, story lines are continually rising, arcing and fading. Some are big and some are small. Although you can't see it in the moment, looking back you could see that a particular narrative is unfolding: the story of your life. The older I get, the less I try to direct this story and the more I try to get out of its way so it can tell itself. To whom? To me. Why? For its own sake.

At middle age, I am pretty clear on some of my personal themes. Independence vs. relationship. The search for a true home, always just out of reach. The longing to be seen, coupled with the longing for invisibility. The quest for insight (as opposed to, say, love or power). The main dial on the Susan Piver machine is set to "know." That's just me. It's not good, it's not bad -- but it is thematic. Where the story is heading, I have no idea.

What story is your life trying to tell you? Contemplating where you came from -- your lineages -- can tell you something about the nature of your unique personal story.

There are beings or ideas to whom you feel connected, whether through blood, religion, culture or character. These beings or ideas are your lineage. Perhaps you count yourself as part of the lineage of Eastern European Jews or Chapatti makers of India. Maybe you see yourself as of the lineage of Italian-Americans or devotional Christians or devout atheists. On an inner level, you may identify as part of the lineage of mothers or fathers, lovers, poets, seekers, change agents, survivors of trauma, activists, gardeners or of those who have no lineage. You belong somewhere. You belong to someone, even if it is to those who also belong nowhere.

At your times of greatest need, your lineage can rescue you -- not from sadness or grief, but from loneliness. Someone beside you can feel or has felt what you feel, has an interest in your story, longs for your freedom. I'm not saying this in any woo-woo way, like there are ghosts or angels all around trying to bless you. I'm not saying there aren't, either. I really don't know. All I know is that when I have sought guidance and support for my deepest questions and concerns, these beings or ideas are always there for me. When I read certain words, contemplate certain lives or join with others who share my lineage(s), I learn what I need to learn. I find comfort. I find the support I need to take my inquiries deeper. For me, this is all I want.

In Buddhist thought, when you are part of a lineage it is said that you "hold" that lineage. This is beyond simple admiration and respect, but a recognition that you have been entered into a tribe. As tribe members, certain benefits and responsibilities accrue. When you hold a lineage, for example, you could find refuge at your most confused moments. In your words and deeds, you could think that you represent more than yourself. In these ways, you are not alone.

It is all so incredibly intimate. The only one who has any idea of what your true lineages are and how you can best serve them is you.

During my darkest moments, I blunder around in search of the embrace of lineage. "Are you here? Are you here? I need you because I cannot see the sense of this life, of this world. Please let me see you or feel you," I say to those I have identified as my lineage holders, to my parents, grandmothers and grandfathers, to Rainer Maria Rilke and Muddy Waters, to Marpa, Manjushri and Sarasvati, Shiwa Okar and Sakyong Mipham. "Do you know me?" I have no idea, not in the moment. But when I look back on the way my life has unfolded, I see only proof of their presence. Together, we are authoring a story and together, somehow, in some lifetime, we will conclude it by liberating it into pure space.

It has been said that prayer is when we ask things of the divine and meditation is where we gather the answers. As founder of The Open Heart Project (a virtual meditation community of more than 4,000 members), I suggest to my students that they could view meditation practice as both a very straightforward cultivation of mindfulness and awareness and as a chance to connect with lineage. If the notion of lineage holds appeal for you, you could try this: Before you begin your meditation, take a moment to acknowledge the lineages of your heart. Think of the beings or ideas you most admire or have benefitted from, whether in person or in your thoughts. Name them to yourself. Ask them to bless you, whatever this means to you. Imagine them sitting with you, to your left and to your right. Feel that you practice together. At the end of your practice, thank them.

And know this. We are definitely alone in this world. Truth. And companions are all around. As you go about this day, tune in to those moments when you feel accompanied as well as to those moments when you might accompany another, whether by word, deed or a simple shared glance. Some shared moments are between you and another person, but sometimes they arise between you and yourself (when you suddenly "get" something), or between you and the world (when you are touched by its beauty or sorrow). When you look, you see that companionship is everywhere. For this, in part, we can thank our lineages.

Who or what are your lineages?

For more by Susan Piver, click here.

For more on mindfulness, click here.

For more on wisdom, click here.

The Power of Sorrow

2012-03-14T07:00:33-04:00

As founder of The Open Heart Project, a virtual meditation community with more than 4,000 members, I often hear questions about the increased sense of vulnerability that can arise with a steady meditation practice. I don't know if you have noticed this about your meditation practice, but one thing that many report is a kind of softening -- to their own experience, perhaps, but also to the world around them. There is a sense of permeability, of walking down the street and receiving input in a more direct way than before.

When you see a yellow daffodil poking up through the hard earth, you are struck by the delight of yellowness and touched by freshness. It is non-conceptual and immediate.

When you see the look of fatigue on the face of a saleswoman, the fatigue seems to momentarily seep into your own bones.

When you see a family reunited at the airport, tears of joy spring to your own eyes.

When something sad happens to you or someone you love, you feel it completely.

Somehow, you are becoming both more resilient and gentler.

Without both of these qualities, you cannot accomplish much. You cannot offer your heart. You cannot love or be loved. You cannot connect with your own creativity. You can't see the next steps along your unique path; your own destiny is a blur.

To be a warrior in this world, this kind of opening is necessary. However, one thing I have noticed in my own practice is that the more I cultivate this combination of strength and softness (aka compassion), the more I, well, sob. When you open up, everything can come in -- not just what you desire and respect and long for, but also what you dread, reject and find absolutely unworkable. The more you practice, the more joy you feel -- and the more sadness.

Several years ago, I was at a program, studying with my teacher, Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche. He gave a talk on cultivating compassion and then asked for questions. I got up and went to the mic and, in front of 200+ people, began to cry. I said, "the more I practice meditation, the more I cry," as if this needed saying. "This can't be the desired outcome. What am I doing wrong?" I couldn't imagine the world's exemplars of compassion like, say, the Dalai Lama, going to his room at the end of the day and just wailing. What was he doing that I was not?

Sakyong Mipham looked at me with a lot of tenderness and said, "You know, some of the world's greatest meditators have cried a lot." In that moment, I saw and felt the tears of those I hold in the highest esteem, like the Dalai Lama, like Sakyong Mipham, and that somehow these tears did not mean I had lost my way, but in fact they were the way. The discovery and expression of our deepest humanity is inseparable from our ability to be compassionate, wise, and powerful.

So as you practice meditation, please try to remember that you are cultivating a kind of indestructible resilience, the ability to always return to balance. Thus you can afford to open, further and further. This is what is meant by softness. Without strength, your softness is a kind of wimpiness and without softness, your strength is mere aggression.

Luckily, in our practice, we cultivate both simultaneously.

For more by Susan Piver, click here.

For more on meditation, click here.

Meditation, Relaxation And The Self-Help Demon

2012-02-29T09:50:56-05:00

Every now and then, I see ads for meditation that describe things like shortcuts and fast tracks, which are often numbered and qualified, as in: "Meditation: 5 Steps to Easy-Peasy Peace" or "Meditation: Bliss in Just 3 Minutes a Day" and such.

I've been meditating for about 15 years and teaching for five. I've spent countless hours on the cushion and a significant percentage of that time was definitely spent looking for shortcuts and, hey, I'm not stupid. If there was one to be found, I think I would have stumbled upon it. No luck. (At least, not yet.)

Maybe it's my objective in meditation that is the problem. As I've been taught, the aim is not peace, nor is it bliss. It is to wake up. Another way of saying this is that the aim is to have no aim whatsoever but to relax completely. Absolutely. At this point, awakening is discovered rather than manufactured, and suffering ends. The advice to stop, slow down, look within and allow for both your brilliance and your brokenness flies in the face of conventional self-help. Self-help is not about relaxing with yourself exactly as you are. Meditation is.

Somehow, though, the idea of relaxation has become synonymous with spacing out. This is not what is meant. As founder of The Open Heart Project (a virtual meditation community of over 4,000 members), I've seen that basically every student I encounter has to be taught how to relax. It does not come easily to anyone, myself included.

What most of us do to relax is some version of corpse pose on the couch, remote in hand, staring, clicking, clicking, staring. There's nothing wrong with this--until you try some alternate form of relaxation (say, going on vacation or lying on the couch to read) and you find it impossible. You're too antsy. You start thinking about dinner and jump up to begin chopping vegetables. Or you think, let me put in one more load of laundry or answer that email that's been bugging me or wipe down the outside of the refrigerator or take out the trash or revise the last chapter of my book or find a cure for cancer. (You get the idea.) Hey, we should all chop our veggies in a timely manner and have smudge-free fridges and cures for cancer and whatnot. But let me suggest that we have become so egregiously task-oriented that we are in danger of forgetting how to relax altogether.

Somehow, we have convinced ourselves that we are so broken that a full-on 24/7 surge of endless, repetitive and unflagging attention to our failings--or, if not our failings, to our "opportunities"--is called for. I would like to tell you something my friend Patti Digh says: You are not broken and you do not need to be fixed.

However, it turns out that this is a thousand times more threatening than the notion of having flaws that could, with enough attention, willpower and courage, be abolished. My friends, this is a setup. Here is how I know that. Whenever I have been diligent/lucky enough to actually achieve something wonderful, be it the publication of a book, a repaired friendship or the eradication of gluten, as I sense that my accomplishment nears, all pleasure diminishes. It wasn't enough. I could have done it better, faster, smarter. By the time I cross the finish line, it is a non-event and I've already moved on to tormenting myself about the next unmet aspiration or fatal flaw.

I've asked my students: What do you think would happen if just for one hour, you stopped trying so hard? What they say is so recognizable to me and also so sad. They say, "I'm afraid everything would fall apart." As if our lives were held together by spit and yellowing tape. We walk around with the sense that the whole situation is just so tenuous and if we rest even for a moment, it will break apart. (This is not so. Your brilliance and goodness are indestructible.)

At such a point, many people turn to meditation. This is a very dicey situation. Meditation will not de-stress you, particularly. Well, it will, but not if we apply our usual strategies to it. If we meditate as a self-improvement tactic it doesn't work, because meditation is not a strategy. It is not even a skill. It is your natural state. When you try to find your natural state, it is akin to trying to get your eyeball to look at itself. A), it's impossible and B), it's a waste of time.

Because it has become oddly difficult and even frightening, allowing yourself to truly relax is an act of courage. I don't know how so many of us got to this place, where letting go and resting has become more challenging than cranking up and doing, doing, doing--but we have. Get-it-done-fast meditation methods actually feed into this and if you approach your practice as a to-do list item, it will simply become another whip used to spur yourself onward toward, well, more spurring onward. Someone has got to stop the madness and right now, I am voting for you.

In a very real sense, meditation is the practice of relaxing, nothing more and nothing less. From this relaxation springs joy, creativity and clarity. It arises with cessation of effort which, after all, is the very definition of relaxation to begin with.

As you approach your practice on this or any other day, please do so by relaxing in the beginning, relaxing in the middle and relaxing in the end. Here, relaxing doesn't mean flopping down or giving up or anything messy and inelegant. It simply means to allow. When you are antsy, allow antsiness. When you are peaceful, allow peacefulness. When painful emotions arise, you could cry and when you tell yourself a joke, you could laugh.

Perhaps most important of all, when you are bored, please allow for this slightly uncomfortable and spacy/speedy state of mind. It is actually a really good one. It means that for the moment you are giving up on entertaining yourself, whether it is by reality TV, mentally replaying old arguments/love affairs or trying to get your meditation practice to perform for you. This is a fantastic, brilliant beginning. Kudos. For the practitioner who has the courage to relax, the self-help demon has no use.

For more by Susan Piver, click here.

For more on meditation, click here.

New Year's Resolution Revamp

2011-12-22T11:16:59-05:00

The last two weeks of December are among my very favorite of the year because it is a natural time for turning inward, taking stock, envisioning the future and so on.

I don't know about you, but I've spent many a late December making long lists of goals to achieve (Write more! TV less!) and personal qualities to cultivate (More patient! Less self-centered!). None of my goals were bad or wrong, and my vision of the kind of person I wanted to be was someone good and kind. But at the end of each year, I always seemed to have the same resolutions so obviously just writing them down and wishing really, really hard for them to come true wasn't getting it. It also did not seem helpful to imagine/visualize the outcomes I desired. Doing so just seemed to make me more anxious. It seemed so fake.

The goals themselves were not the problem, it was the way I set about accomplishing them. What to do? In pondering all of this (while also being a Buddhist teacher), I've begun approaching my end-of-the-year musings in a different way, one that enables me to hold my aspirations with a sense of confidence and ease, in part because it is simply more effective and in part because this new approach helps me relax with what I desire rather than become consumed by it.

So I have two suggestions for making new year's resolutions in such a way that they become a part of your spiritual practice rather than an exercise in wishful thinking and self-aggression.

The first is to stop making lists of hoped-for accomplishments.

Instead of writing down "exercise more" (always, always on my list) or "become enlightened" (ditto), I try to spend some time in these last weeks of the year feeling what I wish to become.

For example, one thing I always long for is more energy, greater vitality. But rather than hoping to somehow become that person in the future, I experiment with becoming that person right now by becoming her on the inside -- for a moment. I don't have to change anything about my self or my life to do this.

For example, if I ask you right now to flash on what it would feel like to have all the energy in the world, you can do that, right? Just flash. Don't try to hold on. Don't try to build a story about how to get that way or why you can never be that way -- just be that way. For a second. Then let go.

This is a great start.

Now, as you go about your day, when you notice someone or something that embodies the energy you desire, feel it too. Communicate with it. Take it in. You may have caught a glimpse of gymnastics on TV, noticed a fresh bloom on a houseplant or eaten a just-ripe Granny Smith apple -- these are all things that to me would conjure the quality of energy I seek. In such moments, I could take into myself the grace and strength of the gymnast, the spurt of a blossom or the sharpness of an apple. Again, it all happens in a flash.

Then, most important: let go. Stop thinking about it until it again naturally arises in your environment. In this way, rather than writing down an aspiration, we create an ongoing relationship to it by attuning to the presence of what we seek in our environment. We connect with its energy on the spot and build a non-conceptual bridge to our destination.

Try it. Attune. Notice. Absorb. Let go. For me, this is way better than incessantly talking to myself in my own head about who I wish I was.

The second possibility for giving your resolutions power and possibility is to expand them to include others.

Something wonderful and important happens when we expand the field of our yearning to include others. When we wish for our own happiness, we could also wish for the happiness of those we love, of strangers and even, get ready for it, of our enemies. Hey, if everyone could find peace, love and safety (after all, this is what motivates ALL of us), we would live in a thoroughly blessed world.

So with the example of wanting to possess more energy, you could find a way to tack on the wish that all beings that long for more energy could also find it. That together, somehow, all the beings who wish for greater vitality, whether young or old, seen or unseen, human or animal, could find it. Expand your wish and remember: "all beings" includes you. (I often forget that.)

It is great to spend time rousing aspirations for our lives. When we also rouse aspirations for others, the power of our wish is multiplied. The exercise gains a transcendent dimension. And hey, let's face it, when it comes to making new year's resolutions, we could all use a bit of transcendent support!

There is special mojo in these transitional weeks in late December and if you choose to self-reflect during this time, I think you'll find it to be extra powerful.

And of course, a meditation practice will provide tremendous support. It teaches you how to place your attention where you choose and at the same time somehow expands your heart beyond what you thought possible until, quite naturally, you find there is space for all beings.

If you want to give meditation practice a try, please sign up for The Open Heart Project to receive meditation instruction and support via email. Free.

Overcoming Anxiety Through Kindness and Meditation

2011-11-23T09:56:00-05:00

Recently, a member of the Open Heart Project wrote asking if I knew of any meditations for dealing with anxiety and this really started me thinking. I struggle with anxiety myself and it has been through attempting to apply the dharma to my own experiences that I have come to see its extraordinary applicability. As such, I have several suggestions to make. They are all predicated on having some kind of moment-to-moment, non-conceptual relationship with your own mind and heart, so a meditation practice is pretty much irreplaceable.

About 10 years ago, out of the blue, I started having panic attacks. When I say out of the blue, I mean out of the blue. They began when I was sitting on a plane about to fly from Boston to Denver. I have flown all over the world. I used to have a job that required me to fly to Europe frequently and I've lived outside of the U.S. Never been a problem -- until this particular date when I took my seat on a United flight, strapped on my seat belt and began to sob and shake uncontrollably. My mouth went dry. My palms began to sweat. My heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest and adrenaline flooded my belly. It was as if my life had been threatened by a force of terrifying and unrelenting evil. (Some may think that's not a bad description of United Airlines in general, but that's another story.) I had no idea what was going on, only that I Had. To. Get. Off. That. Plane.

And so I did.

I tried to get on the next flight. Same thing. Uncontrollable terror. I got off again. This time I thought, "I'll get drunk. I don't really drink very often so it shouldn't be difficult." Au contraire. I had too much adrenaline in my system to get drunk. Three double tequila shots later, I sat on the floor by my gate stone cold sober with a splitting headache. Yes, I was in a fight or flight situation, but I could not fight, nor could I fly. I went home. Thus I discovered I had been stricken with a wicked case of claustrophobia.

The next morning, armed with Valium, I boarded a new flight to Denver. Don't try this at home, but I had to take 15 mg just to stop shaking when normally a single mg would turn me into a zombie. (I have a low tolerance for, well, everything.) I sat in my seat relaxed, yes, but crying.

The flight attendant asked me if I was OK. "I'm a little claustrophobic," I said. "Would you like to speak to the captain?" she asked. Sure, I thought. Take me to your leader. In any case, out came a nice man in a uniform who looked me right in the eye, smiled broadly, gave me his hand and, as we shook hello, told me his name (Captain Denny Flanagan) and that he understood I was a little afraid to fly. I nodded, tear streaked, shaking, distraught. He said something along these lines: Well, I can tell you that we have a beautiful day for flying. We have Missy in the front and Biff in the back of the cabin (can't remember their actual names) and they are going to take great care of everyone. I promise that I am going to get you to Denver safely.

It wasn't his words that put me at ease. It was his words plus his steady gaze plus his warm handshake PLUS the unmistakable quality of sincerely caring about my well being. I felt better. About an hour into the flight, the flight attendant came to check on me and handed me a business card. It was the captain's. On the back, he had written this:

Susan -- Hope everything is going fine. If I can be of any service let me know. Thanks for your trust and belief in me. Capt. Denny Flanagan

At this point, I began to get a little panicky about leaving the plane. What could be better than to be among people who knew how to be kind? On this day, I realized that if I could get someone to be kind to me, I could work with my anxiety. So now, when I begin to panic on a plane or elevator, I say to someone nearby, I'm a little claustrophobic. Would you mind talking to me for a few moments? I promise not to bug you beyond that. I cannot begin to tell you about the kindnesses I've received. Every single person I've turned to has responded to me with some kind of generosity, be it to tell me about their own fears, to assure me that God loves me, or simply to ask me my name or where I'm from or some other form of chit chat. Each time this happens, I relax. I'm not saying that few nice words from a stranger are going to cure your phobias, but there is a principle here that is worth paying attention to.

Among other things, anxiety has to do with feeling threatened and alone. When you connect with your fellow humans in a simple and genuine way, anxiety lessens. To connect, you can take one of two routes. You can request kindness from others (as I did, blunderingly) or you can offer it to others. Just as helpful as hoping for the kindness of strangers is to notice those around you and offer your kindness to them. If you're on a plane, you could smile at and thank the flight attendant. If you're in an elevator, you could simply notice those with you and send them good wishes, silently. (Otherwise it could get a little weird.) If you're at your computer, dreading opening today's emails, make the first message you send one of care to someone, anyone. If you're unable to sleep at night because you have a worried mind, spend a few minutes wishing that all beings who suffer and can't sleep because they're afflicted with a worried mind could find relief and a peaceful rest. Expand your circle of concern to include all beings--which doesn't mean expelling yourself from that circle. After all, "all beings" includes you if I'm not mistaken.

The ability to relax with your fears long enough to consider options such as offering or receiving kindness is cultivated through your meditation practice, which teaches you to soften toward your own experience which naturally, spontaneously gives rise to the ability to soften toward others. When we live in a world of kindness, we will have the world we deserve. Thus, gentleness is your super power and the antidote to anxiety is, well, love.

And when you begin to doubt in the basic goodness of your fellow humans, please refer to the token I carry with me in my wallet, always:

Depressed? How to 'Just Cheer Up!'

2011-10-27T01:25:00-04:00

This morning I woke up with a feeling of depression. This is not unusual for me. Perhaps you can relate. I have struggled with depression for my entire life since I was a child. I really don't know why and I sort of don't really care why anymore. Nonetheless, I have had to find a way to work with it because it has bordered on being debilitating at many different points in my life.

The feeling I woke up with was very familiar: A sense of heaviness throughout my body and a sense of being held down by unseen hands pressing on crown, chest and belly. A style of mental activity that no matter where I looked in my life: my work, my relationship, bank account, home, body, the future -- it all looked bleak. Very bleak. When this happens I become anxious and want to dispel this matrix immediately. To do so, I dive into stories about how it got to be this way and how it is all my fault. True stories, I might add. I missed this opportunity. I made that wrong choice. My abilities are limited. Yes, true -- on one hand. And utterly useless on the other.

Fortunately, I am old enough and practiced enough to recognize (at some point... ) that my mind is playing a very unpleasant trick on me. Trying to nail the "story" of my depression does not change my mood. I catch myself. At this point, a number of options are possible.

There are schools of thought that suggest that the negative stories we tell ourselves are basically made up in the first place and we should make up positive ones to replace them. I've tried this. It doesn't work for me. It actually creates more confusion, especially when I'm exhorted to believe them at all costs, otherwise, when they fail, it's my fault.

What does seem to work for me is to let go of all stories and take a fresh start, moment to moment. But how?

Here are two ways of liberating ourselves from negative thought patterns. The first is to find whatever therapy or therapies work for you and then work them, work them, work them. Discover the genesis of and habitual patterns that encase such mind states. Identify the warning signs and figure out how to intercede. This is very wonderful.

The second way is to liberate each negative thought on the spot. With this second choice, meditation is very, very helpful. It trains you to observe your thoughts as they arise and make a choice about what to do with them.

For me, one of the most deceptively simple pieces of advice for working with depression was given by Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, the Tibetan meditation master who transmitted the Shambhala Buddhist teachings. It was this: "You could always just cheer up."

When I first heard that, I was kind of offended. What do you mean, "cheer up?" It sounded like what people used to tell me when I was little, a variation of "Why are you so serious?" "You're too sensitive." "Get over yourself." Stuff that used to make me really mad. But as I've considered and employed this advice over the years, I see that Trungpa Rinpoche meant something entirely different. He meant that you could always simply let go of what was plaguing you -- no matter how heavy and sorrowful -- and take a breath of fresh air. There is no moment in which this is not possible.

I've tried it countless times. When I catch myself falling into a pit of despair over ill loved ones, for example, or my finances, also suffering from illness I might add, or my inability to make my dreams manifest -- as I plummet, I say to myself, "You could always just cheer up." Amazingly, even if it's only for a moment, I do. It has nothing to do with talking myself out of what is bothering me by convincing myself that it will all be OK for this reason or that. It has nothing to do with fake-deleting negative thoughts and fake-inserting wishful thoughts, a.k.a. positive thoughts. It has to do with letting it all, all, all go and reconnecting with -- well, what would you call it? The present moment. Nowness. Space.

You could do it too. It's really simple to get the sense of how. Have you ever been in a fitness class, for example, where they tell you to tense up your shoulders... hold... hold... hold... and then release? When you do this, there is a sudden rush of clean energy. You can also do this with your mind. When you feel depressed -- or grief-stricken or angry or disappointed -- you could tune into it. Locate the feeling in your physical or emotional body, or in the environment and open to it, take its temperature, note its textures. Intensify it -- the feeling, not the story behind the feeling -- and then let go. Intensify, intensify, intensify -- LET GO. Try it. See what happens. What happens for me is there is a sudden rush, no matter how big or small, of life force and renewed energy.

The therapy path for working with depression meets depressive patterns as wave forms. Which is awesome. In this way, we can work with the ongoing and pervasive presence of negativity. The "cheer-up path" for working with depression meets such patterns as particles. We can work with each one in the moment it appears. Together, these two approaches, wave and particle, can create quantum change in our relationship to depression.

And know this: It all begins with catching yourself, with the ability, no matter how momentary, to see what is happening in your own mind, to flash on the reality of your inner state as if a lightning strike suddenly lit up a dark valley. Then you can step outside of your heavy, convincing, painful thought patterns. With this step away, you introduce a moment of possibility... of change... of a fresh start... you cheer up. At which point, everything is possible.

This ability to observe your thinking is the fruit of meditation practice. In a very real sense, this -- noticing and letting go, noticing and letting go, is what you are practicing. I hope you will find a way to make meditation a part of your life. (I teach it via twice-weekly videos sent to your inbox as part of The Open Heart Project, but there are many wonderful places you could go to learn.)

September 12, 2001

2011-09-13T13:05:00-04:00

September 12, 2011

There is a Buddhist meditation practice called Tonglen. In Tibetan, "tong" means "sending out" and "len" means "receiving." So Tonglen is known as the practice of sending and taking, or of exchanging self for other. Instead of inhaling what makes us feel good and exhaling what makes us feel bad, this practice asks that we do the opposite. We breathe in the suffering of others by visualizing it as dark, hot, sticky, soot and smoke coming into our lungs. We breathe out what is positive in the form of air that is light, bright, clean, and cool. In this way, we volunteer to take in some portion of the world's suffering and offer up to it whatever good we possess.

On this day 10 years ago, I decided to drive into Manhattan.

On September 11, I was in Washington, DC and was scheduled for a book signing at Borders in the World Trade Center on September 12. I woke up early that morning, unsure of what to do. Should I try and make it home to Boston? Would the roads even be passable? Would the streets be lined with armored vehicles? Would there be checkpoints at every on-ramp? Low-flying helicopters? Terrorists speeding for the border? At the very least, I imagined that the highways would be crammed with motorists now that the skies had been shut down to flight. If not terrorists, then for sure I would encounter rental cars full of businesspeople who had met at airports and formed groups heading to Cleveland or Atlanta or Toronto. I decided to to get an early start and take my chances. So I had a cup of tea and was on the road by 6 a.m.

Although the drive from DC to Boston would take eight or so hours under normal circumstances, I was prepared for least twelve hours in the car, maybe more, maybe even a few days. I was thinking I might even have to spend a night or two on the road, what with all the detours and slowdowns that I was sure to find around New York City. I considered heading west and up through Harrisburg and then across the Hudson Valley into Western Massachusetts, bypassing any and all routes into Manhattan.

As I entered the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I looked around. Pretty quiet. Very quiet, actually. I decided to continue on with a direct route, thinking I'd divert when I came upon the first delay.

I had moved to Boston a few months before 9/11, from an apartment in Chelsea on 23rd Street. I loved my running route -- down the side streets of Chelsea and across the West Side Highway, south toward Battery Park, a look across the river at New Jersey, a view of the Statue of Liberty and on to the World Financial Center Plaza, weaving through throngs of Staten Island dwellers departing the ferry. At this point I would slow and cool down by walking through the World Financial Center to the World Trade Center, always against the crowd of men and women in suits, moving through turnstiles, boarding elevators for work. You could feel them still trying to wake up, clothes pressed, bits of hair still wet from the shower. These sweet signs of morning didn't quite match their staring-ahead expressions (another day at work) or gait (I can do this). I on the other hand was not pressed, not fresh, wearing sweats, and heading home. I always loved the fact that I was going the exact opposite way of everyone else. As they streamed up the steps from the subway, I threaded my way down, underground, past the shops, past Greys Papaya, Starbucks, Borders. Every morning I would stop at the newsstand at the turnstiles, buy the New York Post, and read it on the ride back up to Chelsea. Then off at 23rd and 8th for a short walk back to my apartment. Someday, I hoped, I would build up the stamina to run down and back. Or not. Which would have been OK, because I so loved the routine as it was.

As I drove, I tried to picture what this route would look like today. What parts of it still existed? Who had been walking there when the planes hit? What had the Ferry riders seen? Who had gone in early to get some extra work done, or late because what the hell, I'm sleeping in this morning? I kept the radio on in the car. I heard that entry to Manhattan via the Holland and Lincoln Tunnels was prohibited and it made me incredibly sad to think of New York in isolation like this. And so along with everyone else, along with our country, the other countries, and with all of New York, I cried.

About an hour into the drive, it appeared there actually weren't carloads of businesspeople or terrorists racing hither and yon, nor had I seen a single armored vehicle or helicopter, or passed through one checkpoint. In fact, the roads were eerie and deserted.

Suddenly I noticed that I was approaching the Tappan Zee Bridge. Suddenly I noticed that my right turn signal was on and I was taking this exit, heading into Manhattan. I had to see it for myself. I had to look at the situation, really look at it, or at least get as close as I could, as I was sure to be rebuffed by officials of some sort.

Apparently, I was the only one out driving that day who felt they had to go in to New York City. I was downtown and in Union Square within about 20 minutes. I parked in the garage next to the yoga studio my friend owned and went in. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there, how long I was going to stay in NYC, or who or what I was trying to see, exactly. I made my way up the stairs to the yoga studio on the second floor. It was open. I didn't recognize the person behind the desk--a new employee. She said "are you here for Tonglen practice?" Apparently I was, so I said "yes." She said, "we'll be starting in 10 minutes" and indicated the front studio. I took a seat on a cushion in the back and watched as the room filled up. I looked out the big picture windows that faced onto 14th Street and imagined what was just beyond -- St. Vincent's Hospital, the Village, Soho, Tribeca, the Financial District. We were less than 2 miles from what wasn't yet called Ground Zero.

September 12th was as bright as September 11th had been. The sun was streaming through the windows and the light was thick with dust and particles. The air smelled heavy, like burning rubber and metal. I briefly wondered what exactly it was that I was breathing in. But there was no time to consider this further -- practice began. The gong rang. The 30 or so people in the room began to settle. The first minutes of practice involved simply attuning to the breath, coming in, going out. Breathing in some sense of this new reality and breathing out to meet it. We can't undo it. We can only be in it.

In Buddhist thought, to die unexpectedly is considered the most difficult circumstance in which to find one's bearings in the bardo. You are likely to be quite surprised upon finding yourself dead. You don't know where you are. It is a state of extreme disorientation and suffering. Thus, family and friends are asked not to beseech their dear ones to return, or even to long for their presence -- this furthers the confusion of the being who is now moving on. Instead, we say and feel something like "You are dead now. It's okay. We support you on your journey. You have our love."

Tonglen practice began. We imagined that we were surrounded by innumerable unseen confused souls, very surprised, very upset, very, very frightened. In silence, we offered companionship and courage. The first instruction is to connect with your own suffering, and then to the suffering around you. Breathe into that feeling. Relax around it. Then connect with your own goodness --your sadness for others, the strength you have to offer, your very willingness to help, even if you have no idea how -- and breathe that out, offer it, give it away. Do it again and again. Imagine the suffering around you as dark, thick soot and breathe it in, offer to take it. Now breathe out light, bright, cool air. Now do it again. And again. And again. As we practiced, I realized that the air itself literally met the description. It was dark. It was thick. It was sooty. I tried not to space out and reject it. I failed. I tried again. We breathed in the dust of the World Trade Centers, the particles of blood and bone and computer keyboards, and breathed out, maybe, something cleansed and pacified.

After the practice I went back out to the street. I was going to try to walk as close as I could to the site. The first thing I did was look up for the Towers to get my bearings, but they weren't there. I started down Sixth Avenue, normally so loud and chaotic, now closed to all but foot traffic. Droves of people were wandering slowly, some alone, some in pairs or small groups. The streets of lower Manhattan were full. No one wanted to be alone, yet there was nothing to say; there was silence, broken only by the sirens of emergency vehicles coming up behind people, trying to get by. They parted for them without looking.

Manhattan was closed off at Houston Street so I turned and walked back through the side streets of the West Village, also full. The crowd grew bigger as I returned to my starting point, Union Square. I looked up to see it filled with people -- wandering about, crying, embracing, sitting expressionless. Someone had unraveled a huge roll of brown butcher paper, at least 40 feet long. It was weighted down by dozens of candles and vases of flowers and was already largely covered with scrawled prayers, drawings, questions, words of shock, words of pain, attempts at explanation. Most were exhortations against hate of any kind and sorrow for all victims. For the thousandth time since I'd moved there and away, I thought how decent New Yorkers are, how kind, how open, and how passionately and always I will love New York City.

To close a meditation practice, Buddhists do something called "dedicating the merit." It's a way of saying "whatever benefit may have been generated by my practice is offered for the benefit of all sentient beings." You give it away. My teacher says that not dedicating the merit is like not pressing the save button before shutting your computer off -- you may have done a lot of work but you'll probably have to start over. So this is what I wrote on that long scroll of brown paper, weaving words between candles:

By the confidence of the golden sun of the great East,
May the lotus garden of the Rigden's wisdom bloom.
May the dark ignorance of sentient beings be dispelled.
May all beings enjoy profound, brilliant glory.

I circled around Union Square a few more times and returned to my car for the rest of the drive home.

6 Tips for Choosing a Meditation Practice

2011-09-03T11:03:00-04:00

When I started practicing meditation in 1995, I didn't tell too many people about it for fear they would think I had joined a cult or turned into some kind of new-aged oddball. If I mention it today, however, I'm more likely to be greeted by comments like, "I just came back from a 10-day silent Vipassana retreat," or "Yes, my doctor told me I should meditate to stabilize my blood pressure." I knew that this ancient practice had officially entered our culture when I saw a billboard advertising a new sleeping pill called Zazen. It's here.

Now, we're faced with a plethora of choices for developing a meditation practice. I say go for it! Explore the practice of "Vipassana" or "Insight Meditation." Ask your doctor to refer you to a clinic where they teach mindfulness based stress reduction, which is connected to Vipassana. Visit your local Shambhala center or another Tibetan Buddhist center and learn "Shamatha" or the practice of tranquility. Try "Zazen" (the Zen meditation practice, not the sleeping pill).

There are many other forms of meditation practice, but as a Buddhist, these are the ones I am familiar with and can vouch for. And as you do your research, I suggest you consider these parameters:

Choose a practice that is rooted in a lineage that is older than, say, 2,500 years. Not saying you have to adopt another culture or act Eastern, just that it's good to find something time-tested and honed. Thus, you can have confidence. Confidence in the practice is always step one along the spiritual path. When you know it is genuine, you relax and listen more closely.

Learn the technique from someone who has been trained to teach it. Teaching meditation is more than an explanation, it is a transmission. It is passed down from one who has learned from his teacher, who learned from her teacher, and so on. The longer the chain, in some sense, the greater the power of the practice.

Don't accept anything watered down or instant. There are many skillful and intelligent ways to present the practice of meditation simply, and I'm not referring to any such attempts. Just that meditation takes effort and will at some point be uncomfortable and boring. Any practice that promises otherwise should be investigated especially carefully. Stay away from things that can be done in five, seven or 57 steps. It's just not that simple.

Don't make stuff up. This is one area of life where it's really important to follow the instruction very closely and exactly. At some point in your practice, maybe you'll figure out some personal tweaks to the technique, but hold all tweaks for months, years and lifetimes. The thing with practices that are this long-standing is that they are soaked in wisdom. All the tricks you can think of to avoid looking at your own life have already been tried by countless individuals in all sorts of cultures. The practice has been built to foil all such trickery. Thus, no detail is casual. It's all there for a reason. Respect and love the technique and it will respect and love you back.

Make it very, very personal.At the same time, whatever practice you do, it will only come to life when you make it personal. There are wonderful guides who can help you enter the practice, and maybe at some point you will even find a teacher. In any case, at every step, you are on your own and charged with bringing what you have learned into your own life. You have got to figure it out on your own. Don't take anyone's word for anything. Trust, verify. Trust, verify. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Your experience is the path; there is no other path. So stick with practices that encourage deep inward looking and personal responsibility.

Avoid practices that suggest the point is transcendence or bliss. The point of practice is to be here. If you don't know how to be here, how are you supposed to know what you're transcending to or away from? And no one even knows what bliss is, anyway. I don't. All I know is that it's something other than feeling super happy and untouched by anything. (When asked what bliss felt like, Tibetan meditation master Choygam Trungpa said, "To you, it would probably feel like pain.") Practice makes you more human, not less. This may not get you to a perfectly peaced-out state, but it will do something way better and, let's face it, more practical: It will make you more authentic. More human. More open and tender and thus of far more use (and interest) to your fellow humans.

Welcome to your life! Practice introduces you to the brilliant, confused, grumpy, joyful and deeply tender person that you already are and opens door after door for this amazing being to enter the phenomenal world -- for her benefit, yes, but also for the benefit of all sentient beings. So look for a practice that appreciates happiness and lightness, sure, but doesn't turn away from sadness or darkness. Look for something emphasizes compassion, love, tenderness and dedication to becoming fully human.

Definitely try things out; however, at some point it is important to choose one path (or no path -- this is best for some folks) and stay with that way.

Thoughts? Ideas? Questions? Please post below.

Is This a Relationship Or a Love Affair?

2011-05-26T19:25:00-04:00

The other day, I was talking to my friend Bridget about her new guy. He was everything she said she wanted: smart, handsome, funny, gainfully employed in a creative profession, and committed to the same social causes she was. Most awesome of all, sex was h.o.t. You know, the kind where your lips touch and all hell breaks loose. Who knows why this happens with some and not others, it just does.

They'd been together for almost six months and she was really, really happy. And also really, really anxious.

The problem? They lived a few hours apart. Getting together was something they had to plan or it wouldn't happen. She was getting the feeling that all the planning mojo was coming from her and if she didn't suggest it, he might let the whole thing slide. How was she supposed to read this? Didn't he feel what she did? Wasn't he thinking at all about the future with her? I mean, they were both in their mid-30s so it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine he was. But what if he wasn't? Should she push the conversation or wait and see what happens?

Well, who knows, but the first question that came out of my mouth was, do you think this is meant to be a love affair or a relationship?

Not everyone you fall in love with is a person you should have a relationship with. Just because you have an intimate connection with someone, no matter how deep, doesn't mean this will make a good relationship.

Some people prefer love affairs while others are more focused on relationships. Of course there is no right or wrong, although in our culture, we're think that our love affairs should (seamlessly) become relationships and that our relationships (somehow) should also remain love affairs. Traditionally, men are seen as wanting one, while women want the other. In my experience, we all want both.

A relationship is what happens when a love affair lands -- when the soft, sharp, deep, powerful, real experience of intimacy (at whatever spiritual:sexual ratio) seeks to put down roots in friendship. At this point every love affair changes, and not always for the best. Some love affairs are best kept in the realm they were born to. Others are sacrificed at the altar of home and children with 0-100 percent awareness on either or both sides. The truth is it's rare to have both, but it is definitely possible.

It helps a lot to be sensitive to these nuances. It's good to know that love affairs and relationships aren't the same thing. That at times your connection may be one, the other, or both -- and then it will change. You may be more eager for one than the other, your beloved may or may not share your preference. Your views may shift from relationship to relationship.

When it comes to sensitivity to such nuances, in my own life, a meditation practice is indispensable. It teaches me to slow down, notice what is arising, notice my judgments of what is arising -- and also my fears, hopes, dreams, aggression, and delight -- and then let it all go, take a fresh look, and open my heart again in the name of love.

So who knows what will happen with Bridget. Maybe she'll be content to carry on a passionate love affair for as long as it seems right. Maybe she'll find that this is the person she wants to grow old with. My wish for her is that, no matter what, both she and her guy will find their hearts expanded and strengthened and that love itself will triumph, no matter what form it takes.

For meditation sessions of varying lengths and answers to questions about meditation, such as "Why Do We Keep Our Eyes Open in Meditation?" and "Is it Important to Stick to One Style of Practice?" please see my vimeo page for lots of short videos.

Compassion for Our Enemies: Necessity or Naïveté?

2011-05-10T11:55:00-04:00

Last Monday, I wrote a little about my response to Osama bin Laden's killing. Upon hearing of his death, most people expressed heartfelt and understandable relief that our hunt for one who wished to destroy us was over. Others participated in "celebrations" that seemed tinged with what could be described kindly as poor sportsmanship.

Feeling relief and even joy at not having to worry about one particular enemy makes a lot of sense, of course. But what I was upset about was our collective inability to think of others as similar to ourselves and to see our victory not as a winning touchdown but as a regrettable necessity that, while bringing us relief, causes others fear and rage. If we are to be true victors, it will be by demonstrating our humility. It will be by acting boldly and doubtlessly to neutralize enemies by peaceful means when possible and, certainly, non-peaceful means when necessary as a final resort. It takes a lot of wisdom to know when to do what here.

I got a lot of feedback that I was being arrogant, judgmental, delusional, and/or some kind of wimp. This really confused and upset me.

What I was calling for -- and will continue to call for, most of all from myself -- is compassion; certainly for those who lost loved ones on 9/11 and for our whole country which has suffered deeply, but also for our "enemies." This is not because I'm some super nice kind of person. I'm not. It's because only by cultivating some kind of empathy rather than hatred can we begin to create lasting change in our world. I want my children and grandchildren to live in a different kind of world, one where they are not in fear of terrorist acts. Escalating violence and retaliation as a matter of course do not lead to this world.

On a scale of one to 10, my certainty on this score is 11.

I believe that the only route is to develop compassionate relationships, even with our enemies.This is a very complex thing and requires the ability to act according to long-term concerns, not short-term ones, which unfortunately lets out almost all politicians who have to be elected or re-elected; short term concerns if ever there were any. Still, someone has got to go first. I suggest that we be that someone. We. Us. You and me.

But how do you do find compassion for someone who wants to kill you? Is it even a good idea or the stupidest thing ever? Some commenters have said things like well, when cornered by a rabid dog, you don't want to say, "Please don't hurt me" and hope for the best; others said that I'm incredibly naïve and probably some kind of Mac user. (Really, that was one of the accusations.) (How did they know?!)

Of course we want to protect ourselves from violence and danger. I'm not counseling stupidity, or what has been called "idiot compassion," which is the idea that you're always supposed to act nice and be some kind of touchy-feely loser.

Compassion is synonymous with skillful action, action that is rooted in seeing reality from the largest perspective possible. When you are able to pay attention to the reality that exists beyond your thoughts about reality, you know what the next right action is. If you need to love, you love. If you need to avoid, you avoid. If you need to cut, you cut. There is a sense of precision and elegance and kindness in all cases. You know how to end violent situations, not escalate them.

To do this, it helps to put aside your assumptions, judgments, and projections -- and simply look. You open, even to what and whom you dislike. This doesn't mean forgiving or liking anyone -- it simply means taking them in as flesh-and-blood human beings, not as cardboard cut-outs who have no reality beyond your judgment. You let go of concepts, again and again. You give up what makes you feel safe, secure and right in order to do this. Thus it is an act of extreme daring.

True compassion is a profound skill, one that has much more in common with fierceness than softness. Compassion arises when you allow someone else's pain into your own heart without a personal agenda. This is what so many of us are terrified of doing, and understandably so. To view our "enemy" as part of the human family rather than a scourge to be obliterated means we have to take on their pain as our own and most of us are already full up when it comes to pain. Nonetheless, we must do it anyway. It requires fearlessness and and a sense of genuine power, and is in no way some kind of lefty do-good politically correct emasculating double talk.

Please remember: If we open our hearts, we can change the world. The truth is that there actually is no other way.

So, I'm going with "necessity."

Should We Have Celebrated Osama Bin Laden's Death?

2011-05-02T20:11:00-04:00

"In the Shambhala warrior tradition, we say you should only have to kill an enemy once every thousand years."
--Chogyam Trungpa

Osama bin Laden is dead. We killed him. It seemed there was no choice. We were clearly in an "us-or-them" situation, and if we didn't kill him, he was going to continue to do everything in his power to kill us.

As Buddhists, we are supposed to abhor all killing, but what do you do when someone is trying to kill you? Obviously, great theologians have pondered this question for millennia, and I'm not going to try to pile on with my point of view, which would be totally useless.

Instead, I'll pose this question: How do you kill your enemy in a way that puts a stop to violence rather than escalates it?

Strangely, I keep coming back to the same rather ordinary conclusion: the answer is in our ability to face our most intense emotions. When we know how to relate to our anger, hatred, despair and frustration fully and properly, they self-liberate. When we don't, when we can't tolerate them and therefore act them out, we create enormous sorrow and confusion.

Look at your own reaction this morning.

Was there even a hint of vengefulness or gladness at Osama bin Laden's death? If so, that is a real problem. Whatever suffering he may have experienced cannot reverse even one moment of the suffering he caused. If you believe his death is a form of compensation, you are deluded.

There has been an outpouring of misdirected jubilation, as if a contest had been won. Nothing has been won. Unlike winning a sporting event, this doesn't mean that our team has triumphed. Far from it. There is only one team, and it is us. When those of us (especially our leaders) who now foment violence choose instead to try to create peace, then we will truly have cause for celebration.

One of us is gone -- one apparently horrific, terrible, vicious person among us is gone. I don't feel regret for him or about this. I'm regretful for the rest of us who are now left thinking that this is a cause for celebration. It is not. It is a cause for sorrow at our continued inability to realize that there is no such thing as us-and-them, that whatever we do to cause harm to one will harm us all.

When we hate, we cause hate. When we think we have won by vanquishing our enemy, we have lost. In killing Osama bin Laden, "they" lose because one of their leaders is gone. But we lose, too, because we have deepened the causes and conditions that lead to more hatred and its consequences. This is not over.

So what do we do? I don't really know, but for me, rather than cheering on this day, I'm going to rededicate myself to the idea of brotherhood toward all, even those that want me dead -- and not because I'm some kind of really good person (I'm not), but because I know it's the only way to stay alive in the only kind of world I want to inhabit.

Perhaps the way to kill your enemy as a way of putting a stop to violence rather than escalating is to shift our view of "enemy" altogether. Our enemy is not one person or country or belief system. It is our unwillingness to feel the sorrow of others -- who are none other than us.

So take aim at this enemy completely and precisely. Feel your sadness for us and them so fully and completely that all boundaries are dissolved and we are left standing face to face, human to human, each feeling the other's rage and despair as our own, one world to care for.

"[W]hen you do not produce another force of hatred, the opposing force collapses."
--Chogyam Trungpa

If you'd like to try to generate such a switch, please try lovingkindness meditation. Here is audio instruction in the practice.