Rena Meloy
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I loved reading this week’s essay. Thank you, Susan. The last line brought tears to my eyes: If you open your heart, you can change everything.
YES.
This has been my experience through and through.
Meditation has taught me so unbelievably much about EVERYTHING, and difficult emotions are no exception. For a long time, I thought the point of life was to feel happy as often as possible. Whenever things felt sad…whenever I felt sad….I just assumed something was “wrong”. I’ve always been a very tender person (*squishy*, as I have learned to fondly call myself), and I spent many years feeling lots of shame around my propensity to cry at seemingly simple things. Even early on in my meditation teaching journey (starting with MBSR teacher training), I was concerned my tenderness would “get in the way” of being a good teacher. I so often viewed it as a liability – in pretty much all spheres of my life.
Through many hours on the cushion, something started to shift. Little by little, I started to see my sadness as something beautiful. An asset. A gift that came from the deep well of love and care within me. Especially during longer retreats, I learned how to sit and “be with”…or as Susan more recently suggested “be within” my sadness, and to feel a sense of comfort and knowing there. There was no longer the energy of fear around it….or the feeling that it was “wrong”, but rather exactly right. Of course I feel sadness (hello first noble truth!). And of course it is welcome….as welcome as joy or peace.
As I grew my ability to relate to sadness in this way, it expanded to other challenging emotions. Anxiety, anger, guilt, worry, irritability, shame….the edge softened on them all, and most of the time, I could allow the energy of the emotions to flow through me without getting completely lost in them. Through self-compassion practice, I was also able to tap into self-kindness and common humanity which softened them even further. When I say soften, I’m speaking more to my relationship with the emotion. I still felt fiery anger, or prickly frustration, etc, but I no longer felt the sharpness of the feeling that this was “bad” and the ensuing need to immediately avoid/get rid of/suppress it. I could just breathe and witness and experience the energy of it without too much judgement. This was profound for me. It still is.
My practice also taught me (and continues to teach me) so much about impermanence as it relates to emotional upwellings. Instead of firing the second arrow of “I will feel this way always” I’ve learned that with a little time and space, every single thing changes….sticky, unpleasant emotions included. So instead of flailing about in an effort to get rid of an emotion, I can just pause for a beat and notice (with genuine curiosity) what unfolds. I still find myself marveling at the intensity of certain feelings….and how quickly that intensity can dissolve, or my perspective can change (especially if I’m not latched onto the story that’s fueling it).
I’ve also started to see, over and over, how difficult emotions are inseperable from beautiful ones. I love Khalil Jibran’s words: “Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” It seems the more I can be within and open myself fully to painful emotions, the more I stretch my capacity to be in the fullness of delightful ones.
And of course, perhaps most powerfully, I’ve realized how difficult emotions and experiences are our deepest portals to connection with others. More recently, as grief has entered my life in pronounced ways, I’m amazed by how immediate the threads of connection have felt with others who are also grieving. With loved ones for sure….but especially “strangers”. And from those threads, the wellspring of compassion that emerges from all sides. It all holds so much meaning and beauty….and richness.
To close….in my own experience, learning to work with our difficult emotions is crucial because they are such a HUGE part of our lives and can cause so much suffering (to ourselves and others) without awareness. And when we release the energy of resisting and learn to turn toward and befriend our emotions, they transform us. They become our portals into presence and compassion and deeper understanding of what it means to be fully human. And from that space, only one thing seems to make sense: love.
I am very curious about the possibility of letting go of self completely (that remains a total mystery – and aspiration?! – to me!). What I do know is that I’ve experienced quite a few moments of my “self” receding far into the distance and whenever that happens, what consistently emerges is, indeed, a feeling of deep gladness.
A few years back, I came across the quote from Leonard Cohen, “The less there was of me, the happier I got.” It struck such a chord in my heart and I’ve thought of it many times since. Thus far, based on my experience, the more I tap into the energy and awareness of interbeing, compassion, and impermanence, the more spacious and easeful I feel.
This past weekend, I was in Vermont to officiate my best friend’s wedding. It was a huge honor! Ten+ years ago, I would have been a sweaty, anxious, self-critical, and very un-easeful mess. Whenever I knew I had to speak “publicly”, I would feel a sense of dread park itself in my belly. There was so much pressure to “do well” and “prove myself” and “be liked”. I was saying yes to opportunities because I truly wanted them, but the energy around each experience was so tense and agitated and draining. This was actually a huge part of my early journey teaching meditation. I would sit up in front of a class and immediately feel like a deer in the headlights, armpits drenched. All of that anxious energy came from a good place inside of me (I truly wanted to be of benefit to others) but I finally came to realize – ha! – the problem was, I was making it all about ME (surprise!).
Through my years of practice, I’ve come to realize that of course it’s not about me. It never is and never was about me (ohhh hallelujah, what a relief). Whether speaking or teaching, yes – I’m here, playing a meaningful role – but the “spotlight” (if there even is one) is elsewhere. As my friend Lou says (about public speaking)…instead of standing up in front of an audience and saying “Here I am” say “There you are”. I finally began to realize that if I shifted my perspective from “proving myself” or even “doing a great job” (and also shifted the energy behind HOW I was showing up) to simply showing up and sharing from a place of love and reverence for these teachings, then everything shifted. With my friends wedding, I was simply there to usher them – alongside their entire community and their profound love, joy, and deep commitment to each other – into this next chapter of marriage together. And what a gift to be the one to hold that door open! That’s it. There’s no “me” in the equation. And of course the great irony is that, when there’s no “me”, the “me” that shows up is sensational! Grounded, inspired, free, so full of love. There were many moments throughout the ceremony where I found myself thinking “I’m really enjoying this! This is fun! Yay!” I now have a similar lighthearted experience when teaching/guiding meditation as well, and the happiness that wells up when I “get out of my own way” is a wonderful and generative feeling.
Briefly, a metaphor that comes to mind is body surfing. When I was first learning how to body surf (from my partner Ryan) he taught me how to duck under big waves. Instead of jumping up, flailing, taking a wave to the face, or trying to navigate over it, you simply just allowed yourself to sink a foot or two beneath the surface of the wave. And the whole big powerful thing just glides over your head like no big deal. And there you are on the other side. I think my experiences with ego have been similar. There can be all of the flailing…the leaping…the strategizing to get over the top. Or there can be the soft, quiet, dissolving beneath the wave. Ahhhhhh. It’s so simple. There’s no effort…but rather, a letting go.
I know I have a LONG way to travel in continuing to dissolve my sense of self and open my heart ever-wider, but the small tastes that I have experienced thus far have left me with zero question that the less there is of me, the happier I will become.
Thanks so much for sharing your story, Kate! Similar to Jamie’s writing below, I am struck by how another being in need can “pluck” us out of our own little ego universe and call us into service (and into the “the best parts of ourselves”). There’s something so uplifting, to me, about what this says about humanity….and about our capacity for egolessness (or at least a LOT less ego) when we are called to help one another. <3
Hi Jamie ~ I loved reading this! I have a dear friend in AA and our conversations are always so rich and inspiring because there are seemingly endless connections between her AA journey and my journey with mindfulness. I appreciated the parallels you mentioned (and the paradoxical principle of giving away to keep – YES!)….and the comment about your old friend really touched my heart. I’m grateful she could “be there” for you while simultaneously allowing you to be there for her. <3
On May 20, 2023, my brilliant daughter Mia came into the world via c-section.
From the moment we learned we were pregnant, I longed for a natural childbirth. My partner Ryan and I prepared diligently with classes, techniques, and books. I felt confident and eager to see how my long-term meditation practice could support me through the intensity of giving birth.
At 37 weeks, Mia flipped breech. We did EVERYTHING to get her to flip back – from crawling up stairs on hands and knees to Ryan holding me upside down in the hot tub (much to our neighbors’ amusement). We tried medical procedures, burned my pinkie toes with Moxibustion sticks, and explored every option available.
At 39 weeks, my doctor suggested meeting with a surgeon to discuss a c-section. I entered that appointment hopeful we could still deliver naturally. The surgeon compassionately shared the risks, and I left with tears of acceptance streaming down my face. I felt an upwelling of grief as I let go of my natural birth plan. My guiding word for 2023 was TRUST, which held me through this emotional transition.
Mia’s birth was beautiful and peaceful. The c-section felt natural, and Mia arrived healthy and magical. I’m infinitely grateful for this experience. It taught me that even when life diverges from our desires, it can still be perfect in its own way. Through this journey, I also connected with an incredible web of mothers who had similar experiences.
As I write this, I’m noticing some hesitation and judgement in sharing this as a “painful” experience. I’m aware of women who’ve faced far more traumatic births or even lost their children (which is impossible). This highlights a long-standing pattern of mine—contextualizing my own suffering as less significant and being reluctant to even acknowledge it, feeling like it doesn’t belong in comparison to others’ trauma.
I’m still learning to honor different degrees of suffering, grateful that my practice has taught me to recognize my own pain, and that of others, not as relative, but as real, unique, and always, always deserving of presence and compassion.
Eleanore ~ This is such a beautiful story of community and courage and looking deeply into oneself. I’m touched by how this process opened you up to a different and powerful (and previously muted) form of love from your community. And how you were brave enough to look directly into the mirror and love what you saw. 🙏 Thank you so much for sharing.
Dominic – thank you for sharing your “mum” with us here. I can feel how special she was through your writing. So much of what you shared resonated, but this line stood out to me especially: “not that I don’t get sad, but I don’t get lost in the sadness anymore.” Reading those words helped me see more clearly, for myself, how my practice has allowed me not never feel lost (especially in recent years)….but rather (and often surprisingly), found, in this ever-changing ocean of human experience – the beauty and the suffering. Thank you <3 <3 <3
Hi & thanks Jana! I’m now thinking I need to paint the quote on my wall, too. AND the word “squishy”. Lol – after reading your comment, I pictured that word “Squishy” inside of a calligraphic zen circle, like the ones Thich Nhat Hanh does in his calligraphy drawings and books (like “This Moment is Full of Wonders”). I think I’m going to go for it! :))
Ginny – thank you for this beautiful reflection. I love your nod to the trees (such a vivid description – “shimmering between green and change”) and the idea of asking for blessings from nature.
I also deeply resonate with your note about your matriarchal line. I wrote about this, too. The way you talked about the “endless line” and listed some of their experiences (loss, joy, trees, sunrises, snow, children…) helped me feel an even deeper level of connection to the common humanity of all of our lived experiences – from the complex to the very ordinary. And the unknown teacher, yet to come. Yes yes yes. Thank you for the gift of your words here. I will carry them with me!
David! The song 🙂 What a beautiful addition to your practice. I often meditate while rocking my daughter to sleep at night (after she falls asleep and I’m still holding her). I always sing to her before she drifts off, and through your reflection, I’m not realizing how that adds such a beautiful and resonant dimension to my practice. Like the other comments here, I’m looking forward to exploring this idea further. Thank you thank you! *humble bow*
I love this prompt so much. A few years ago, I read “My Grandmother’s Hands” by Resmaa Menakem and one of his strong encouragements was to get to know your ancestors. I was so struck by this, and mostly the realization that I had spent very little time even considering the importance of it. The only thing I knew about my ancestors were the relatively infrequent stories that were shared by my parents and grandparents. I’ll never forget how it felt in my body to consider this question and the possibility of understanding more deeply who and where I came from. It was a beautiful, grounding, exciting, and somewhat mysterious invitation.
Since then, I’ve done a bit of exploration/investigation, although not as much as I’d have liked (oh life and all of its many divergent pieces/invitations!) – so the fact that this program is asking us to hold this question again – and create space for it – is something I’m very grateful for.
I have always felt a deep and reverent connection to my family. I come from a family, as far as I know and have experienced, of deeply deeply loving humans. Of course there was trauma and discord along the line (there always is), but all throughout my childhood – and still now – my primary experience of my nuclear family (parents and brothers), my grandparents, and my extended family (cousins/uncles/aunts), was one of uncomplicated love. In more recent years, this feeling has extended to include my husband and 1-year old daughter. I realize (more and more with each day) what a gift this is. Because of this love, I have felt both a resolute anchoring/grounding of who I am, and also an unwavering tailwind of support guiding me into who I am continually becoming.
So, I’d say, my practice is held and guided first and foremost by love. Starting with my family (especially the line of strong and resilient women and mothers that I come from), and expanding outward to the many others in life who I’ve received love from and given love to. This includes the many teachers I’ve had – traditional and spiritual. Two spiritual teachers who have deeply resonated with me on many, many levels are Pema Chödrön and Susan P, and I discovered that they both share the Vajrayana lineage. I think this might be a big piece of the puzzle for me lineage-wise, and I look forward to growing my understanding of this specific lineage and its teachings in the weeks/months ahead.
As I begin to reflect on my ancestral roots and consider the value of tapping deeper into a specific Buddhist tradition (e.g. Vajryana), I can feel something in my body shift – a deep knowing that this is an important next step in my practice. I love the way Susan framed the three very practical ways to bring this into everyday practice – make offerings, request blessings, dedicate the merit. Yes please! I’ve already started and can feel my practice coming more alive, white at the same time becoming more sacred. Devotion. Discipline. Simplicity. Reverence. Love. All of these pieces are inextricably tied to tapping the “well” of lineage (surprise!) and I truly feel delighted and blessed to receive and channel, more intentionally, this potency that has been here all along.
Suzie – I so appreciated your very candid investigation of your morning….how you could see the energy of resistance showing up everywhere, and the “pain that is caused by non-acceptance”. I’ve found myself on a similar journey over the past few years of noticing, almost constantly, the feeling of wanting things to be different. Even when things are downright marvelous, there still that tilt towards wanting. So much wanting!!! I feel grateful for this practice and path to slowly but surely unthaw some of that wanting energy. I’m noticing now, for myself, that when I bump into something “unwanted” there’s at least a small part of me that thinks “Okay universe…what magic do you have in store this time?” That alone has been incredibly liberating – to assume that instead of something being “wrong,” what if it’s all exactly right – the perfect unfolding? And when I can release the resistance and just say yes, the experience almost always reveals something meaningful or beautiful. There’s still LOTS of automatic resistance (of course!), but I’m noticing more and more “gaps” where I can enter into the space and energy of acceptance….and then getting really curious about what unfolds from that space.
I also love the quote you shared from Pema. Sometimes, it’s such a relief to be reminded that in fact, nothing has gone “wrong” – that this is life….and the common humanity of it all (including our shared experiences of suffering AND all of the wanting it to be different).
Helene – your writing here is profoundly beautiful. I have tears streaming down my cheeks as I read and re-read your words. Holding the tenderness of it all….and the realization that the tenderness and confusion was your gateway. I can relate, personally, on so many levels. These words were particularly powerful for me:
Impermanence: a balm to my perplexity, my ignorance; a joy to uncover it lives everywhere and it is universal.
“A joy to uncover it lives everywhere”. Mmmm. I need to sit more with this, but you just unlocked a whole new dimension of understanding and relating to impermanence, for me. Thank you for the gift of your open heart and precise words. I will never forget reading your story and the wisdom that you’ve shared here. <3 <3 <3