Rena Meloy
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In June of 2020, right in the thick of Covid unraveling, my dad was suddenly diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and given a very short window to live (a few months). In the days and weeks that followed, I cried a lot. I cried by myself. I cried in the midst of my family. I cried sitting next to my dad at the dinner table. My mom and brothers are more stoic than me, so I regularly found myself wishing I wasn’t so “squishy” (as I learned to fondly call myself). The source of my tears almost always came from thoughts about the future. What it would be like to have dinners without my dad. How much I would miss calling him when something good happened or when I needed advice. How I wouldn’t be able to hear his comforting voice answer the phone “Why, hello sweetie!”. There was such an acute tenderness that would accompany these thoughts and I would just become a puddle, wherever I was.
At the same time, I remember growing acutely aware of how precious each moment was with my dad. And how I didn’t want to miss the precious moments I had, right here, preoccupied with what was to come. A quote from the Buddha kept arising in my mind “If you take care of this moment, you will take care of all time.” I’m not sure exactly how everything unfolded, but something began to shift in me and I discovered a profound and inexplicable beauty of fully inhabiting these very small, simple moments with my dad (squish and all!). There was one in particular where we were sitting on the deck together eating cherry tomatoes off of my mom’s potted tomato plant. It was such an ordinary experience, and yet – it unlocked a mysterious new dimension of wholeness and completeness for me, smack dab in the middle of suffering. Often, these moments were without words….just presence. Just being and breathing together. That was it. There was a true feeling of peace that was untouched by the “knowing” that dad would die soon. And there was a boundless trust in what was unfolding that was beyond my finite understanding of illness and death. My dad died during the night on November 20th. The next morning, when I walked into his room to be with him, I was expecting him to feel “gone”. Instead, I was quite surprised to feel a powerful and pervasive sense of peace. Dad’s presence was everywhere – in his room, in the house, in my own heart. And even when a random unmarked white mini van came to take his body away (apparently this particular crematorium didn’t send fancy hurses – like in the movies), it all felt completely okay and right. Something much bigger was holding it all.
At this point in my journey, I can’t connect all of the dots in words (or even through my own thoughts). But I do know, in an embodied way, that through this experience I tapped into the third noble truth – the cessation of suffering. Early on, when dad was first diagnosed, there was so much grasping. So many second arrows. Somewhere in the process of bearing witness to his decline, loving him endlessly, inhabiting these tiny moments of presence, and continually allowing my to heart open, it seems that I stumbled into realization. There were still many acutely painful, heartbreaking moments….and many tears, but they were no longer rooted in attachment. They just….were. Through this experience, I touched into the true nature of myself, of dad, of the universe. A few days after my dad died, one of my friends texted me and said “you know, there’s nowhere someone can be where you can’t still love them.” Somehow, those words shed a whole new light on the idea of impermanence.
Reflecting here on my own story, I think for now I’d like to sum up the third noble truth (at least for me) as the process of piercing directly into the nucleus of suffering, and in doing so, mysteriously arriving in the spacious and joyous realization that the “thing” we were so afraid of all along is an utter delusion.
~ Rena
How and where can we develop devotion? What are you already devoted to?
In the fall of 2017, I attended my first extended silent meditation retreat at Great Vow Monastery in Clatskanie, Oregon. During our closing circle, I was surprised by what emerged as I shared: “During this retreat, I discovered the importance of devotion. I realized that devotion is a necessary ingredient for this practice to truly take root in my heart and life.”
This spontaneous realization marked a profound shift in my understanding of mindfulness practice. Each time I meditate, I connect with something infinitely larger than myself, feeling a deep reverence for the miracle that is this life. As Mary Oliver beautifully puts it, “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” By slowing down and tuning in, I feel the presence of love and interbeing, part of a boundless unfolding mystery. In these moments, everything becomes sacred, and surrendering to the present is the only thing that makes any sense.
I would say currently, my devotion manifests most directly as a commitment to Love and to the path of awakening, continually opening my heart wider and wider. This love finds its most immediate expression in my relationship with my family and the meditation sangha my partner Ryan and I founded. My practice involves learning to show up for them as steadily and fully as possible. Importantly, my practice has taught me to include myself in this circle of care and devotion.
While I don’t have a formal “lama” or guru, I find guidance from a small group of teachers whose wisdom acts as a constant, gentle IV drip in my life. Pema Chodron, Tara Brach, Thich Nhat Hanh, Mark Nepo, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Mary Oliver, and you, Susan, all evoke in me a fondness, trust, comfort, and fervent motivation to deepen my commitment to presence. It is clear to me, as well, that the more I connect with others who are also devoted to this path (teachers, fellow sangha members, my partner Ryan) the more my own commitment is fueled.
I’ve come to understand devotion as the force that creates a “deeper tether” to what matters most. For me, this means growing in love – for myself, my family, my community, and all beings. It’s about cultivating a heartfelt commitment to presence and engaging deeply with life’s complexity. Devotion acts as a guiding light, illuminating the interconnectedness of all things and inspiring a more compassionate way of being in the world.
This journey has taught me that devotion can be found in the simplest acts – a mindful breath, a genuine connection, or quiet appreciation of nature’s beauty. It’s a practice of continually turning towards life with curiosity and kindness. Through this lens, every experience becomes an opportunity for growth and deepening understanding.
After my dad died in 2020, a new expression of devotion emerged in my daily mantra: “May the beauty and suffering in me meet the beauty and suffering in the world.” I recite this at the end of my daily practice, embodying both a commitment and an aspiration that I feel profoundly devoted to.
In embracing devotion, I continue to unearth this truth: it’s not about perfection, but presence. It’s the willingness to show up, day after day, breath after breath, with an open heart and curious mind. Whether through my daily mantra, meditation practice, or being fully present with loved ones, devotion weaves through every aspect of my life, creating a tapestry of meaning and connection. As I continue on this path, I’m reminded that devotion isn’t just about what I do, but how I approach each moment – with reverence, love, and a deep commitment to awakening, for myself and for all beings.
Like all aspects of this path, I am certain many more dimensions of devotion will continue to reveal themselves! I’m so grateful for the opportunity to reflect on this question. It has “stirred the pot” for further insights and questions (perhaps I will find and choose a single “lama” soon?!) However this next chapter unfolds, I look forward to seeing how the potent and magical energy of devotion continues to inspire, shape, and anchor me along the way.
Thanks Dominic! Two of your comments especially resonated with me:
“In all of this one must do their best to take the teachings and bring them inside of oneself to see how they resonate with within their own life and lived experience.”
– This makes me think of Susan’s emphasis on not teaching anyone anything, but helping them discover something. It’s easy, at least for me, to think about relating to a guru as some source of wisdom/practice/inspiration “out there”, when really they are a mirror that points us back to all of those things “in here”.
Your other comment “a devotion to your true nature” gave me goosebumps! I didn’t write about this in my response to this question, but in reading your words just now, this is profoundly true for me. One of the things that motivates me on this path the most is the process of becoming more intimate and familiar with the beauty and strength of my true nature. I think part of my devotion is a fierce longing and curiosity to continue to get to know that “me” (or “not me,” ha!) more and more. >3 Thank you!!!
Hi Karen! Thank you for sharing such a beautiful, raw, honest reflection. Your comments about the mundane vs. spiritual definitely stirred something in me. In my own experience, there is no difference. I absolutely love these words from Mark Nepo (perhaps you’ve heard them before?):
“The further I wake into this life, the more I realize that God is everywhere and the extraordinary is waiting quietly beneath the skin of all that is ordinary. Light is in both the broken bottle and the diamond, and music is in both the flowing violin and the water dripping from the drainage pipe. Yes, God is under the porch as well as on top of the mountain, and joy is in both the front row and the bleachers, if we are willing to be where we are.”
Per your comment “Sometimes the mundane is equivalent to the spiritual” – I love the simplicity and beauty in realizing that if we are present with what is directly in front of us (our dying parent, our delicious garden veggies, our wondrous child, our email to a colleague) the quality of devotion is already here. At least that’s how I experience it. How profound!