Seeing

Autumn lunch al fresco

Life can be very beautiful. Not always, to be sure. But the moments of beauty and peacefulness exist, I think, to remind us that there is actually much more perfection in each moment, and within us, than we usually realize.

Lately - well, for the past four or five years in America particularly - I've observed a number of different reactions to the good aspects of people's lives. Those who are acutely conscious of the pain of others and the dire situation of the world, and our role in making it so, tend to feel guilty and to allow this sense of shared suffering to grey-out the happiness and good fortune that they may feel. Others, who are more self-centered, have reacted by gradually habituating to an ambience that ranges from anxiety and helplessness to obsessive fear about just about everything that has an element of risk - which comes to be life itself. And at the far extreme are those who react by hoarding what they have, trying to amass more, and justifying their belief that they are deserving and others are not. I've seen aspects of all of these reactions in myself, though I hope I see them clearly enough to also catch myself most of the time.

Should we suffer because other people are suffering more than we are? Yes, would be the short answer: that's what com-passion means. But when we lose the capacity to see beauty, to wonder at the simple things life gives us for free, and to be renewed and to grow in understanding of what it means to have this gift of a human life, then I think something has gone wrong. The other day whiskey river posted a quote from Jack Kornfeld, in which he points out that "we survive because there are natural periods of coolness, of wholeness, and ease. In fact, they last longer than our grasping and fear. It is this that sustains us...why don't we feel thankful for this everyday Nirvana?"

Thanks to dale and some fellow practitioners, I've recently decided to recommit to daily meditation, both a period of traditional practice and to greater mindfulness and contemplation during the day. I have kept up the latter pretty well over recent years, as well as a short morning meditation before I get up, which could very well be called a thankfulness practice, since I've found it helps to begin my day - the time when I tend to feel my absolute worst - remembering that there is a lot to be grateful for, not least of which is the day ahead of me. It's also the time when I hold in my heart and mind, by name and image, all the people who I want to think about with special intention. But I haven't been doing an actual sitting meditation for a long while. As soon as I start, I am reminded how much the positive aspects of meditation flow over and inform the rest of my life, making me aware of the  spaciousness that is, of course, already there but masked by thoughts, anxieties, restlessness and dissatisfaction with "what is". It also makes it more possible to settle into those precious moments Kornfeld talks about - when we do see the color of the raspberries, smell the fragrance of the basil, and taste the salty dense olives studding the loaf of bread.

And lest we think that the less fortunate people on earth are incapable of experiencing the same thing: I remember a friend, a priest who spent much of his life working among the peasants of Latin America saying that he had never been around as much joy as he was during those years - and that the greatest lessons he had learned were about his own poverty and ignorance. At the core, we are all the same, and sooner or later, all our defenses are stripped away. Those moments of rest and wholeness are free, and are not dependent on other people, health, wealth, or even love. They are there, I think, to teach us something.

Comments

[Mary]

Beautiful. Thank you, Beth.

[ernesto Priego]

I can relate 100 per cent to what you are saying. It's just the way I've been feeling these days.

I thank you too for a great post.

[Rachel]

This is lovely. Yes.

I also try to begin my days with a thankfulness practice. I don't make the time to pray the morning liturgy every day, but I always start the day with "modah ani," the morning blessing for gratitude. Usually the melody arises in me in the shower, and though I don't sing it aloud (especially not when my sweetie is still sleeping!) I allow it to carry me and to ground my day.

And just before sleep, usually while brushing my teeth for the night, I try to recount all of the moments in the day that I'm grateful for. I firmly believe that these two practices change the quality of my life.

[Lorianne]

Whenever this issue about suffering & compassion arises, I always think of the Dalai Lama & Thich Nhat Hanh. Both men have seen their fellow countrymen suffer; both care deeply about injustice & oppression in the world. And yet both men have a simple, childlike joy. It's as if suffering has taught them (and the Latin American peasants you mentioned) that joy is the *only* thing we have when everything else is stripped away. Those of us who live in material riches have the illusion that joy is a luxury, when actually it's the energy that fuels the whole damn machine.

[Jean]

I couldn't agree more. It seems so obvious now, but can't be said enough. I was brought up to feel that the least I could do was feel miserable and guilty, and, alas, this attitude still seems prevalent!

[kirsten]

-- I am reminded how much the positive aspects of meditation flow over and inform the rest of my life, making me aware of the spaciousness that is, of course, already there but masked by thoughts, anxieties, restlessness and dissatisfaction with "what is". It also makes it more possible to settle into those precious moments Kornfeld talks about - when we do see the color of the raspberries, smell the fragrance of the basil, and taste the salty dense olives studding the loaf of bread. --

Ah. You have it so exactly, Beth.

Funny that you should post about this. I have recently started meditating again, and one of the nicest 'side-effects' (if you will) is the way it does allow you to really feel these intensely vivid (brief) moments of -- joy? exaltation? wonder? It's been so long that I had almost forgotten.

So nice to see you write of it here, and so eloquently.

[Lois]

Amen, Beth! This is so right on!