We do not always need to see everything

The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark.  When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go.  Let’s rejoice in the little light we carry and not ask for the great beam that would take all shadows away.

Henry Nouwen, Bread for the Journey

Birds falling

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,

Emily Dickinson

In recent weeks, thousands of birds were found,  having dropped from the sky in Arkansas, USA –  causing fear in the town’s residents and puzzlement around the world. When I saw the pictures I was less worried about the apocalyptic warnings of the world’s immanent end and more sad on seeing these beautiful creatures fallen to earth.

It left me wondering why birds are so uplifting to the human spirit. They  soar and fly, with an air of lightness and freedom;  we too dream about flying. Emily Dickinson’s quotation above links birds to the hope that exists deep within us, in the soul. Dead or dying birds remind us of our disappointments and wasted dreams. And it would seem that, since ancient times, we have seen in birds some sort of link between our earth and the heavens. They represent something that is within us, or greater than us. They lift us up.  We want to be light even though many of our days are heavy. We dream of freedom, and spaciousness,  even when often we feel constrained. Deep inside we know that part of us is like them –   our  fragile aspirations  and desire for wonder. We too can soar, we can move beyond the constraints of our life or our history.  However, learning to fly takes courage: it often means we have to let go.

Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?

They fall, and falling,
they’re given wings.

Rumi

Looking outward

Each time we reach out with joy, each time we cast our view towards distances that have not yet been touched, we transform not only this the present moment and the one following but also alter the past within us, weave it into the pattern of our existence, and dissolve the foreign body of pain whose exact composition we ultimately do not know. Just as we do not know how much vital energy this foreign body, once it has been thus dissolved, might impart to our bloodstream!

Rilke

Keeping the heart soft

It is not easy to keep ones heart open in every circumstance. Each day we can have experiences with people who cause us to become anxious or afraid; at other times we protect ourselves by becoming angry, or blaming others. We throw up walls and barriers because of our deep fear of being hurt. And if we want to, we can allow these walls remain for weeks, months or even years, as something inside us closes down and we withdraw. It is natural to contract from frightening events, and at times we cannot see all the reasons why something or someone bothers us. The first response therefore can be sometimes instinctive and unconscious, or based on schemas which are below our awareness.

However, as the previous post reminds us, underneath the fears there is something deep and warm in all living things. We all dream about love and belonging, and, in reality, they are never far away. It is our fears which make us doubt. Living a full life means trying to act in accord with our deep capacity for loving and tenderness even  at those moments when our instinct is to shut down  and we can get stuck.  Sure,  we may wonder about this,  when we struggle  or search for some meaning to this life. However, beneath the surface of our fears, goodness and tenderness is always slowly coming into being. We all need to remind ourselves every day to  trust in this deeper reality.

We have a choice. Often our first thought is to withdraw. But if we can recognize that movement, acknowledge it and not necessarily identify with it, our heart can soften.  Often getting unstuck means that we can stay with the anxiety which arises, fuelled by  energies and memories beneath our conscious awareness. If we can do this, what we see is that there is a link between being kind and our ongoing happiness. Our practice helps us keep the heart open and stop the process of fear from becoming too fixed. Sometimes this is easier said than done. But even when my first reaction is fear, and I forget the soft place within the heart, what I find  is that I recover quicker and remember sooner, and am better able to leave the sadness of such occasions simply be sadness. I do not need to blame or withdraw more. I can trust in the deep goodness in myself and others. Sadness might remain, but without giving in to judgment or recriminations, the mind  is free to allow space for new possibilities to come to birth.

We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us so that we become increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us kinder and more open to what scares us. We always have this choice.

Pema Chodron

Dropping into…

Peaceful abiding describes the mind as it naturally is… The human mind is by nature joyous, calm, and very clear.

In  meditation we aren’t creating a peaceful state—we’re letting our mind be as it is to begin with.

Sakyong Mipham

When disappointment is good

That’s the magic moment-when we realize that searching outside of ourselves is not the way. At first it dawns on us just a little bit. And it gets clearer over time, as we continue to suffer. See, anything that we search for is going to disappoint us. Because there are no perfect beings, perfect jobs, perfect places to live. So the search ends exactly in one place, which is… disappointment. A good place. If we have any brains at all, it finally dawns on us: ‘I’ve done this before.’ and we begin to see that it isn’t the searching that’s at fault, but something about where we look. And we return more and more to the disappointment, which is always at the center.

The very peace we’ve been searching for so hard lies in recognizing this fact: I’m pinching myself. No one’s doing it to me. So the whole search begins to be abandoned and instead of searching, we begin to to see that practice isn’t a search. Practice is to be with that which motivates the search, which is unease, distress. And this is the turning around.

Charlotte Joko Beck, Everyday Zen