The symbol for compassion is one moon shining in the sky while its image is reflected in one hundred bowls of water. The moon does not demand, “If you open to me, I will do you a favor and shine on you.” The moon just shines. The point is not to want to benefit anyone or make them happy. There is no audience involved, no “me” and “them.” It is a matter of an open gift, complete generosity without the relative notions of giving and receiving. That is the basic openness of compassion: opening without demand. Simply be what you are. Be the master of the situation. If you will just “be,” then life flows around and through you.
Chogyam Trungpa, Cutting through Spiritual Materialism
We lean forward out of the present moment. Or we dig in our heels and lean backward. Or we twist away from the naked truth of the moment. All three experiences keep us from being present with How It Is just now. This war with the present moment keeps us almost continually uncomfortable in our own skin. And the sense of un-satisfactoriness that results, though usually beneath the threshold of our awareness, nonetheless drives much of our experience, and many of our decisions, in an unconscious, reactive way.
Where shall beginners begin? The obvious starting point is surprise. You will find that you can grow the seeds of gratefulness just by making room. Let’s follow Alice Walker’s advice: “Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.” To expect nothing may mean not taking for granted that your car will start when you turn the key. Try this and you will be surprised by a marvel of technology worthy of sincere gratitude. Or you may not be thrilled by your job, but if for a moment you can stop taking it for granted, you will taste the surprise of having a job at all, while millions are unemployed. If this makes you feel a flicker of gratefulness, you’ll be a little more joyful all day, a little more alive. From there it is only a small step to seeing the whole universe and every smallest part of it as surprising. From the humble starting point of daily surprises, the practice of gratefulness leads to these transcendent heights. 
William Blake wrote: “I dare not pretend to be any other than the Secretary; the Authors are in Eternity.” Maybe he was talking about art, but his words apply to our lives and personal stories. We act on the dictates of fate and do our best to create the life that has been mysteriously ordained for us. Like the artist, we listen to the muse and live by inspiration, experiment, and improvisation. So, in the end, we realize our authority doesn’t really belong to us after all. It comes from within — and yet it’s also mysteriously deep and “other.” It’s a complicated business, authoring our lives. If we can do it, we can find deep joy in our capacity to create something, someone, new. But we may have to insist on our authority, because someone will always appear who wants that enjoyment for himself — a parent, a spouse, a business partner, a spiritual teacher. Remind this person of Blake’s insight: the authors are in eternity. You and I — our job is to listen.
