Tag: heart

Whichever happens, be patient

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In Tibetan Buddhism there’s a set of teachings for cultivating compassion called mind training, or lojong. One of the lojong teachings is, “Whichever of the two occurs, be patient.” This means if a painful situation occurs, be patient, and if a pleasant situation occurs, be patient. This is an interesting point. Usually, we jump all the time; whether it’s pain or pleasure, we want resolution. So if we’re happy and something is great, we could also be patient then, and not fill up the space, going a million miles an hour — impulse shopping, impulse talking, impulse acting out.

Pema Chodron, Practicing Peace

Sunday Quote: A choice

Karl Duffy2 Comments

We either make ourselves miserable,

or we make ourselves strong.

The amount of work is the same. 

Carlos Castenada, Journey to Ixtlan

Being driven is not always a good thing

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On the day after being nominated among the 50 best blogs “on the planet”, these thoughts on striving and becoming which I had written for today seem even more apt…

One reason we practice mindfulness meditation is to strengthen our capacity to “be with” what is here,  rather than always nurturing the deep-seated dynamic of “becoming”.  And “being with” does not just mean that simplistic idea of mindfulness – being with this beautiful flower or cupcake –  but also being with the life or personality we have, rather than always wanting to be better or be like others –  “If only I was this….. if only he or she wasn’t like that – then I’d feel satisfied”. Ideals of perfect relationships, perfect holidays and even perfect wellness make it easy to feel that one isn’t good enough. These can be false friends, pushing us to do more and achieve more, rather than finding rest in who and where we are:

Perfectionism is a self-destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: “If I look perfect, live perfectly, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame.” Perfectionism is defeating and self-destructive simply because there is no such thing as perfect. Perfection is an unattainable goal. Additionally, perfectionism is more about perception – we want to be perceived as perfect. Again, this is unattainable – there is no way to control perception, regardless of how much time and energy we spend trying.

Perfectionism is addictive because when we invariably do experience shame, judgment, and blame, we often believe it’s because we weren’t perfect enough so rather than questioning the faulty logic of perfectionism, we become even more entrenched in our quest to live, look, and do everything just right.

Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

What sustains us on the way

Karl Duffy1 Comment

Mystery is not much in favor these days. The notion that there are limits to what we can do, what we can know, limits to our dominion, does not sit well with kings and queens of the hill. Humility and reverence, we hear, are the attitudes of cowards. . . . By ‘mystery’ I do not mean simply the blank places on our maps. I mean the divine source — not a void, not a darkness, but an uncapturable fullness. We are sustained by processes and powers that we can neither fathom nor do without. I speak of that ground as holy because it is ultimate, it is what makes us possible, that shapes and upholds everything we see. The stories I am most interested in hearing, reading, and telling, are those that help us imagine our lives in relation to that ground.

Scott Russell Sanders, Staying Put: Making a Home in a Restless World

On a journey

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A new month. We think we know where we are going.

Surely it is better to wait and see, moment by moment. Who knows where we will end up?

Whales follow
the whale-roads.
Geese, roads of magnetized air.

Yet how often
the heart
that set out for Peru
arrives in China,

Steering hard.
consulting the charts
the whole journey.

Jane Hirshfield, China

 

Moments of orange light: An invitation to happiness

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A very grey start to the day here in Ireland …but every day we are given opportunities to collect little moments of colour that give us courage to keep going and renew happiness.

We are invited not just to live life, but to celebrate it.

The poppies send up their orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while, the roughage

shines like a miracle as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course, loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light is an invitation
to happiness, and that happiness, when it’s done right, is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive.

Inside the bright fields, touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do —
what can you do about it —
deep, blue night?

Mary Oliver, Poppies