As I reflect on my last post, I can’t help but feel like I took for granted that rush of excitement that comes with taking on the world – or at least feeling like you have the agency or capability to do so. Two and a half months later and that world is battling a common enemy. We’ve come together globally to start picking up the pieces, but with that slow healing process has come extreme isolation and fear.
We are accustomed to this perfect system of productivity and individualism fueled by habit and material exchange. Within that bubble are every-day facets of accomplishment, joy, obstacles, and challenges – ebbs and flows of experiencing life, one that now feels completely halted. The system is broken and the bubble is popped. A lot of us, originally blind to what was happening around the world, are forced to be alone and open our eyes.
This pause has created a very uncomfortable, new reality filled with heavy emotion and more time to worry. Ironically, we find ourselves physically stuck while our thoughts are wandering to the darkest places of our minds. The sick and the dying, the unemployed, and the wellbeing of not only economies and nations around the world, but also of our neighbors and our loved ones and even ourselves.
I am lucky enough to coincidentally be reading the book, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times by Pema Chödrön, that offers traditional Buddhist advice for transforming through suffering. Essentially, by moving towards painful situations instead of against them, one can turn fear and anxiety and pain into habitual ease and joy. Sounds impossible, right?
Instinctively, this lesson does not make sense to me, but I have sporadically read chapters of this book over the last few years as my world crumbled. Through breakups, loss of friendships, and times of dramatic change, attempting to grasp this concept has offered powerful solace. This time around, I decided to keep reading, and almost on cue, this global pandemic swept us off our feet.
There is a concept that resonated with me called “bodhichitta,” a word that means “noble or awakened heart.” It is said to be present in all beings and that in difficult times, it is the only thing that heals.
To give context, Chödrön references an anecdote about a woman dying in terrible pain and feeling overwhelming bitterness –
“At the point at which she felt like she couldn’t bear the suffering and resentment any longer, she unexpectedly began to experience the pain of others in agony: a starving mother in Ethiopia, a runaway teenager dying of an overdose in a dirty flat, a man crushed by a landslide and dying alone by the banks of a river. She understood that it wasn’t her pain, it was the pain of all beings. It wasn’t just her life, it was life itself.
We awaken this bodhichitta, this tenderness for life, when we can no longer shield ourselves from the vulnerability of our condition, from the basic fragility of existence. When inspiration has become hidden, when we feel ready to give up, this is the time when healing can be found in the tenderness of pain itself. In the midst of loneliness, in the midst of fear, in the middle of feeling misunderstood and rejected is the heartbeat of all things, the genuine heart of sadness.”
As I reread this excerpt, I did not feel relief. The idea that embracing tragedy is the key to happiness was troubling, but I continued to read. To awaken this tenderness of the heart, one must practice sending and receiving or in other words, breathing in pain and breathing out joy, creating space and ventilating the atmosphere of our lives. It was this collective pain and energy that made sense to me. The concept felt very real as I reflected on the current tragedy every human around the world is experiencing – some much worse than others, but it is a pain and reality that exists for everyone.
There is a power that comes with feeling that collectiveness. You are not alone, and you are not helpless. While an abstract concept, the instruction is to take a deep breath in of suffering and exhale out positive energy and kindness to someone that is experiencing some kind of anguish. It is a practice that allows people to feel less burdened and less cramped – a practice that shows us how to break down our armor, feel bridged with others, and love without conditions.
“Bodhichitta is available in moments of caring for things, when we clean our glasses or brush our hair. It’s available in moments of appreciation, when we notice the blue sky or pause and listen to the rain. It is available in moments of gratitude, when we recall a kindness or recognize another person’s courage. It is available in music and dance, in art, and in poetry. Whenever we let go of holding on to ourselves and look at the world around us, whenever we connect with sorrow, whenever we connect with joy, whenever we drop our resentment and complaint, in those moments bodhichitta is there.”
So, as it turns out, it’s not just breathing in and out. We can all choose to take this opportunity to admire the beautiful and dreadful parts of life, together. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – focus on living in the present moment or if you’re one of those psychoanalytic over-achiever types, reflect on who you have evolved into as a human being. Be vulnerable and let your emotions pass. Care, appreciate, thank others and create something. Connect.
As we sit alone in the safety of our homes, may we take a moment to reflect on how we, personally and as a society, will change going forward. How will ignorance persist when this is all over? One can only hope that, at the end of the day, the least we can do is take a breath in and take a breath out.
Fondue Me 