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Compassion and presence...

12/18/2017

In Ken McLeod’s book An Arrow to the Heart, he says the essence of the Heart Sutra is that “Compassion is presence.” This book was something of a guidebook as I tried to navigate my way through the Master of Divinity program at Naropa University from 2007-2010. Those three words: compassion is presence still resonate through my life more than any other thing I've learned.

You might call it a statement of belief, or a manifesto, or simply truth. That it is true has been proven again and again in my own experience.

The most clear example of this is going to a funeral. No one likes doing it. No one really knows what to say. And none of that matters. What matters to the loved ones is that you show up. Your presence says that you care, and that means more than any words you can come up with. It is compassion in action.

Another example of this is showing compassion to yourself, by being present to how you feel, who you are, what you need. So often we push ourselves aside with our to-do lists, and we cover up what's going on inside with lots of activity outside. There is no presence, only absence, which means there is no compassion, only harshness or indifference.

My Buddhist teacher used to ask me, "Why are you killing yourself?" I didn't understand that for a long time, though it felt true, even when I didn't know why. At the same time, when I would talk about being angry or irritated with someone, or even happy, she would ask me how that felt in my body. In frustration I finally snapped at her that my body and I hadn't been on speaking terms for years. I was so unable to be present with myself, physically and emotionally, that she saw it as a form of killing or smothering myself. It took me a long time to see that, and even longer to find compassion for myself.

Me with my beloved Pongo

The first time I can remember feeling compassion for myself was after I'd driven my teacher to the airport, and realized that I was terrified something might happen to her. Instead of telling myself what an idiot I was, I acknowledged the fear with a kind of understanding and gentleness I'd never had toward myself before.

Eventually, that allowed me to have genuine compassion for others as well, which manifested in being able to be present to their grief or their joy, without needing to try to fix it or validate it.

It's still a work in progress - or maybe I should say I'm still a work in progress. There's still a lot to learn.

Compassion is presence. Can I embody that in my writing? That question leads to other questions, and in the end, the one question that really matters is: am I willing to try? It requires both courage and openness, and I will admit I've never seen myself as particularly heroic. In one sense, we are all heroes as we move through our day, present to the world around us and within us. Thanks for your compassion and presence.

Take care,

Doc

I'll be away for the holidays, so the next new blog will be Tuesday, January 2nd. Have a great holiday!

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Reboot...

12/11/2017

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I've been reading United, Cory Booker's autobiographical manifesto, or as he puts it, "...about my political and personal awakening." He caught my attention when he gave a speech at the Democratic National Convention last year. I loved what he said and the passion with which he said it. When I ran across his book this fall, I immediately bought it and then buried it for a month or two under the pile of other books I wanted to read when I got a chance.

What prompted me to pick it up now, was a discussion I had at Thanksgiving, during which I brought up his name as one of the people Hillary Clinton shortlisted for VP. I thought that if she'd chosen him, she might have won - we'll never know, of course; that was my speculation and nothing more. I also said that I thought that history would see Barack Obama as one of our great presidents, along with Abraham Lincoln and FDR.

Presidential portrait from barackobama.com

(You can listen to the entire speech or read it at: https://constitutioncenter.org/amoreperfectunion/)

The person with whom I was talking was convinced that the only reason I supported either of those men was because they were black politicians. Even when I explained that my admiration for President Obama had its roots in his speech on race in Philadelphia in 2008, in which I first had a glimpse of the breadth of his vision, my cousin was skeptical. Then-Senator Obama took what was in many ways a very personal issue, the controversial statements made by his pastor, and addressed that issue by acknowledging their relationship while also asserting that his pastor did not speak for him. Then he placed the situation in the context of race relations in our country, and spoke about the importance of talking about what was uncomfortable and difficult to discuss. I knew that even if I didn't agree with everything he did, Barack Obama would be a president I could trust to act with integrity and intention.

That depth and breadth of mind that I loved in Barack Obama is what I glimpsed in Cory Booker at the DNC last year. It has nothing to do with the color of one's skin. It has everything to do with who they are as human beings, and how they articulate their beliefs and their vision.

I'm only on page 47, and already I've highlighted a number of things that resonate for me, not so much on a political level as on a human level. This is the passage that is reverberating through me these days, and it's a paraphrasing of what his mother said to him:

...the world needs the full measure of your faith, your courage, your boldest thoughts, your most inspiring dreams.

Right in the center of that you'll find the word "courage."

It takes courage to share the full measure of your faith with the world. It takes courage to share your boldest thoughts with the world. And it takes courage to share your most inspiring dreams with the world.

The world can be brutal to those who open themselves and share freely. And that is the only thing that can change the world. No trying to protect yourself, no pulling punches. Just - this is it, this is the best I have to offer.

This is the hardest thing anyone, including a writer, can do. And it's also the thing that is essential to writing something that will change lives, including your own. There is a visceral experience when we are courageous. It is the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual experience of being aware and present with our fear, and moving forward in the face of it, whether in words or actions.

This is the time of year when we often take stock of ourselves, and start thinking about what we'll do different in the new year. When I read those words, I find myself feeling the need to reboot as a writer. What that will mean for me, I don't know. What I do know is that courage will be the essential ingredient in the mix.

Take care,

Doc

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What matters most...

12/5/2017

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I'm late with this post. I'd intended to write it last night, and I couldn't. The Steeler game was on TV, and I was watching for a while before I wrote. About 4 minutes into the game, a young man on the Steeler team made a tackle the wrong way, and was injured. He wasn't moving his legs, and it looked catastrophic. His teammates and coach were visibly upset, and even the other team was concerned. They had trouble concentrating on football. I had trouble concentrating on writing.

What in the world was there to say? That I was sitting on the couch in the TV room, sick at heart at the possibility that a young man might be seriously injured? Nothing I could think about to write made any sense at all in that moment, so I didn't write.

Today, I heard that he is doing better, and has some movement in his legs. They are still doing tests, but that is hopeful.

The Steeler sideline at Heinz Field before the first preseason game this year

A sunset on the Big Sur coast - not a fire area, just fiery in appearance

Then there was the news of the Thomas Fire in Ventura County, California. 60,000 acres in the last 24-36 hours, zero percent contained, spreading very fast because of the Santa Ana winds. I have a friend who, along with her partner and their animals, are at risk if it keeps spreading. The picture she posted this morning on Instagram was terrifying, especially if she took the picture herself.

And what is there to say about that? That I hope they are safe, of course. And all of the other folks impacted by the fire.

Someone once wrote to me in an email that it felt like there was always something - an onslaught of traumas or painful experiences. I don't know if there are more now than there ever were before. Maybe it's partly that we live longer than people used to, so we experience more over time.

I also ran across a journal I kept for a class when I was at Naropa, in which I shared this: I found that a lot of anger has come up...In talking with my teacher, she suggested I try not to identify it or fix it, but just to be with it when it comes up, and let my body work with it and through it. That, of course, is very uncomfortable...

It seems that we are required to bear witness to much that feels unbearable. And there are, in fact, times when we must try to fix things in our world, and participate rather that simply observe. But in the times when we can do nothing except be present or turn away, we need to be present. It's like going to a funeral and feeling unable to find anything to say. The words don't matter. Our wordless presence says it all - we are willing to be there to support someone we care about. That is love.

Wednesday, December 6 update: I heard from my friend, who along with her partner and animals was evacuated yesterday. They are safe, though the fire line is approximately a mile from their home and the fire is 0% contained as of this morning. The winds have died down overnight, but are expected to increase again. Yesterday, according to one news source, the fire burned at an acre a second, the equivalent of Central Park in New York being consumed in 15 minutes.

Be well,

Doc

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dialogue with doc

Compassion and presence...

Reboot...

What matters most...

Carol (Doc) Dougherty

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