Show Notes
Above is a guided meditation. Below is me reading the essay that follows: An online sangha that I join occasionally recently invited me to teach for them, and here’s what they asked for: We would like you to talk about a phrase that you often use in your online classes. Variations of this phrase: “What if you are supposed to be right here right now?” or “What if you are exactly where you are supposed to be?” or “What if you are meant to be exactly where you are?” It has sparked some discussion in our group around what is the meaning of the phrase; the use of words like ‘meant/supposed to be’ feeling like a predetermined destiny; and if there is any basis for the phrase, your meaning of it, and why you choose to say it, that is based or found in Buddhist teachings. The mind has this relentless habit of being at odds with reality, constantly insisting that things should be otherwise. It’s exhausting. I’ve found it to be helpful to challenge the nagging, persistent belief that what’s happening shouldn’t be happening, in a very direct way. What if what’s happening right now is exactly what should be happening? I know. It sounds like a crazy thing to suggest, especially given what’s unfolded in the past few days in Iran. But humor me for just a bit. The Buddha talked often about how we live in a reality of causes and conditions, and how each moment is composed entirely of them. Everything you do and experience happens as a result of a series of events that came before this one. This moment is the culmination of countless, infinite causes and conditions. So you might say that it’s all happened in order for this moment to take place. That is why this moment is so important to pay attention to. Because everything has led to this. And not only that, this moment is all that there is. There is nothing else which exists, and therefore nothing else could possibly be happening except this. So yes, this is indeed what should be happening. The next time someone asks you how you’re doing, you can confidently say “I couldn’t be better.” Yes, it seems that saying “this is supposed to be happening” conjures a sense of pre-destiny, or that there’s some divine being who has planned all of this intentionally. I’m not trying to say that, but I’m also not not trying to say that. I don’t know whether or not there is a God or if things are somehow predetermined. But I do think it’s healthy to keep an open mind about these things. The skeptical Western mind often defaults to atheism or nihilism, but that’s just as unknowable as the theory that the universe was created by a Flying Spaghetti Monster. Now, the opposite of “this is what’s supposed to be happening” would be “this shouldn’t be happening.” If the statement “this shouldn’t be happening” leads to instant suffering, and its opposite leads to freedom, does it actually matter if there’s no scientific evidence that can tell us which statement is true and which is false? We can see in our own experience that one leads to suffering, and the other to freedom. So why not follow the one that leads to freedom? If you’re worried that you’ll end up blindly believing in some false reality, then I get that. But the Buddha never intended for us to stop somewhere and let our minds set up camp and calcify around some belief. Quite the opposite. He said ehipassiko: come, see for yourself. Keep noticing what contributes to suffering, and what brings it to an end. See for yourself how clinging to any belief leads to suffering. This is not about getting stuck in a belief at all, it’s about real-time experiential understanding of the unfolding moment. “What if this is supposed to be happening” is not a belief, but an invitation to stop living in a world of beliefs about what’s happening, and just touch reality directly. Your support makes a huge difference. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
As for whether or not what’s happening right now is good or bad, none of us
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The above meditation is meant to be listened to when you’re having a hard time sleeping. I initially recorded it for 10% with Dan Harris. If you don’t know about that app, I highly recommend it. Below is me reading the essay that follows: It’s 3am, and you can’t fall back asleep. The longer you’re awake, the more stressed you get about it, and the harder it is to fall asleep. Millions, maybe billions of people have this problem on a nightly basis. We go to great lengths to find our way back to sleep, from medications to sound machines to sleep specialists. I never used to be one of those people who struggled with sleep, which changed when I got a chronic illness. That, followed by having two kids, and I haven’t slept through the night in approximately five years. Lately I’ve been night-weaning our baby Rumi. That means James is with her all night, and I’m sleeping with her brother in his twin-sized floor mattress so she can’t smell the intoxicating scent of my liquid ambrosia. Normally, Rumi will wake up 4-5 times a night, and for the entire thirteen months she’s been alive, I’ve been tasked with responding and nursing her. But for the first time since she was born, I have the opportunity to sleep through the night. And naturally, I can’t. I’m awake between 1 and 4am, which seems to be the time when many people with insomnia can’t sleep. If you find yourself awake at that time, you’re not alone. According to historian Roger Ekirch, before the industrial revolution and artificial lighting, many people in Western Europe slept in two chunks: one before midnight, and one after. But then, with the rise of the 9-5 workday, that had to change. So, maybe this rhythm is natural. Sometimes, this information is enough to release some of the resistance to the fact that you’re awake in the middle of the night thinking about your car payments or your test results. Then you can lean into the fullness of whatever experience you’re having, in mind and body. It’s not a YOU problem anymore, it’s a natural cycle. Often when I’m awake at this hour, my mind is either racing or chewing on some issue that I haven’t been able to deal with during the busyness of the day. Sometimes it’s mainly a physical experience: there’s some tension or discomfort in my body that makes it hard to get comfortable. Leaning into the experience means that I turn it into a formal practice. I either sit up, or I get into lying down meditation mode— it’s not just lying there, it’s a real commitment to practice. Either way, I meditate properly, without the intention of falling back asleep (though if that happens, it’s not a bad thing). I make a point of turning directly towards whatever I’m grappling with, and look for the resistance. I try to surrender to it. I always have insight. I never regret it. And I’ve stopped feeling upset about being awake in the middle of the night. In fact, I kind of love it. It’s when I remember what matters most, and when I feel myself actually making strides in that direction. I like to think (and here comes the mysticism) that 3am is an ethereal time, a time when you can’t really run away or distract as easily from your feelings, and a deeper presence can emerge. You’re a bit more stuck in the present moment. There’s nowhere to run. That’s when they get you (says my exceptionally gifted seer, Caryn Benevento). Who’s they? I dunno; the Buddha, the devas, the gods— whoever’s out there in this wild spiritual universe that’s got your back. And maybe that’s the whole reason that you’re awake, so they can finally get you. Because at night, you’re more vulnerable. In this semi-awake state when you’re in a soft, cozy bed, it’s easier to surrender to things you habitually fend off or distract from. Loving awareness has been standing at the door all day with its coat on, ready for a hug. At 3:33, you finally let it in. It might be easy to believe that what happens during the daytime is the most important part of your life, but ever since taking on the
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Here’s a guided meditation on generosity. It’s not a bribe. Meditate Your Face Off is not a cult that’s trying to brainwash you into giving me money, calling it Dharma. But I know it looks bad given the essay that follows. (TLDR: price for new subscribers is going up October 4th, current subscribers aren't affected, more on why below.) Hi! This is a slightly different post, because I’m sort of gonna ask for money, but it’ll hopefully be different from that time where you put your business card in a fishbowl at a restaurant and won a free lunch for everyone in your office, and then had to sit through that poor soul’s pitch to sell you their business software while you quietly ate your free deep dish pizza and smiled politely. Instead: here’s a little context, followed by a small change. The Dāna Model: In the Buddhist tradition I teach from, teachings are offered freely. You can’t put a price on the truth, and the Buddha wanted everyone to have access to the teachings, to liberation. He also wanted people to learn about dāna (the Pāli word for generosity), because generosity is an intrinsic part of the path to freedom. So he set up a system where the teachers, who were monastics, were basically helpless— they couldn’t have possessions, they couldn’t grow food: they depended entirely on laypeople to meet their basic needs. In return, the monastics would share the dharma, teach people how to meditate, teach people about kindness and compassion. There was a constant flow of generosity. The dāna model as it was brought to Western culture means that we teachers don’t usually get paid for our work. We rely on the generosity of the people we teach to support us. It means that I have no idea how much money will come from the time and resources I put into teaching each retreat. This is truly gratifying. Because I know that people are, more often than not, offering me money for the joy of giving and the love of the dharma, not out of obligation. A dollar that comes from a place of real generosity is worth far more than an obligatory dollar. With this newsletter, everything of substance is free, and the paid tier exists so the people who get something out of it and can afford to contribute, do — which is what keeps the whole thing running for everyone, including the people who can’t pay right now. If you can’t afford a paid subscription (now, or ever) you don’t have to. Message me and I’ll give you full access, no questions asked. That’s the way the dāna model works. The teachings were never supposed to have a paywall around them in the first place; the paid tier exists so the people who can pay, do, which is what makes it possible for the people who can’t to get the same thing for free. That’s the whole arrangement. It only works if people actually use it. Also: you practicing, reading, even just having interest in this work is its own act of generosity. Not to be too sappy, but it’s true. And sharing it is another way of offering dāna: The small change: Meditate Your Face Off has been a tremendous joy for me to craft. I love the community that’s been growing around it, I love how it keeps my practice alive, and I love how weird I can get and still have readership. I want it to feel more sustainable financially, so that I can keep pouring my heart and soul into it. So, starting October 4th, new paid subscriptions move from $8/month to $11/month (or $80/year to $110/year) If you’re already a paying subscriber, this doesn’t touch you — your rate stays exactly what it is, for as long as you stay subscribed. I promise it’s not one of those promotional windows closing on you. If you’ve been meaning to upgrade or you’re currently free and thinking about it, October 3rd is your last chance to lock in $8/month instead of $11. If Meditate Your Face Off has been worth more to you than what you’re currently paying: You don’t have to cancel and resubscribe if you want to offer more. Bump up to the Pay it Forward tier (or just pay more than the stan
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Above is a guided meditation to find emotional freedom through eating. Below is me reading the essay that follows: Most of us have a rather complicated relationship with food. We want it, it soothes us deeply, but it also makes us feel out of control. Most mindful eating instructions tell us to eat slowly, carefully, and just to notice the sensations of eating. Chew a single raisin 100 times before swallowing, simply noticing all the textures and tastes. This guidance can sometimes lead us to believe that eating mindfully requires us to feel no emotion when we eat. Rather than behaving like a starving, rabid jackal— we try to turn ourselves into a proper Victorian lady being stared down by a governess. It’s a high bar. Giving up, we go back to eating while standing in front of the fridge. The common approach to eating meditation treats eating like it’s emotionally neutral, when in fact, most people are experiencing some degree of anxiety, shame, or dissociation while eating. Why else would we compulsively distract ourselves from the pleasure of eating with reading, scrolling, working, or planning what we’ll do after the meal? We can trace this all the way back to being in the womb, when we were completely enveloped by another person’s body, which kept us safe and nourished. And when we were separated, our life could only continue through nourishment in the form of mother’s milk, or something that mimicked it. Warm food from our caregivers was what kept that sense of safety, belonging, nourishment, and love flowing through us, reassuring us that we were protected in this life. A nursing newborn can easily melt into a deep state of ecstatic serenity. So naturally, when we’re feeling lonely as adults, we reach for a cookie. But what we really want is a hug. On some level, we’re all just longing to crawl back up into the womb. But on top of that primal link, there’s social baggage. Our bodies are scrutinized by societal standards of beauty, and our ability to sculpt our bodies into perfection becomes a symbol of our worth. Body regulation becomes a public performance of control, which makes eating meditation feel exposing rather than calming. So we're stuck: food promises the safety we've always wanted, but so does having control and a hot bod. We can't have both. When we eat, we’re simultaneously feeling deeply comforted, and totally out of control and gross. We’re desperate for something, but feeling very conflicted about it. Eating is not just a pleasurable or neutral act, it’s loaded with all kinds of baggage and associations with our lovableness from as far back as we can recall. Of course we try to distract ourselves while we eat. You can’t just selectively feel only the good without the bad, so checking out becomes the workaround. Meditate Your Face Off is made possible because of you! To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.