Show Notes
This article is based off of a dharma talk I gave this past Monday for the Burlington Dharma Collective. That talk is available to paid subscribers here. If you want to access it but can’t afford a paid subscription, just let me know and I’ll give you one, no questions asked. This post is about love. And when I talk about love, I’m also talking about mindfulness, because mindfulness is synonymous with love. To really allow something to fully be just as it is, and to stay present, nonjudgmental, and curious with it through whatever pain and wonder it undergoes, is to love. As we try to bring mindfulness off the cushion and into our real lives, into facing the current events of the world, our kindness and love are easily challenged. Hatred has a sneaky way of hiding covertly in our motivations. It can even hide behind the guise of love. Last weekend I went to write a dharma talk at a coffee shop in Burlington, and on the window in huge letters were the words “F*CK ICE.” I understand the sentiment there, but I don’t find it very helpful. There’s hatred behind those words. There is also love in there somewhere, there is care for the people who are being murdered, deported, separated from their children, their mothers and fathers. But love, real love, does not divide us. It erases lines in the sand, it doesn’t draw more of them. “F*CK ICE” draws lines. While it is indeed subversive to publicly renounce ICE when there’s clearly danger in doing that, what would be even more subversive would be to try to love the people you disagree with, the people you hate, and who hate you. Whether it’s the ICE agents, the lawmakers or the politicians, the person with the signs in their yard across the street from you, or the person in your family who is estranged or causing division. To listen, or find patience, or try to understand their histories, their stories, where they came from, why they are doing what they are doing. How might they be like me? Because if we really want to get to the root of the problem, we would not be subverting each other, we would be subverting hatred itself. And we cannot do that with more hatred. It doesn’t work that way. We can only do that with love. “Hatred never ceases with hatred, but by love alone is healed” -the Buddha
When I say love, I don’t mean a valentine’s day card, I mean whatever the beginning of love might look like for you towards someone who really bothers you. Maybe it’s just looking at them from a distance, seeing that they are a human, that they were once a baby. Maybe it’s understanding that they, too, feel pain, and are just trying to feel ok. Maybe it’s seeing that they were badly wounded at some point in their lives, and their harmful behavior is how they’re coping with that. That they don’t know better, otherwise they would do better. What if you watched some of the video footage of violence and pretended to be the one who is the offender, looked at them thinking “that’s me”? Or “that’s my child”? Hatred is sneaky, and can masquerade as love. We call it “fierce compassion,” misusing that term to justify our hate-motivated actions. It feels good to be angry, it feels like protection. And the energy of anger can indeed be quite useful for boundary setting, for standing firmly in knowing that we deserve to be treated with respect and care, for standing up for what is good, for what is right. But anger also burns. It burns people around us as it burns our own hearts. Let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater. When we’re mindful of anger, we honor it, we listen to all of what it has to say - the love behind it says that people deserve to be treated with care and respect. The pain behind it burns. When we’re mindful of anger, we don’t shame the anger away (that’s also just more hatred), we tend to the whole of the experience, and naturally the mind keeps the assertive, protective energy behind the anger (because that part feels good), and leaves behind the part of it that wants to cause more
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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.