I've just finished reading Pema Chödrön's When Things Fall Apart for a new book club created for the folks in my shala, and there several passages that made me feel uncomfortable, and a little called out. I felt my chest rising in argument, ready for the challenge, especially when she speaks of the danger of seeking out pleasure without awareness of the reality of passion's shadow side: pain. My hackles raised -- I'm all for living in the present and being content and compassionate to myself in the moments, but what's wrong with seeking pleasure? In touching rose petals and inhaling deeply, in drawing the ones we love close for embraces, for biting into a juicy plum on a summer day and feeling the juice drip down our chins? Once I read further, my hackles smoothed back down against my back, and I understood. As there is no pleasure without pain, we need to be compassionate and patient with the storm and the sun. The sweetest smelling roses are often the ones with the most thorns, and our most passionate embraces are often those after some sort of strife or long absence.
Pema also cautions against reveling too much in memory. If we don't attempt to keep our minds in the present in a gentle way, it's easy to fall back into the murkiness of memory. Lovely things live there, things I paint: colors, smells, harmony and beauty. But if we fall into the trap of comparison and ennui, the beauty that lives in our memory is destined to only live in the past, and not flow into our present and our future. She says that "Every situation is a passing memory.” Every moment morphs in less than a blink: every color, every plum, every touch, every kiss. Here in a fleeting moment, then residing forever in the world of memory. Hold them there, keep them close, but don't dwell so much that the beauty changes to shadow and clouds over our present moments.
Where memories flow in the past, daydreams and hope rush into the future. Beautiful things live here, too. Our wishes for loved ones, our dream homes, future trips, our careers, our children's happiness. All the time, we dwell in the world of happily ever after before it ever happens. I think we can all agree that a lot of our collective grief right now is for our daydreams that may not be able to come to fruition. The dashed vacation. The job change. The loss of income that negatively impacted a housing purchase. The death of a loved one. Separation from a loved one, with no way to travel to them and hold them close. I especially fall into the trap of beating myself up for dwelling in the land of make believe and feeling dejected when things don't work out, or fall apart. What I've found is that there have been moments of intense happiness and contentment within this elevated, extended shared anxiety. That leaning into the shaky ground of today has helped me come to terms with the unknown future, albeit in messy ways. I vow to keep my daydreams swirling above my head, but not so much that I don't notice the red clay at my feet.
I also plan to continue to explore through this odd time, to allow myself to be challenged and to challenge, and to breathe into the tight spots through color and light.
Comments