Tag: wisdom
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4 Tips for Failing Better in Your Spiritual Practice
“Ever tried, ever failed, no matter. Try again, fail again, fail better.” ~Samuel Beckett
I felt an enormous sense of relief when I discovered that he was a total mess! I’m talking about one of the most revered Buddhist monks of our time. I learned this from a short autobiography, A Mountain in Tibet: A Monk’s Journey. It was written by the current abbot of the Kagyu Samye Ling Tibetan Buddhist monastery in Scotland (UK), Yeshe Losal Riponche.
Having escaped from his war-torn home country (Tibet) and after much other trauma, he found himself in the West, entirely immersed in the sex-drugs-rock’n’roll culture of the 1960s. “Selfish and full of pride,” “surly and miserable,” is how Yeshe Losal Riponche describes his younger self in the book. He didn’t part with this way of being until his late thirties despite having grown up in, and having been surrounded by, the Buddhist culture his whole life.
I too have had an intense period of being “selfish and full of pride,” “surly and miserable” recently. I was overworked, stressed, snappy, judgmental, critical, disappointed with myself, and constantly blaming others. With zero daily practice to carry me through the inner and outer chaos.
Why is it still happening to me? After years’ worth of pursuing a different way of being. After years’ worth of seeking a life free from craving, aversion, and the usual human insanity. Why do I have to go through this never-ending cycle of feeling more mature and more at peace, and then hitting a low point when my mind is as unruly as that of any random person who’s never been exposed to any dharma whatsoever?
The autobiography was a timely gift. It reminded me that I was not in it alone.
We all, every single one of us, travel the same path. With its “ups and downs.” And this whole thing is called life. Ram Dass says that aiming to stay on a spiritual “high” all the time is not just unrealistic. It is a form of spiritual materialism. I become a consumer who wants this one thing (being high and holy) and has a tantrum every time she doesn’t get the goods. The more you fight it, the worse it becomes.
Ram Dass shares the most hilarious and uplifting stories of enjoying (?!) seven hours’ worth of sexual fantasies while pretending to be in deep meditation. Or spending the first nine days of his thirty-day silent retreat watching tv for twelve hours a day. While it’s fun listening to his confessions, one can feel how utterly painful it would have been for Ram Dass to observe himself engage in such behavior.
His advice? Simply keep watching but do it with compassion. This too shall pass.
Even if I’ve failed to learn much else on the path, I think I have managed to figure out this one thing. It is not about getting holier each day moving in a neat trajectory. I’m not sure what it’s all about. But it’s not about that.
Now, when I catch myself sleep-walking through life, I no longer feel deflated, discouraged, or dismayed. I am much more at peace with it. And that weakens the power of the monkey mind. Non-resistance is a great source of strength. I could never really understand Mooji’s call to “be at peace with a chaotic mind.” I now know that it is definitely possible.
You can watch yourself do mental acrobatics with self-righteous guilt and blame, and think, “There there…this too shall pass.” Once the child has exhausted itself and collapsed after the tantrum, it’ll naturally calm down. And the Buddha is waiting on the other side. There is nowhere else to go. There is no escape from our Buddha nature.
This is not to say that discipline doesn’t matter, that sustained whole-hearted commitment is not necessary, or that “anything goes.” But I strongly believe that neither lack of discipline nor commitment, nor any other force under the sun, as Christians put it, “not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.” (Romans 8:38, NLT) The Buddha’s heart overflows with compassion for me; his faith in me and commitment to me is unshakeable. Nothing can ever change that.
All of the above is just to say do not be discouraged. Ever. If you are reading this, rest assured, you’ve been trapped! You are secure on the path. You may get off track, do a U-turn or whatever, but you simply cannot choose another path. The path has chosen you. You are safe.
What follows are a few simple tools and suggestions to create an environment and a lifestyle that continue to remind you that you are a student, a disciple, a pilgrim. Always. Even when your life is filled with anything but peace, contentment, and equanimity.
The Environment
I like to draw living water from out of the well that is fed by the rivers of every tradition. I am quite eclectic in my spirituality and my home reflects that. Among my precious possessions are
- a small statue of Ganesh, the Elephant God, from an ashram near NYC,
- a beautiful Orthodox icon Mary and the baby Jesus (that reflects my cultural heritage),
- incense sticks from London Buddhist Centre that I pop in for puja now and then,
- a string of beads from the London Self-Realisation Society,
- an audio-Bible on my phone,
- an e-version of Ekchart Tolle’s The Power of Now on my laptop,
- a magazine on spiritual accompaniment on the bedside table…
The list goes on. The point is, my flat and my environment in general are flooded with reminders of where I’ve been, what I’ve heard, who I’ve met, and what matters most to me.
Sometimes some of these reminders become like fridge magnets and I stop noticing them. Then I may introduce something new. But most of the time, these things are not wallpaper. I’ve given them a function. They are meaningful. They keep reminding me of who I am.
What does my weird collection represent to me? It reminds me that my past has been filled with spirituality, and so is my present and my future. No area of my life is free from meaning and purpose, as every moment in time and every place in space are part of my practice. I am never alone.
I am surrounded by fellow pilgrims even when I don’t have anyone physically present next to me. Behind the awe-inspiring diversity of beliefs and practices, there is unity and oneness underneath it all. Every one of us is part of the lineage. May we continue practicing in gratitude to those who came before us and in guarding the tradition for those who are yet to come.
Does your environment reflect your path, your identity, your truth? How can you make small changes to your bedroom or workplace to introduce a few things that would remind you of who and where you belong?
The People
Life is forever dragging me into some human drama where people and situations trigger me, and my behavior acts as a trigger for others. There’s no sense of perspective or wisdom or equanimity in my life. No one models any of that to me, and I fail to model it to others.
Without spiritually significant others in my life, I’d be entirely lost, thinking that the grown-up world really is just about bills and “commitments.” In the more balanced periods of my life, I may have a more stable relationship with such people (e.g., taking part in a meditation group regularly). At other times, I still try to make sure that these people are still in my life even if I’m not in regular contact with anyone in particular.
The longer you stay on the path, the more fellow pilgrims enter your life. Then there’s other people who are just naturally joyful, or naturally perceptive or compassionate. Talking to them reminds me to seek after what’s true and beautiful, and to not just stay a passive participant in the rat-race of life.
It’s important that I get an occasional email or message from those people. It’s vital that they get to hear from me once in a while. This infrequent contact isn’t too heavy to maintain, yet it punctuates one’s life with tiny reminders of who one really is, or rather who one isn’t.
If you are able to, just pop into any spiritually meaningful place that’s local to you. Even a five-minute chat with someone there would help you to feel like you’re on the right path again.
Send a quick “hi, how are you” to someone you met on a retreat or someone that you’ve connected with in another way, watch a YouTube video with someone who has been a long-term teacher or source of inspiration for you, or attend a live talk, online or in person.
Even a random one-off visit and a very occasional catch-up with someone who is after the same thing as yourself does miracles. This is especially so because you get to see how other people fluctuate between the states of being spiritually awake and asleep. They too occasionally fall asleep without falling off the path.
The Doing
It’s good if you are able to do things “properly” (e.g., you meditate once a day every day; you are part of a community where people deepen and grow in their practice together, etc.) But chances are, you want to do these things, but half the time you can’t get yourself to do much or anything at all. That’s fine. Just do something.
Pretty much anything goes. Watching inspirational videos, listening to thought-provoking podcasts, journaling, walking, doing mindful coloring, listening to relaxing music or sacred chanting, meditating, or sleeping. Anything that adds color to your life counts (e.g., a heart-warming film or a powerful theater performance, or enjoying a nice meal or learning the basics of self-massage).
You are in a classroom, so every life experience is part of the path, part of your practice. Just try and have a brief moment of mindful appreciation for whatever it is that you are doing. Give thanks. And just relax, enjoy it, have fun.
Remember also that rest is resistance in a world where we’re expected to do more, better, faster. So, be rebellious. Do nothing.
The Timing
Yes, that is the most annoying and painful question. Just when do I get the time to stop and do anything vaguely spiritual?! I’d say this is about being creative and generous in your interpretation of what counts as spiritual practice. If your daily routine allows you to have a five-minute cup of tea or coffee first thing in the morning, that’s an awesome start to the day. That’s your practice.
When I can’t do it (most days), I make myself a cup of coffee at work and try to not turn my work laptop on until I’m done with my cup of coffee. At the end of the day, when I’m too tired to meditate, pray, read, or do anything else, I just turn on the pretty fairy lights and curl up on the little sofa for ten minutes. Just staring into space.
My other mindful pause is while air-drying my hands at work. It takes a little longer than doing it with a paper towel and gives me a couple more seconds of peace and quiet in the bathroom. Occasionally, I’d stand up and stare outside the window in my office. Two- to three-minute-long micro-breaks are powerful tools for grounding yourself in the moment.
Naturally, some days are so full-on, I don’t even have the luxury of taking the time to dry my hands properly. I just do it when I can. When I remember. Bringing attention back to the breathing is something that I find relatively easy and very helpful as this is how I meditate anyway.
Little but often is certainly best. In my books, “occasionally” and even “very occasionally” are still better than “not at all.” If you can take one mindful breath a day—even once a week—this is still a precious moment of mindfulness. It counts; it does make a difference.
No matter how much or how little “spiritual stuff” you manage to do on any given day, it’s the intention that counts, as the old saying goes. It really does. While the intention is there, the flame is burning. So, just keep it burning by taking those micro-breaks and filling your life with mini reminders to ground and strengthen you. In conclusion, let me remind you of my precious mantra:
Ever tried, ever failed, no matter. Try again, fail again, fail better. (Samuel Beckett)
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4 Practical Techniques to Heal from Childhood Trauma
“It is important for people to know that no matter what lies in their past, they can overcome the dark side and press on to a brighter world.” ~Dave Pelzer, A Child Called “It”
I grew up in the shadow of my pathologically narcissistic father. From a very young age, my role in the family was that of the scapegoat, a role that poisoned my entire childhood. I lived in a constant state of fear, shame, and self-doubt, always trying to please my father and earn his love and approval.
But as I grew older and began to understand the true nature of my father’s behavior, I realized that his love was never something I could earn or deserve. It was simply not within my control. And so I made the conscious decision to release myself from the burden of trying to gain his love.
Letting go of this childhood trauma was not easy. It took time, and notwithstanding the fact that I am now well into middle age, there are still days when I feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. But as I began to peel away the layers of hurt and pain, I also discovered a newfound sense of freedom and self-acceptance.
By acknowledging my past experiences and their impact on my life, I was able to take control and make positive changes. I learned to use my voice, set boundaries, and prioritize my own well-being. And in doing so, I found that the more I released myself from the hold of my childhood trauma, the more empowered and hopeful I became.
Letting go of childhood trauma does not mean forgetting or denying what happened. It means accepting it, learning from it, and using it as fuel for growth and healing. It also means embracing vulnerability and allowing ourselves to feel and process our emotions.
The Dysfunctional Dynamics of a Narcissistic Family
In the cast of characters within my family, each of us played a specific role in my father’s drama, almost as if we were following a script.
My father, the puppet master, was the archetypal narcissist, continually seeking admiration while lacking empathy for others, making family life a perpetual performance.
My mother played the part of the enabler, softening and justifying my father’s actions, her support acting as the grease that allowed the machinery of his narcissism to run smoothly.
My brother, the golden child, lived in the glow of my father’s approval, unwittingly being shaped into a younger version of the man who was destroying him.
And then there was me, the scapegoat, taking on all of my father’s projected anger and shame, often being punished for things I didn’t even do.
Understanding these roles has been a painful yet illuminating part of my journey. This insight is a bittersweet liberation, lifting some of the burdens that I’ve carried for so long—and with each step in awareness, I’m crafting a new life narrative, built not on the foundations of trauma but on hope and self-compassion.
The Importance of Letting Go
For the longest time, I clung to my past, believing that the pain I refused to shed was somehow integral to my identity. Yet, the power I gave to those memories only helped them grow roots in the present.
In the end, it took a total mental breakdown to shake me out of this mindset, ironically triggered by an act of total altruism by my oldest and closest friend. She fostered a little girl, and when I met her I was catapulted back to my own childhood and all the pain and fear it entailed.
It was like opening Pandora’s box, but instead of the evils of the world flying out, they pulled me in and closed the lid behind me.
But it was in this dark place that I finally found the strength to let go. I couldn’t keep living a life where my past weighed so heavily on my present. I was no longer a child, bound by my father’s whims and expectations. I had the power to break free from that cycle of trauma—but this required me to release the past.
The Healing Process Through Release and Forgiveness
Healing from my childhood trauma was not just about shutting the door on my past experiences, but rather understanding and empathizing with the self that had to endure them.
Forgiveness, I learned, isn’t about absolving others of consequence. It’s about forgiving myself for all the things that I did to cope with my pain.
Through therapy and self-reflection, I slowly released the anger and hurt that had consumed me for so long. And as I did so, I was able to replace it with a sense of peace and self-acceptance. It’s an ongoing process, but one that has brought immense healing and growth into my life.
Practical Techniques for Letting Go
The path to release is different for everyone, and there is no one right way to let go of childhood trauma. However, there are common threads that tie the experiences of many trauma survivors in their quest for freedom from the past.
Therapy and Counseling Options
Seeking professional help was a pivotal step in my personal growth. It took a while for me to find the right therapist – someone with whom I felt comfortable discussing my most painful memories. But when I did, it was a game-changer.
Therapy gave me the tools to process my emotions and memories in a healthy way, allowing me to gradually let go of the hold they had on me. It also provided a safe space for me to explore and understand the dysfunctional dynamics within my family.
I had to face the fact that some of the behaviors that I had adopted as a child as a means of survival were no longer serving me in the present. With the help of my therapist, I was able to challenge these beliefs and develop healthier coping mechanisms.
For example, as a kid I learned to overachieve in an attempt to prove that I was more than the nothing my father insisted I was. Therapy helped me understand that I didn’t need to prove my worth through accomplishments. I now practice embracing my imperfection and loving myself regardless of what I achieve.
Self-Care Practices
Taking care of myself physically, mentally, and emotionally has also been crucial in my healing journey. This includes regular exercise, eating well, getting enough rest, and setting healthy boundaries with others.
But self-care also means allowing myself to feel and process my emotions, without judgment or shame. It means practicing self-compassion and being gentle with myself as I work through the trauma.
Journaling and Creative Outlets
Journaling became my confidante. The act of writing was a release valve for my emotions, allowing the chaos within me to take shape and form on the page. I also started a blog, which helped me connect with many people who had gone through similar experiences. For the first time, I did not feel alone.
The Gift of Gratitude
I have now come a very long way. I no longer see myself as a victim, a damaged person constantly trying to convince others, and herself, that she is worthy of love. My family of birth had not nurtured me, but somehow, along the way, I met people who were not related to me by blood but who held out their hand and helped me pull myself out of the hole I had almost been buried in.
These people finally offered the validation and affection that I had always longed for, and I learned that family is more than a biological fact. It is a spiritual and emotional bond that is chosen and nurtured.
I learned that healing is best not done in isolation, but within a community. Reflecting on the love and support they’ve given me, I feel a profound sense of gratitude that fills me with hope and gives strength to my journey.
Conclusion
If you stand where I once stood, weighed down by the chains of your past, I offer you one simple truth: release is not the end, but a beginning. It is a step into the unknown, where the freedom to redefine yourself lies in the courage to shed the familiar, even when it’s painful.
I encourage you, fellow survivor, to take that step, to release and heal, and to discover the world that waits beyond the walls of trauma. It is a world of limitless potential, a life in full color, where the past is not a prison, but a whisper, and you hold the pen to write your own story.
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How I Found Purpose When I Lost It at Work
“The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.” ~Fyodor Dostoyevsky
When I was in my last semester of college in 2016, I got my first paid job working in libraries as a children’s library assistant. I can remember the passion and sense of purpose I initially felt when taking this job. The idea that, every day, I’d be helping foster a love of reading in kids felt like a worthwhile career.
Reading supports cognitive development in children. It enhances language skills and improves concentration. It encourages creativity and even fosters empathy, as it introduces children to worlds they otherwise would not know of. Suffice it to say, this seemed like the kind of career that would give me purpose, something I always looked for when selecting a career path.
When I began working as a children’s assistant, I felt that sense of purpose. The library I worked at was big. There were kids constantly coming into the beautiful children’s room, with its high ceiling and numerous colorful shelves full of books. I eagerly tried to help each one find that one book that would spark excitement and, hopefully, a love of reading.
I also got to run fun children’s programs, like a yoga class, a baking class, and a writing club. And I ran a story time for babies twice a week. Seeing the children enjoy these programs together, socialize, and view the library as a community place enhanced my sense of purpose. I was doing something meaningful, something that benefited the community.
As time went on, I knew my end goal was to be a youth services librarian, not just an assistant. I knew in that position I could make the biggest difference. I would be the one in charge of the children’s and teen departments, and the books and programs each one offered. I started applying for these positions until finally I got offered one.
Going into this job, my sense of purpose was strong. I was excited at all the possibilities open to me with these new responsibilities. I was ready for this next step.
And for the first couple months, things were great.
The library had no director. Instead, there were two employees acting as co-interim directors. The library was very small. We all got along, though, and helped each other out.
However, a new director was eventually hired, and I quickly realized we didn’t mesh well. She was a micromanager, and I felt very limited and restricted by her. She also followed her own agenda and even censored the books I put out to meet her own beliefs. This goes against the library systems belief of intellectual freedom and was a huge red flag to me.
There were many days when I came home crying, and my anxiety skyrocketed. I even passed out once at work due to the level of stress I was experiencing. I wanted to quit, but knew I needed to find a new job first. Every day, I felt sick going into work. My sense of purpose of working in libraries with children was fading.
There was one day in particular that sent that sense of purpose crumbling. There was a preschool above the library, and the kids were scheduled to come down to the library for a story time. I remember feeling anxious about this, as I’d never done a story time for such a large group of kids before. However, I had always felt I did well conducting my story times in the past, so I used this to ease my anxiety.
The kids came down and I gave it my all. I ended up having a great time reading to them. Yes, they were a big group, but they seemed engaged with the story, and I finished feeling certain I’d done a good job.
My boss, however, felt differently. She berated my story time, telling me I didn’t engage the kids at all. She then proceeded to show me a video she took of my story time and began pointing out everything she felt I’d done poorly.
I can take constructive criticism, but what she was doing was anything but constructive. She didn’t like my book choices, my song choices, my interaction with the kids. She then started putting down my personality, saying I’m too quiet and not cut out for this position.
I felt destroyed. Something I’d once felt great purpose doing no longer felt that way. I suddenly felt I wasn’t cut out for this job. I started severely doubting my abilities.
Eventually, I got a new job, again as a youth services librarian. I am still currently at this job, and things have improved. I have a director who is fair, and there are days when I feel a sense of joy, such as when I run a fun and successful program or help a child find a book that they are excited about reading. However, that sense of purpose I once felt regularly as an assistant is not often there.
For this reason, I decided to begin looking for that sense of purpose elsewhere, such as in hobbies outside of work like writing and art. These things never fail to evoke a sense of purpose in me when I do them. I get in a state of flow when writing or painting, and I feel a sense of purpose in the creative process.
My ultimate goal with writing and creating art is that, upon completion, I will have something unique and beautiful to share with the world. The idea of others reading or seeing my work and connecting with it gives me a reason to create. Life, to me, is all about connection.
I’ve also found purpose in my relationships. Fostering my relationships is one of the most important things in my life. I have a wonderful circle of family and friends, and enriching my relationship with them gives me purpose. Without relationships, life is lonely. The people in my life I am closest to have helped shape who I am as a person. They challenge me to be the best version of myself.
Since knowing my husband, for example, I have grown as a person in many ways, and fostering the love we have is so important to me because sharing my life with him gives it meaning. I also find purpose in being there for my loved ones and supporting them when they need me.
My dog gives me purpose too. Taking care of her gives me a reason to get up in the morning. I need to feed her and walk her and, above all, love her.
I don’t feel the same purpose I once felt at work. That’s not to say I’ll never feel it again. In time, hopefully it will come back. What losing my sense of purpose in work, though, has taught me is that purpose doesn’t exist solely in a job.
There are other forms of purpose outside of work like hobbies, family and friends, and pets. Purpose can come from many places. You just have to be willing to open yourself up to these different possibilities.
