We sometimes think.
Suffering comes from the painful things that happen to us.
Sometimes.
It does,
But often our deepest suffering comes from the struggle we have with what's going on right in this moment.
A feeling of sadness arises and immediately the mind says,
I shouldn't feel this way.
Fear arises and the mind says,
Oh,
This is dangerous.
I need to get rid of it.
Grief visits and the mind whispers,
Something has gone terribly wrong.
And so we suffer twice,
Once from the pain itself and again from our pain.
Thoughts about it and our resistance to it.
Our urge to change it.
I've come to see that peace isn't found in winning a battle against our experience.
It is found in welcoming it and becoming intimate with it.
Can I simply notice what's here?
Can I allow this moment to be exactly what it is,
As it is?
Can I let this sadness be sad,
This fear be fearful,
This uncertainty be uncertain?
There's a quiet miracle that takes place in this ability to hold a posture of pausing and simply being okay with whatever's happening.
Okay in the sense of calm curiosity,
Open awareness,
And composed assessment.
This is composure and our ability to remain in this posture of composure is more powerful than whatever is going on.
Our composure in the midst of the storm,
The chaos,
And the disruption is the source of our peace.
The moment I pause and stop arguing with my experience,
A little space appears.
The thoughts are still there,
The feelings are still there,
But they're no longer the whole sky.
They're just clouds passing through it.
A thought says,
I can't bear this,
Yet something here is already bearing it.
A thought says,
I'm broken,
Yet something quietly knows even this feeling of brokenness.
That simple knowing is not wounded or affected by the experience that it contains.
It makes room for for everything,
Whatever is happening.
And it isn't indifference,
It isn't passivity,
It isn't pretending that pain doesn't matter or that something bad is happening.
It's a willingness to turn toward life instead of turning away from it.
To welcome what's happening instead of resisting it or requiring it to be different.
To meet it with composure.
Beside grief,
To walk with uncertainty,
To let joy come and go without trying to hold on to it,
And to let sorrow come and go without trying to outrun it.
Over time,
I've noticed that much of my suffering comes from demanding that this moment be different from what it is.
But life keeps inviting me back,
Back to this.
To now,
This breath,
This moment,
This ordinary,
Unrepeatable moment.
This pause and that's when peace arises.
Not an escape from pain,
Not a perfect peace that protects me from loss,
But something much quieter.
A simple openness that can hold joy and sorrow at the same time,
A stillness that remains,
A composure that remains while thoughts and emotions move through it like the weather.
And from this place,
Suffering is no longer the enemy.
It becomes the teacher.
It teaches.
Patience,
It teaches humility.
It teaches compassion for myself and for everyone else who's carrying all of these invisible burdens that we all carry.
Freedom isn't found by.
.
.
Escaping this moment or changing this moment or resisting this moment.
Freedom.
Peace and joy are coming.
Simply this,
To meet our lives completely.
To stop turning our backs on what is and discover that there's something deeper within us,
Silent,
Spacious,
Composed,
Alive.
And it's large enough to hold it all.
And in that space,
In that composure,
We experience true peace and true joy.
That's welcoming.
That's what it feels like to be.
Okay,
At peace with whatever's happening and at rest,
Composed in the midst of all things.
