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Gratitude is the understanding that many millions of things come together and live together and mesh together and breathe together in order for us to take even one more breath of air, that the underlying gift of life and incarnation as a living, participating human being is a privilege; that we are miraculously, part of something, rather than nothing. – David Whyte
Coincidentally, I encountered this quote shortly after hearing a lecture on happiness in which the speaker asserted that when we truly recognize our privilege, we readily feel enthusiastic and grateful about whatever we’re engaged in, work included.
It’s easy to forget to be grateful though, just as it’s natural to expect life to continue in roughly the way it always has, with ample clean air, water, food, electricity, safety, and everything else that supports us. Sometimes it’s not until we experience contrast that we recognize our privilege.
Having a period of sickness makes us appreciate our health. Smoky air makes us appreciate fresh air – and firefighters and rain. Traveling in an area with mediocre food options makes us appreciate farmers’ markets and well-stocked grocery stores. All of our adversity, including even our day-to-day micro-adversities, can become prompts to recognize what’s still working and good in our life. You can even try making a rule for yourself that every time you complain about something – even just to yourself – you follow it with a statement of gratitude.
When traffic is bad, what’s good? When there’s pain in your back, what parts of your body still work well and feel okay?
Of course, we don’t need to wait for suffering in order to pay attention to our gifts. It’s just that suffering – especially when it’s really painful – has a way of capturing our attention. The key is the paying attention, and we’re in the habit of letting our attention go to whatever’s loudest or most dramatic, like media, interpersonal conflict, and worry.
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I am grateful for you.
Love,
Peter & Everyone at the Dragontree
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Previously I wrote about how community is like medicine. Our circle of fellow humans goes through this amazing journey with us . . . encouraging us, witnessing us, screaming with us on the roller coasters, and holding our hand when we take our last breath. My orientation in that article was toward what community can do for us, but it’s at least as important to look at what we can do for our community.
I was reading about a Native American grief ritual described by Black Elk, and while the ritual itself was interesting, what stuck with me was his assertion that long-held grief isn’t good for a person or the community to which that person belongs. That is, when someone is mired in suffering, this can have a negative impact on their community.
You can probably think of plenty of examples where a glaring state of imbalance, such as rage or terror, could result in behaviors that are detrimental to others. But the effects of less dramatic, often chronic negative states are subtler. What happens – besides their own discomfort – when a person is trapped in depression, anxiety, or grief for years? One repercussion is that they have a diminished capacity to fully show up in their community. We might think, “Well, the community doesn’t really need me to be at my best,” but imagine going to a place where almost everyone was depressed, afraid, or angry. Such places do exist, of course, and you can feel it as a palpable mass degradation of the human spirit.
These days we may feel that we don’t have any real obligation to our community, which is so different from how humans have operated for most of our history. Today community may be seen as an entirely optional part of life. We can live in near isolation while anonymous members of our community manage the utilities that provide us with power, water, and internet, take away our garbage, maintain our roads, even deliver our groceries. It feels like independence, but in truth we’re more dependent than ever on an infrastructure other humans maintain – we just don’t know who those humans are.
We’ve lost our sense of responsibility to our community. It’s due in part to the feeling that our government is huge, remote, and corrupt. But if our response is to disengage, the situation can only get worse. If anything, the sense of disconnection from our elected representatives and neighbors should magnify the need to do what we can to make a positive difference. It’s not just an obligation, it’s also an opportunity. If we can recognize and accept that our quality of presence affects others, this may inspire us to be our best selves. And it’s not just a matter of what we do but also who we are and how we are. Becoming fundamentally well inside helps heal the community. Imagine how healthily a community of fundamentally well people manages challenges.
If you’ve been struggling, I don’t mean to make you feel guilty as well; that won’t help you or your community. Rather than focusing on the negative impact your unwellness might have on your community, consider that getting well is good for you and it’s good for your community. Sometimes it’s easier to do it for others than for yourself.
Years ago, I read A Course in Miracles with friends. If you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s a book on spiritual awakening with a section of scripture and a year-long workbook of daily lessons. It’s not for everyone, but I gained some valuable insights from going through it. One of those insights occurred when I encountered this passage: “Lesson 66: My happiness and my function are one.”
Whereas I had tended to think of my happiness as a personal thing – sometimes even a selfish thing – this spiritual book was telling me that being happy (true, causeless happiness) is one of the greatest things I can do for the world. As I meditated on it, I saw clearly that the happy people I’ve known were like lights in every setting they entered. Without even intending it, they had a therapeutic effect on everyone they encountered. Not only did they tend to uplift those around them, in an unspoken way they communicated that this is a possibility for you, too. Happiness is a perspective, a choice. If I can choose it, you can choose it.
Being happy makes us more peaceful, compassionate, and creative. It gives us the freedom to see a bigger picture, rather than focusing on what’s wrong or bad. Even just one happy person in a room full of scared people can change the whole atmosphere – and the choices that community makes.
So I encourage you to consider this week:
- Who am I and what role do I play in my various communities?
- How have I been affected by the genuinely happy people I’ve known?
- What do I believe stands between me and being one of those happy people?
- What happens when I make a conscious choice of how I’m going to show up in a given setting?
- When I give, what do I receive?
- How do I feel when I put myself in service to others?
- Where could I dedicate myself to more actively resolve any unhealthy patterns of thought, communication, or behavior?
- How will I be different as I heal, and how will I affect my community differently as I release my baggage?
- When will I choose happiness?
Be well,
Peter
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As a young adult I often stayed at the beautiful Marin Headlands hostel just north of San Francisco. I was there one weekend while a large group of missionaries was passing through. We were all sharing the same kitchen space and I was chopping some broccoli when a cute young woman around my age approached me. We started talking and I thought it was going well. I have always enjoyed conversing about spirituality and religion, even with people of different beliefs than my own.
At the time I was immersed in learning about Advaita – nondualism – which was blowing my mind. Nondual philosophy asserts that, although we perceive many things that may feel separate, in reality everything is an expression of a single Oneness experiencing itself in infinite ways.
Some people call this Oneness God or Goddess or Source or Divine or Dao. What’s important isn’t the name but the experience of this connection, and how it redefines how we see reality.
I had in my suitcase a book called Aghora in which an eccentric spiritual teacher explains that since everything is God, both sex and eating are simply acts of “putting God into God.” So, when this missionary woman asked me what I was doing, I guess I thought I was being clever by replying, “Oh, just chopping up some God.”
She was clearly taken aback, so I explained that if the whole universe is an expression of one God, then broccoli was of course included, and therefore I was chopping up some God to put into God (myself). She was speechless for a moment, then said – a bit louder than was called for, I thought – “God is not broccoli!” and walked away.
There were several lessons for me in this story, starting with (1) nobody likes a smug person pushing their buttons, and (2) if you truly want to make a difference in the world you need to meet people where they are. But aside from my social failure, maybe the most important lesson was that there’s often a huge difference between the description of an experience and the experience itself. In other words, to understand something intellectually tells us nothing of how we’d be affected by experiencing it.
In lectures, I used to explain how physics seems to “prove” nondualism, hoping that even the nonspiritual types in the class would be won over. I’d point out that while each of us feels we’re separate from everyone else in the classroom, we and the world around us are all just different configurations of the same fundamental stuff – subatomic particles or even more fundamental fluctuations of energy. It’s a powerful idea, but I doubt it’s caused many people to conduct themselves differently towards their neighbors.
For me and most people I know, life changes have come through direct experiences of this Oneness in non-ordinary states of consciousness facilitated mainly by meditation, yoga, ritual, self-inquiry, immersion in nature, music, acupuncture, art, pain, dance, conscious breathing, interpersonal connection, and entheogenic substances. Ordinary reality (even with impressive-yet-unactualized spiritual concepts) appears random and soulless by comparison.
I didn’t have the chance to ask, “If God is not broccoli, what is broccoli?” We tend to draw vague, subjective lines around life and then deem one side worthy of our reverence and the other unworthy, but the abolition of such lines isn’t automatically liberating. I’ve seen people, myself included, latch onto the idea that everything is Divine and then fall into nihilism. Because, if it’s all God, why try? Why care? Why choose one path over any other?
This kind of thinking is a sure sign that we’re operating from a mental concept and not actually experiencing what it represents. It would be similar to take a psychedelic mushroom and hold it between your teeth, telling yourself, “So this is what psychedelic mushrooms are all about. Meh.”
Your homework is to determine whether or not broccoli is God. Since “God” is a spiritual concept, it can’t really be assessed in ordinary reality. Everyday thinking needs to fall away. You can get there using any of the approaches I mentioned above.
Be well,
Peter
P.S. I’d like to share one of my favorite quotes on nondualism from Tantra scholar Christopher Wallis in Tantra Illuminated (slightly abridged for space):
“Since reality is One, and everything is equally an expression of the one divine Light of Consciousness, every experience by definition is an experience of God… If we propose that some things are more God than others, like concentrated orange juice versus watered-down orange juice, then we must propose the existence of something that is not God that waters down divinity. But no such thing can be found, at least in this philosophy, because 1) the definition of God here is the unbounded Light of Consciousness, 2) everything that is known to exist is an object of experience, and 3) every experience is by definition pervaded by consciousness. Therefore, this – whatever is happening right now – is as God as it gets. Now, if you are in a miserable or banal life situation, you may be disappointed by this announcement. But notice I said, ‘This is as God as it gets,’ not, ‘This is as free as it gets.’ Freedom means actually experiencing the divinity in each moment.”
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Gratitude is the understanding that many millions of things come together and live together and mesh together and breathe together in order for us to take even one more breath of air, that the underlying gift of life and incarnation as a living, participating human being is a privilege; that we are miraculously, part of something, rather than nothing. – David Whyte
Coincidentally, I encountered this quote shortly after hearing a lecture on happiness in which the speaker asserted that when we truly recognize our privilege, we readily feel enthusiastic and grateful about whatever we’re engaged in, work included.
It’s easy to forget to be grateful though, just as it’s natural to expect life to continue in roughly the way it always has, with ample clean air, water, food, electricity, safety, and everything else that supports us. Sometimes it’s not until we experience contrast that we recognize our privilege.
Having a period of sickness makes us appreciate our health. Smoky air makes us appreciate fresh air – and firefighters and rain. Traveling in an area with mediocre food options makes us appreciate farmers’ markets and well-stocked grocery stores. All of our adversity, including even our day-to-day micro-adversities, can become prompts to recognize what’s still working and good in our life. You can even try making a rule for yourself that every time you complain about something – even just to yourself – you follow it with a statement of gratitude.
When traffic is bad, what’s good? When there’s pain in your back, what parts of your body still work well and feel okay?
Of course, we don’t need to wait for suffering in order to pay attention to our gifts. It’s just that suffering – especially when it’s really painful – has a way of capturing our attention. The key is the paying attention, and we’re in the habit of letting our attention go to whatever’s loudest or most dramatic, like media, interpersonal conflict, and worry.
Sometimes we need to grab our attention and put it on something else. And when I say “sometimes” I mean virtually all the time – choosing intentionally what we’re putting our attention on. Might I recommend a good place to put it: on the total experience that is happening right here, right now. Your breath and the air entering and exiting your lungs. What it feels like in your body. What you’re currently engaged in. The land you’re sitting on. The beating of your heart. The sun illuminating the world. The soft clothes on your skin. The feeling of the earth’s gravity acting on you.
We want to feel spontaneous gratitude, the exalted kind that comes to us with strong emotion, rather than needing to prompt ourselves to think of something to be grateful for. But the chosen form isn’t any less real. And it has the same benefits of promoting happiness, broadening our perspective, and focusing our energy on good things.
I am grateful for you.
Love,
Peter & Everyone at the Dragontree
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