Thoughts on Compassion

There is no enemy; there is only the shadow of your own worst thoughts.  In the midst of meditation, a loud jet flies overhead, disturbing the deep peace and quiet sublime.  I have wondered lately how it is that in the midst of idyllic scenes like gentle Zen monks, river views, and autumn leaves I have felt so much anxiety, brought about in part by my own mind.  (I say ‘in part’ knowing that all is not idyllic as it may seem, and sharing the story with others who know our common challenges.)

But, haven’t I faced so much worse?  In my past work as a teacher in the inner city and reservation, I faced Code Orange and sniper scares, angry principals and slamming doors, teachers in tears, termination slips, shadows of child assault, suicide and gun threats, broken windows and empty bookshelves... the classrooms in the 3^rd world places of this nation, where I was teacher in those early career years.  Surely these days the places I spend my days are beautiful, bright, and benign in comparison?   

And yet the mind is disturbed. Shouts come from unexpected places;  there are good days, and there are bad days- many of those more in this past year of information overload, extended hours, and workplace stress. I can no longer say I am a contemplative at work, though I have certainly found a peace there in the past.  I pray that the current situation will subside in a little over a week's time, and then hopefully I will see more clearly the decisions that need to be made. Then I can create much more space for my soul to breathe. 

I remember as a child when my grandparents and my parents felt fear, how I held their hands.  When my father was in an accident, I prayed the rosary with my grandmother to keep her comfort.  And likewise, when my students in the Catholic school where I taught were scared- when just one year after 9/11- we found ourselves on lockdown; I recall a young girl’s shaking, and offering her prayers of comfort as the children sat up against lockers on the classroom floor.

I have calmed my daughter in her fear also; I’ve been with others in time of trauma, and helped them to breathe, held in a larger spirit of compassion.  I hear another voice on the line- “I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”  I understand the fear of another, and I respond from a place that is much deeper and much larger than myself.  For some reason, this compassionate response comes naturally- and in that connection, I am also held. 

So that's what I was trying to articulate about Compassion-- that sometimes it is another's pain which brings me out of my anxiety and despair, and into a larger field of Love.  

And yet- I know there is something I am having difficulty receiving.  Can I find comfort in the face of my own anxiety? The truth is that being the receiver of love and compassion overwhelms me—it is as if I am standing in the light of the sun with all its power, and I don’t know quite what to do with that experience.  Is it the larger sense of God? Or just human neediness and attachment? — I do not know.  It has been both to me at times, depending upon my response. Learning to trust and let go is the place where I am healed, where I am saved.  It may be my own vulnerability, the openness of my heart to pain, that scares me the most.  Honesty= vulnerability; and to be honest may be to risk loss.

So today I remember the return to practice- because- I am reminded- this is essential to my own wellbeing and the world's; this is offering a practice of compassion to myself.  I need not drown in the disturbances of critical and despairing thoughts.  Though the loud noise enters the stillness, there is a deep and eternal river that continues to flow beneath.  And I, too, am worthy of entering its waters.