Faith

One of the hardest parts of all the loss and dislocation was that it was surrounded by an ambient, opaque silence about what was happening. Because no one spoke openly or even acknowledged all the changes as loss, my immense grief, anger, and confusion remained held inside.

unknown. Only when he has the courage to step into the darkness, as O’Donohue depicts it, does the light to guide him to the next step reveal itself.

One of the best depictions of awareness comes from Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. In a class he was teaching he drew a loose V shape in the center of a large white sheet of paper. “What is this a picture of?” he asked. The students all responded, “It’s a bird.” “No,” Trungpa Rinpoche said. “It’s a picture of the sky, with a bird flying through it.” Like

There is a story adapted from the Buddha’s teachings that points to this unchanging nature. If someone standing in a room throws paint around, it is sure to damage the walls, floor, ceiling. Awareness is like a room with no limiting dimensions. No matter how much “paint” is thrown around, there is no disfiguring impact, no place for it to land.

And then her husband sent her a book that changed everything. That book was

I watched as the masks I had used to hide my pain fell, and the boundaries of isolation that kept me from more fully connecting to others and to the wholeness of life crumbled.

When we are in despair, whether with a distinctly impressive cause or not, we feel devastated and alone. Anyone who has ever been in this state of mind, for whatever reason, will recognize the statement “We all became completely separate human beings.”

“When you go to America you should teach meditation.” I was astonished and immediately protested, “No, I can’t do that. I’m not at all qualified.” She smiled patiently, as though at a child who has lost the point of a story, and answered, “Yes, you should teach. You really understand suffering. That’s why you’re qualified to teach.”

Suddenly the image of my mother came into my mind. I realized for the first time that her life and her death were really her story, not mine. They were a part of my story, but not the primary part.