A Time to Remember That What We Need Can and Must Be Fought for and Won: When Our Breath and Heart Find Each Other

The winter holidays⎼ they bring up so much for so many of us. As with many others, I have almost always looked forward to the holidays. When I was a child, I looked forward to gifts and family celebrations. As a student and teacher, I looked forward to a vacation from work. Now that I’m retired, my focus is on getting together with family and friends. However, there were years in college that I dreaded the holidays, especially the New Year. If I didn’t have a family gathering, a party to go to, friends to be with, a date, the holidays could be lonely and alienating.

And this year especially, so hurtful. The cost of toys, presents, for example, are just too expensive. The cost of simple living is too expensive. My wife and I ignore gift-giving for ourselves. The only gift we give each other is our presence. Yet, for the children we know and charities⎼ it’s a different story. And the commercialization obscures if not undermines the deeper meaning of such moments in time.

The holidays could be so rich. Hanukah is a festival of light and freedom. Kwanzaa of family, community, and culture. Christmas of joy in the birth of Jesus. So much meaning in the depths of the holidays.

The solstice was just last week. Humans have, possibly forever, celebrated solstice, the longest reign of night, and the beginning of the cold, at least in the Northern hemisphere where I live. It’s traditionally a time to engage in rituals to assure that the sun will come again, that spring will follow winter, warmth follow cold, renewal follow hibernation.

The holidays thus have a sacred dimension, a connection to a depth of life and history. Maybe every moment does, too. Their significance is not just religious. The holidays celebrate workers getting a break from intense labor. They signify a recognition of shared humanity, however dim that recognition often was in the past and might be so today.

Every one of us needs time to rest, even for those who get no time off for the holidays. The fact that we have days of rest is beyond a right; it’s a sacred necessity.

Every one of us needs time to step back and contemplate why we’re here on this earth. We need to renew ourselves and our relationships with what surrounds us⎼ to stop, maybe close our eyes and allow ourselves to feel our feet on the ground. To feel right now, there’s no separation⎼ we can never step off the earth or out of the universe that sustains us. Realizing this is a sacred awakening.

We might also feel isolated from others. But we carry other people with us always, in our memories, in our language, in our genes, in our hopes and dreams. Feeling this is a sacred remembrance. When we feel isolated, we’re afraid. When we feel present, fear is diminished.

And there have been moments lately when I just start crying internally. I almost never let it out. Who knows what will emerge. Maybe holidays are here so when no one⎼ or just one dear someone⎼ is around, our breath and our heart can find each other.

In the past, people from many nations fought for a five-day workweek, fighting against those who oppressed them⎼ and they were successful. But today, many are forced to work more than one job just to meet basic economic needs, while the DT regime cuts programs like SNAP, MEDICAID, Headstart, school lunch programs that once helped make life possible for many. He’s working to undermine the power of the people, and is giving to the rich whatever they can steal from the rest of us.

 

*This is a rewrite of an older blog.

**To read the whole post, please go to The Good Men Project.

Stripping the Border of Agents Is Not the Way to Stop the Drug Trade: A Performance that Threatens the Reality

I was driving home listening to MSNOW. The Attorney General of Arizona, Kris Mayes, was talking with MSNOW newscaster Katy Tur about how DT’s policies were increasing the influx of fentanyl and human trafficking along our southern border. Even though I should be used to such disturbing information, I still get shocked by it.

 

Arizona is at the heart of the drug trade, said Mayes. Yet, DT has moved so many ICE and border patrol agents from the Sothern border to other parts of the nation to carry out cruel and possibly illegal raids and arrests that now border stations lie empty. One of the biggest fentanyl drug corridors into our nation runs on Arizona State Route 82, but it’s now unguarded. Yet, ICE raids in the north and elsewhere net many more carpenters, farm workers, even military veterans than criminals. Mayes said she asked AG Pam Bondi for 50 more agents for the southern border. Instead, Bondi took even more away. Meanwhile, the importation of fentanyl is up 10%. And who knows who’s gaining entry to our country.

 

Unless something is done, this situation will continue to get worse. Mayes commented that DT is apparently more interested in political theatre then in protecting us from fentanyl or other dangerous drugs, or dangerous criminals.

 

And while DT opens the southern border to drug traffickers, he pardons those who have already been tried and convicted in US courts. He gave a full pardon to “Cocaine Juan,”  the convicted former President of Honduras, Juan Orlando Hernandez. Hernandez, known for  bragging about stuffing “the drugs right up the noses of the gringos,” was convicted in 2024 of drug trafficking. He was responsible for helping import more than 400 tons of cocaine into the US, accepting bribes and protecting violent drug cartel leaders from prosecution. DT also commuted the sentence of Larry Hoover, the alleged founder of the Chicago-based Gangster Disciples street gang and Garnett Gibert Smith, a Baltimore drug kingpin. And the list goes on. This is incredible corruption and behavior way beyond irresponsible.

 

The same holds true with DT’s apparent race to war on Venezuela. He has not only destroyed small boats but ordered the blockade of the nation, seizing an oil tanker while claiming their oil is ours. Such a war might somehow serve DT’s personal interests but never serve the stated goal of stopping the drug trade or terrorist operations. Venezuela is only a minor player in the drug trade. According to a 2020 US DEA report, almost three quarters of the cocaine, for example, is trafficked through the Pacific and Mexico. Yet, DT says he’s stopping the drug trade by attacking boats in the Caribbean.

 

Nick Turse in The Intercept published a detailed article on this situation. 20 vessels in the Caribbean Sea were destroyed by Special Operations on DT’s orders. He’s responsible for the summary execution of about 90 people he deemed members of a Venezuelan narco-terrorist organization, yet no evidence has been presented, no legal processes engaged. This operation is a performance, an attempt to appear like he’s competently doing something when he’s actually undermining our nation’s standing and making the drug situation worse.

 

Turse’s article reveals DT has also verbally attacked political organizations and threatened members of Congress and the media with arrest or execution, for the sole crime of speaking out against him. DT called Democratic lawmakers seditious, traitors to be locked up or executed, for the offense of reminding members of the military they’re required by law to not obey illegal orders. DT tweeted, “HANG THEM GEORGE WASHINGTON WOULD!” In the past, he called for executions of the former chair of the joint Chiefs, Gen. Mark Miley, former Rep. Liz Cheney, and demonstrators protesting the killing of George Floyd….

 

*To read the whole article, please click on this link to The Good Men Project.

Returning from the Realm of Ideas to the Immediacy of Now: The “Golden Moment”

When our lives seem as scary and threatening as they do now, thinking clearly, critically, and calmly can be even more difficult than it usually is. We might want to hide reality away. Decisions can feel too weighty and complex. So, I find myself trying to remember what was most helpful when life was a little easier.

 

Maybe 20 years ago, I was lucky enough to take a mindfulness workshop with the author and Buddhist meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg. One teaching that stood out for me was on “the Golden Moment.” This is the moment when we realize we’ve drifted off from what we were doing. We become aware that we’ve lost focus, been distracted, and had ceased being present. And we re-focus on what we’re doing. We return from thoughts, memories, and plans⎼ we return from the realm of ideas to the immediacy of now. This results not only in deeper meditation but clearer questioning and thinking, thinking more engaged with the multiple realities of a situation. It has been helpful in so much of my life.

 

It took a while for me to realize the depth and breadth of the teaching. It reminds us to take a minute; to let all the information and the different aspects of a situation settle in our mind before acting. This is such an old insight. My parents often told me as a child to sleep on a weighty decision. We can take a walk and step out of an old viewpoint so we see a new one. Or we practice mindfulness or meditation.

 

When we slow our breath, being aware of the long exhale, the pause.  Then the inhale, pause, and exhale. This technique is called box breathing. Slowing the breath with awareness naturally slows the rush of thought. It releases us from what binds and blinds us. We feel richer in time⎼ that we have more to give.

 

And we become aware of feelings and emotions. Feelings spur action. They can alert us to important perceptual information we often ignore or don’t take time to notice. We might feel an inner message of danger, of pain or pleasure confronting us; notice energy arising to step forward, retreat, or freeze. We can become aware of details that prove crucial in decision making. So, we need, as much as possible in that moment, to let ourselves feel what we feel. And then we can rationally examine the situation and what we’ve felt.

 

We become aware of awareness itself, the quality of our mind right now, and whether we’re interpreting what we perceive more fully or accurately. Of course, there are limitations on conscious awareness, limits on how much information we can process. So much of what our eyes and other senses pick up is not registered consciously.

 

And there’s what’s called inattentional blindness….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

The Man of Ice, and Hoping for A More Beautiful Spring

It’s 2:30 am. I’m sitting in dark silence, in a lazy boy chair in my living room. No moon; the windows black. About ten feet in front of me, a nightlight reveals a door leading off into unending darkness. The light only makes the night darker.

 

Night focuses attention and surprisingly reveals more than it hides. It releases into the theatre of my mind a whole history of the forgotten that is waiting in the wings to be seen again. The room around me, the chair I sit in, the plants by the window, the book I was reading before I fell asleep, all take on new meaning. The immediacy of my mind, the reality of my life right then, is startlingly clear.

 

I had had a dream. I was on a beach near a body of water. It seemed at first to be a river, a big one, then as an inlet to the ocean. It was morning. I was maybe in my 30s. 6 or 8 young people, unknown to my waking self but not to my dream persona, were there with me. The weather was warm. I ran into the water. But when I started swimming, I noticed the wind waking up and the sky turning gray. I quickly left the water, to get a better view of the sky and weather, and then to warn the other people. Unbelievably, it looked like the air would soon turn to ice; and freezing temperatures, winter was coming. Now.

 

One man would not leave the water. I ran back to the river to reason with him. He said he didn’t care about winter; didn’t care if the water turned to ice. He wanted to turn to ice himself. I left him in the water; it continued to get colder. The man was growing indistinct, as was the sky and the water and everything. Everything was becoming gray, foggy, wintry. The people and place were indecipherable.

 

Why did the man want to turn into ice? Did he dread feeling anything, or feeling emotion more than cold? Feeling his world threatened more than his humanity lost? There’s awareness and there’s denial. There’s night and there’s winter.

 

Like our situation today. Ever since DT, winter has taken on even more emotion and depth. He’s affected the deepest levels of our personal and national psyches. Maybe that’s part of the meaning of the dream. Like ancient people who didn’t understand the science of seasons and might’ve questioned if spring would ever come again, we might do the same. Unlike the man of ice, we today might detest or fear winter, at least the winter of DT. We might fear that spring, a future where our rights and freedoms are protected, might not come again in our lifetime. And we’d have to live in a frozen world.

 

But maybe the winter won’t be quite as cold as it was shaping up to be a few months ago. DT is finally getting resistance not only from “we the people” but from the GOP. Even Marjorie Taylor Greene, once a strong MAGA adherent, now speaks against him. And as columnist Scott Dworkin reports, as of this writing, there have so far been 3 days in a row of protests at the Lincoln Memorial in our capital, 3 days of thousands calling for the impeachment of DT. This news unfortunately didn’t appear in many major press reports.

 

 

And until I heard a program recently on NPR’s Throughline, I didn’t realize that Thanksgiving wasn’t a national holiday until1863…

 

*To read the whole article, please click on this link to The Good Men Project.

 

Our Families Are a Door to Infinity: Asking Questions Before It’s Too Late

When I was growing up, I just didn’t think to ask my parents or my grandparents about “the old country” or their own childhoods. When my father was in his nineties and my mother had already passed away, I realized the time I had with him was coming to an end. He had in his memory a whole history of our family and of this country, that I knew little about. I didn’t want to lose all those connections. So, during the last year or two of his life, whenever possible, we looked through old photo albums and I asked him about his childhood and parents, but even he knew or said little of his family’s background in Europe.

 

My grandparents all came from eastern Europe, Russia, Poland, and Ukraine. Did I hear so little about their lives before coming to the US not only because I seldom asked but because the memories were so intertwined with trauma? Had they felt deprived of their voices?

 

In  the novel Wandering Stars, by the mid 19th and early 20th century novelist and playwright Sholem Aleichem, one of the main characters sings a prayer in a “plaintive, authentic Yiddish melody.” It captures well one aspect of the lives of the characters in the novel, which takes place in a small Russian shtetl or predominantly Jewish market town at the end of the nineteenth century.

 

“…Dear God, the truth of exile

Is told in tears.

How long, how long, dear God, The awful fears

Of being beaten, driven

And no one cares.

When, oh when, dear God, wilt thou

Be who hears…”

 

Life wasn’t all pogroms and terror. There was love, family, and friendship. There was the Yiddish Theatre, religion, art and creativity. The singer was herself a possible future recruit for the theater. The culture and time described in the novel was also the culture and time into which my grandparents were born. Had they, like the fictional characters, lived in Europe as exiles from a “promised land,” or promise of home?

 

When I was young, my family lived in a ranch style house in a suburb of New York City. My grandmother on my mother’s side lived with us, with me, my parents, and brother, for half of the year. The other half, she lived with my aunt. Grandma was a short woman, in her sixties or seventies. She spoke little yet tried to live in accord with her memory of traditional ways of living and believing. When she was with us, for example, we ate Kosher meals so she would feel comfortable. But when she was gone from our house, she didn’t try to tell us how to live. And she provided a link to a reality, a history beyond what we knew in the U. S.

 

Despite her age, she could be fiery and passionate. She hated violence, for example. Maybe she’d seen too much growing up. One time, 2 older boys started a fight with me right in front of our house. I was actually holding my own against the two when grandma came rushing from the house with an umbrella in her hand. She started beating on the two attackers until they ran away. Then she started beating on me, while yelling “never get in fights. Never. Never.”

 

One evening, when I was six or seven, she and I were home alone…

 

*To read the whole piece, please go to The Good Men Project.

Opening Doors in Time and Mind: The Bookstore Resistance

It was such a comforting moment. I was reading a book where the main character, a bookseller, was watching a customer reading the classic novel, The Count of Monte Cristo. The man was old and seated in a cushioned chair, at a table, sipping coffee. Books were scattered everywhere, not just on the wood shelves. There was mismatched artwork on the somewhat peeling walls. Lights hung from the ceiling creating areas of clarity amidst the soft darkness. Snow increasingly falling outside as the world turned dark. Yet inside, it was warm. A fire was going in the woodstove. Such a comforting moment.

 

The Book of Doors by Gareth Brown is part urban fantasy, part mystery and adventure, part romance⎼ and partly an examination of the psychological effects of pain and grief. Shortly after the book begins, the main character inherits a magical book that allows them to travel from any unlocked door to any other they can clearly imagine. There are all sorts of magic books in the story⎼ a book of shadows, for example, enabling the holder to disappear and become a mere shadow passing through any space. There’s a book of Illusions, one of luck, destruction, etc.

 

We never know what a book might reveal. They’re all around us or used to be. Like doors. Like places in the mind, or in our homes, schools, or workplace; memories, ignored bits of reality. Places we can step through to taste or digest; or to dwell fully and beautifully. Some with a hidden power.

 

When I was 18 or 19, I walked through an open door into the old Barnes & Noble Bookstore in the Village, on 8th Street & 6th Avenue, in downtown New York City. Back then, it was a smaller, more intimate store, not like the chain stores of today. I was just wandering the aisles, hoping to find a treasure, when I noticed a man and woman, maybe in their 70s, in the philosophy section in the back of the store. They were discussing the French activist and philosopher, J. P. Sartre and his concept of authenticity. They were both dressed in old but expensive clothing. The woman looked sort of regal, the man very professorial. They intrigued me but I respected their privacy and felt too embarrassed to get close enough to listen in on their conversation. So, I moved on.

 

I ran into them 2 more times. One time was at a lecture on Thoreau in an upper middle-class neighborhood on the West Side of Manhattan. Someone at the lecture told me they had escaped from the Nazis in Austria. I don’t know the truth of this, but supposedly she was from a noble family, and he was a professor, but I don’t remember in what field. And later, back downtown on 6th Avenue, I was surprised to see the woman alone on the street, begging for money, and aggressively berating those who pretended not to see her.

 

Another doorway, in a recent dream. I entered what at first appeared to be the home I grew up in, where my parents lived for almost 30 years after I moved out. But in the dream my parents had sold that house. The dream home was slightly different, and in bad shape. The bathroom was not working. I had to sleep on the couch in the living room, not my old bedroom.

 

And my parents were very old. Someone said my mom was near death. My dad was in only slightly better shape. All at once, several people I didn’t know, mostly younger, in their twenties or thirties, came out from the back of the house, talking loudly amongst themselves and crowding the living room. Outside, through a window, I saw someone park, get off a motorcycle, and walk away. One of the younger people claimed the bike had been stolen and now returned. My dad, who had never in his life been on a motorcycle let alone driven one, put on a leather jacket and helmet, climbed on the bike, and tore off. Maybe he had stepped through a doorway to a younger self, as he looked so much younger, with his back straighter than it had been in years…

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

 

Caring for the One and Only World We Inhabit: A Community of Hope and Action

When we’re attacked, or the material supports of our lives are threatened, we might turn inward. We might do this not to bring light to our inner life but to shield our whole being. To hide from the attacker. To distance us from fear and pain.

 

We all need to turn inward sometimes for this, for self-reflection, to be present, to find peace. And to put aside memories, hurts, and traumas. But a fear and threat festers when left for too long inside us. When the time is right, taking action to break that impulse to hide, and instead to reach out to others, to learn more and fight back feels vivifying. It enriches. It might also save our lives. When we act to right a wrong, act to diminish pain and suffering, this can strengthen us, change us.

 

Saturday, 10/18/25, was such an action. The NO KINGS RALLY was a day to remember. One of the largest single days of protest in American history. Not just because almost 7 million of us in 2,600 locations, cities, towns spoke out against this administration’s outright corruption, suppression of the law, brazen infliction of cruelty and inhumanity. But because we the people acted on this day in a manner in stark contrast to DT and his Congressional sycophants. We acted peacefully. We acted lawfully. We acted joyfully. We acted patriotically, to protect the nation from a would-be King, Dictator. We spoke the truth.

 

They lied and said we hated America. But the rally showed something very different: exorbitant love. For the constitution. For the laws that DT blatantly ignores and undermines. For many brown and black Americans and so many others that DT and his ICE agents are abusing, detaining, jailing, deporting. For this earth that makes our life possible. For each other. As reported, with a bit of irony, in the internet news source The Feed, nothing says we hate America more than defending the constitution and exercising first Amendment rights. “No Kings” is literally the founding principle of this nation.

 

My wife and I were a few minutes late. As we walked to the rally site there were so many people on the sidewalk with us, with signs, and going in the same direction as we were. A few were turning toward a main road to share their signs with motorists. When we arrived, we listened to speakers talk about abuses of power, military and para-military agents turned against their own fellow citizens⎼ acts many in the military say they did not sign up for and deplore.  We heard talks about the impacts of firing of thousands of government workers. Heard the facts about how DT’s tariffs, and destroying the lives of working immigrants are raising the costs of living for all of us.  Heard how his super awful legislation is undermining our health. Heard how money approved by Congress for MEDICAID, for medical and scientific research is now going to the super-rich.

 

The people around us were neighbors and friends. Coworkers. Former students. Shopkeepers. A carpenter who worked on our house. A doctor who treated us. People smiled at us. We enjoyed the clever creativity of the signs people held. We felt empathy for the hurt that so many here and elsewhere have experienced at the hands of DT’s administration of cruelty. This is our home.

 

DT inflicts fear on the nation, hate and vengeance against anyone who speaks against him.  He attempts to make us feel isolated and powerless, that we have no future but the nightmare he’s creating….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Ken Project.

If We don’t Exercise It, We Lose it: No Kings and Protecting Our Right to Speak Truthfully

Is there any end to DT ‘s malignant corruption? We have a government shutdown. It’s lasted almost three weeks. Instead of negotiating and talking with Democrats and Independents, he attacks. He tries to hold us, hold our nation hostage. He says, you won’t go along with my taking money from your healthcare, undermining Medicaid, Medicare, hospitals, health insurance for millions? Raising your cost of living? So, I’ll undermine your healthcare even more. I’ll fire government workers who look out for your (our) well-being.

 

For example, DT fired workers from the Health and Human Services and the Education Departments. He fired employees at the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. He fired workers at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention who respond to infectious disease outbreaks, who help those with chronic diseases and pain, help those with awful injuries. He also fired workers from Homeland Security and Energy.

 

And he doesn’t hide his power-hungry intent. He says the lay-offs will be “Democrat-oriented,” meaning aimed at Democrats. This isn’t politics as usual, or politics as an occupation created to serve us, we the people. Instead, he’s attacking all of us, trying to manipulate the news so we blame Democrats. But it’s clear to see DT is the villain here. He’s even pressured the GOP Speaker, Mike Johnson, to refuse to bring the House of Representatives back to legislative session and work to end the shutdown. The House GOP aren’t even pretending to do their jobs.

 

When we can stand it, and we hear the latest news⎼ when we hear about this and other outrages, hear about a president invading American cities that elected Democrat mayors, hear about DT trying to punish us for opposing him by firing those who protect us from forest fires, help us recover from floods, research how to cure illnesses, and enforce the rule of law, or rule of the constitution. So many of us, millions, are fed up.

 

So, what can we do? Well, let’s start with the October 18 No Kings rally. March. Speak. Join others. Some think marches do nothing. But they get us energized for more targeted actions later. They connect us, help wipe out a sense of isolation. Get us ready to first protect and then work to get out the vote in 2026. Assert our commitment that there be No Kings in this nation! No dictators.

 

And this rally is scaring DT and his enablers in the GOP, because it gets right at the heart of what we the people are struggling for and he wants to stop⎼ our right to speak freely, our right to be heard and for our lives to be valued. Our right to speak the truth. Our right to mobilize the vote. DT is trying to criminalize dissent and the truth. This is clear in so many ways, like his pressuring networks to cancel Stephen Colbet and Jimmy Kimmel. And then there’s his investigations and indictments against the DOJ officials, former members of his cabinet, prosecutors, politicians, etc. who spoke out against or prosecuted him for his crimes:  Letisha James, Jack Smith, James Comey, John Bolton, Adam Schiff, Mayor Ras Baraka,  etc.

 

The Brennan Center for Justice said that DT “authorizes punishments for even tenuous connections to speech he doesn’t like….

 

*To read the whole article, please click on this link to The Good Men Project.

The Message of the Stag: If we Don’t Exercise it, We Lose It

I was 18. It was early spring, with just a little snow left on the ground. I was in a forest, taking a walk, while a deep fog was emerging from the ground itself, covering everything, turning the world gray, indistinct. Hazy. And suddenly, ten feet or so away, the head of a deer appeared before me as if it had been born from the fog itself; as if a brand-new dimension of the ordinary had shown itself. It was startling. Unexpected. It stared at me, and I stood there with it, rooted to the spot. Not one thought in my mind. The whole universe had become just us, just this.

 

And then it was gone. The deer was gone, but the beauty of the fog, of the moment remained.

 

Last fall, another encounter with a deer. I was once again on a walk, this time it was fall, in the late afternoon, on our rural road, and I saw a deer crossing about 300 feet ahead of me. I continued walking and when I got closer, I noticed it was a stag, with maybe a 2-year growth of horns. Instead of running off, like deer usually do, it stopped, turned, and walked at a strong pace toward me. I stopped. He stopped and looked right at me.

 

I wondered if he was confused and mistook me for another deer, or if he was sick. Was he preparing to approach further to see what I was, or to attack? I got my cellphone out and took a quick photo. Only then did he run off.

 

What was the message here, if anything?  How do I understand this? Surely, one way is to read about and carefully observe deer behavior and figure out why deer act as they do. But each deer, not that unlike each human, is similar to but different from any other. Unique.

 

After he ran off, I took a breath and took time to enjoy what had happened. A wild animal had studied me as I had studied it. It was a beautiful moment, a gift of nature.

 

How we understand an event or sensory signal is at least as important as the initial stimuli we’ve experienced. I’ve talked about this in blogs about dealing with pain. If we interpret chest pain as a heart attack, it becomes crazily more intense than if we interpret it as indigestion.

 

The principle is the same in relating with other people. How we respond to comments from a teacher or friend, an event in the news or a statement of a politician, can be more consequential in our lives than what was originally said or done. Despite all the ugliness and fear in our nation right now, we don’t want to become ugly and always afraid. Despite all those who aim to make us feel small, isolated, and powerless we want to look at life as broadly and honestly as possible. What we see is obviously influenced both by what we look at and the attitude, or mindset we bring to it.

 

And how we interpret an event can determine how much we inhabit that moment of our lives. We evaluate stimuli, occurrences in terms of approach-avoid. Helpful-harmful. Pleasurable-unpleasurable. Good-bad⎼ or neutral. This is built into us. And we can subject ourselves to this same propensity, of looking for threats, dangers, mistakes before we see anything else.

 

Psychologists and others say we humans have a “negativity bias.”…

 

**To read the whole post, please go to The Good Men Project.

When Life is too Big for Pretense: Sometimes, Total Honesty and Authenticity Are the Only way

We’ve all experienced pain, both psychological and physical. It’s one element of being alive, yet can be too complex to figure out, so difficult to live with. It can feel like it could shatter us. Maybe we just want it gone and yearn for a pill to mask it or chase it away. Certainly, it exists to signal something is wrong, but it can take on a life of its own, beyond any apparent purpose. It can also house inside itself impactful revelations.

Just a few days ago, an anecdote in a book I had just started reading grabbed my attention. It was Gerry Shishin Wick’s The Five Ranks of Zen; Tozan’s Path of Being, Nonbeing & Compassion. Tozan was a ninth century Zen Master, and his work significantly advanced the practice of Zen.

A monk asked Tozan “How do you avoid the discomfort of hot and cold?” Tozan replied, “Go to that place where there is no hot and cold… When you are hot, be hot; and when you are cold, be cold.”

Recently, I’ve been experiencing a weird pain wrapped in chills. It can feel like an invasion of cold, and I then treat it as such and just want it gone. Other times, it seems to rise from deep within me. I’ve spoken with doctors and tried all sorts of medical, and psychological approaches. I’ve considered how lucky I am that it’s not something worse.

When I can, I try to notice how and from where it came. I notice my response to sensations, and the labels I use for them; our response to pain is as important as the original sensations. If we think we’re having a heart attack, the pain can become immensely greater than if we think we have GERD.

Sometimes, when that cold-pain overtakes me, I visualize in my mind a warm, beautiful day in a place I love. And sometimes, this works, if I don’t shake so much it shatters the image of warmth I had created.

We can get hooked on pain. Pain can narrow our focus, and we can’t let it go. So maybe we then expand the universe of experience, so the pain becomes only one stimulus amidst hundreds. We let it share a moment of our lives with everything else around us, chairs and tables, trees and birds, spatial distances from our body to the walls of the room, or between our nose and toes. Les Fehmi and Jim Robbins describe this method in Dissolving Pain; Simple Brain-Training Exercises for Overcoming Chronic Pain.

But so far, no doctor has explained, no approach has fully healed the pain. So, this anecdote speaking of hot and cold, this story⎼ or what in Zen Buddhism is called a Koan, a retold conversation of a Zen master with a student meant to lead to awakening⎼ got to me. It felt so right but its reality eluded me.

What if instead of thinking myself separate from the pain and experiencing it as foreign, it became just one moment of a universe experiencing itself?…

 

*To read the whole piece, please go to The Good Men Project.