Despair

The newest WWF Living Planet Report gives reason for alarm. Within two generations, the population size of vertebrate species (other than human) has dropped by 52%. We need 1.5 Earths to regenerate the natural resources we currently use. Reading these hard facts, it is very difficult not to despair. My cognitive brain refuses to see a solution that will work fast enough to keep the human race, my human race, from destroying life on this planet, including our own lives. Not in my lifetime, perhaps, but I want my grandchildren and their grandchildren to live and enjoy the beauty of life on earth as much as I do.

I try to push that feeling of despair away. I like to be as positive and solution-oriented as possible. Despair immobilizes me, saps my energy. So I think of all the large and small-scale successes we have had in re-wilding parts of nature, bringing back species that were seriously endangered. I read about new initiatives, working with multinational businesses to find innovative solutions. I look for ways to raise awareness of the problem and to help people find their own answers. But the sheer numbers are overwhelming and I do feel pain, anger, and despair.

Yes, we should acknowledge that feeling of despair, says Joanna Macy in her book Active Hope. Only by honoring our pain for the world, will we be capable of breaking the spell of business as usual.

And so the challenge emerges: where to find the balance between honoring the pain and despair and letting it drag us into depression, futile anger, or stubborn denial.

Despair can also rise on an individual level. I worked with a client recently whose entire life had collapsed around his ears: his job gone, his marriage falling apart, his health threatened. And it seemed to me that the first step was to acknowledge the intense despair that he felt, acknowledge that feeling that nothing made sense any more. Feeling the pain instead of trying to escape from it through cognitive reasoning, hard work, or spiritual approaches emphasizing peace of mind.

Pain, grief, and sorrow are a gateway to empowerment, to finding new depths and new horizons in yourself. For my client, it meant accepting that this crisis in his life would bring him closer to the essence of who he is and what his life is about.

In the legend of Pandora’s Box, she opened the box, in spite of being warned not to. All the misfortune, wickedness, sickness, and terror was released into the world. But at the bottom of the box lay Hope. If the box had never been opened, Hope would not have found its way into the world.

And so I honor my pain and despair for the world. And, by doing so, I find new empowerment, hope, and energy to do all that I can to help.

Courage

I feel so lucky! I was recently able to attend a full-day workshop in Amsterdam held by the poet David Whyte. And, those of you who have been following this blog know that he is my very favorite poet (and author in general).

The title of the talk was Robust Vulnerability. But the theme that stuck with me the most afterwards was that of courageous conversations. The kind of conversation you have with your loved ones, where you bare your soul, not knowing how the other will react, maybe going out on a limb, but determined to carry on the conversation anyway.

And I thought back on all those times that I avoided having that courageous conversation, trying to stay safe in the world as I understood it at the time.

Or the conversation that you have with yourself, admitting something that is almost too big to contain. Going out to the edge of what you understand about yourself and knowing that you can’t hide from yourself any more. Maybe admitting longing, defeat, or heartbreak. Maybe it’s about a step that you know you must take… even though you don’t know what will happen when you do.

And I challenged myself to hold that courageous conversation with myself and, through my writing, with the world.

Whyte used the term moulting. When birds moult (exchanging one coat of feathers for a new one) they shed everything that makes them attractive, trusting that the new coat will come. Some of them do this feather for feather but others do it all at once. And facing the world with a naked skin makes one very vulnerable.

We humans often try to keep ourselves covered with a coating that makes us as attractive as possible to others. Shedding that skin makes us feel way too vulnerable. The night after the talk, I dreamt that I had lost all my curly hair and had bald patches all over my head. Fortunately, my subconscious was not telling me to shave my head but it was telling me to pay attention to this concept of shedding all the masks that make me look as attractive as possible. To myself and to the outside world.

And this, I think, is courage. If we can show this kind of courage in our lives and our relationships, we emerge stronger and more beautiful than before.

Loving life

A friend said to me the other day, “I was born to love everything and everyone.” This sheer trust in the natural goodness in the world blew me away. Especially because he is not exactly a naive person and comes from an “eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” culture.

I tend to sometimes feel overwhelmed by the problems that we face in these times. Recent reports of how the climate change is endangering wildlife and news from the Middle East or Ukraine, are so tragic and so depressing that I sometimes lose faith in the power of the natural goodness in the world.

Can I love everyone and everything? Am I capable of love when my children or grandchildren are threatened? I am capable of anger, as I pointed out in my last blog. The more I explore this theme, the more I realize how closely related anger and love are. Anger is possible because we are capable of caring so deeply about those we love. And we grow angry when we hear about war and the wanton destruction of nature because we care about the world so very deeply.

As Albert Einstein pointed out, you can’t solve a problem with the same thinking that created the problem. And so trying to defeat hatred and intolerance with more hatred and intolerance will only increase this type of energy. Turning my back to the pain in the world and making sure I and my family get what we deserve, even though this is empowered by love, will end up feeding the selfishness and greed that I despise.

It takes something radically different to turn this paradigm around. And maybe this won’t change the way things are in our lifetime, but it will keep us from being devoured by the same demon of hatred and greed that is threatening all we hold dear. And, possibly, this spirit of love and compassion that we bring into the world will eventually bring about a healthy world for future generations.

Tibetan Buddhism, as taught by Pema Chodron, has a meditation practice known as tonglen. In this practice, you breathe in pain, taking it into your own heart, and then breathe out loving kindness. This meditation practice, done regularly, actually softens the heart and makes compassion for yourself and others easier, more natural.

At first you should practice with your own pain and negative emotions. As that grows easier to do, you can extend your awareness to those people around you who have hurt you or whom you have negative feelings about. And once you start feeling how this softens and opens your heart, you can extend your awareness to the pain of the world and your feelings about those whom you feel are the perpetrators of the pain.

Practicing loving kindness, compassion, makes us more and more aware how we are all interrelated. All humans, all life forms. And so we open the door to loving life and loving everything and everyone.