Just Let Go.

 

What you run from only stays with you longer. When you fight something, you only make it stronger. 

—Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance, and in inverse proportion to my expectations.

—Michael J. Fox

💗

If you spend a lot of time at the ocean like our family does, you know the rules of rip currents like you know your own name. 

The fundamental truths of surviving a rip current are simple. 

Relax. 

Don't fight the current. Work with it. 

Be carried out to sea until you can swim parallel to the coastline.

Eventually, you will be led beyond the rip current's pull and reach a new current that will allow you to swim at an angle toward the shore.  

When we deeply understand how currents work, we instinctively move with the ocean, in accordance with its laws. We trust the predictability of the ebbs and flows. In the absence of fighting, we are carried. We are nudged back to the safety of the shore. 

Last year, I learned that skydiving works in much the same way.

I had the honor of skydiving with the Army Golden Knights. Much of my training leading up to my jump had to do with trusting and surrendering. I was told to tilt my head back, lean into the safety and security of my tandem jumper, and just let go. 

Just. Let. Go.

In the moment that I stood at the edge of our plane 13,500 feet above the Earth, my mind raced. It scrambled for a sense of control. It demanded that I do something to ensure my own safe return home. But beyond my mind's demands, there was a knowing that I was held. I was deeply safe. As my instructor and I descended to the ground below, I was filled with the excitement and giddiness of a child. 

Somehow, deep down, we all know that life tends to go more smoothly when we are not in resistance to it; when we are in flow with it. 

When we understand that each moment is here to be seen, we naturally let go of our need to control, manage, and figure it out. In the letting go, we are guided to the current that makes the most sense. We respond to each moment from a foundation of peace and security rather than from fear and judgment. Possibilities we had never considered suddenly present themselves from this space. 

In the spirit of letting go, I'd like to propose a little game. 

Think of a dramatic thought or story that your mind loves to play on repeat.  

You know the thoughts I'm talking about; the ones that say, "I should be doing better by now" and "I never should have done or said that thing" or "If only I had a different job/spouse/body/lifestyle, I would be better off" or "If only that person hadn't done that thing to me..." Or my absolute favorite: "This shouldn't be happening."

Got one? OK. Do you feel the thought in your body? Maybe it's in the form of tension, a stomach ache, or a racing heart. We feel the thoughts that seem true to us. What a brilliant design!

If you're a normal human being, your mind is probably saying, "Make it go away, now. It's uncomfortable. Seriously, it's been here long enough, now!" And in real life, if this wasn't a game, we might grab an alcoholic drink, scroll through our social media feed, or attempt to find a happy, positive thought to mask the icky one. And all of these things would make PERFECT SENSE. After all, we have had a lifetime of conditioning that tells us to avoid discomfort. Swim against the rip current. Fight the tandem jumper for control. 

But, for the sake of the game, let's do something different. Let's swim with the current. Let's imagine that the story—the one that tends to come up the most often—is made of same intelligent energy of the ocean.

As energy, your story simply wants to move through you and be on its way. But, as a normal human being, you have learned to hold onto, attach yourself to, and replay the story again and again. The story looks real, solid, stable, and true. So you stare at it. You shower it with attention. Then, you think of ways to subdue it, numb it, and distract yourself from it. You try in vain to control it. As a result, it can't move on through. 

This time, instead of stopping the flow of energy, allow your story to come all the way to the sunlight to be seen. Really seen. After all, it is energy—Life intelligence. It is not the scary thing your mind has made it out to be for all these months, years, or decades. It is coming up again and again so that it can finally move through. 

So, draw it closer. Pick it up and hold it the way you'd pick up a crying toddler to comfort her. See if you can let go of the need to change or modify the story. It's energy—it will move and change on its own, by design. It does not need a "positive-thought sticker" slapped on top of it. 

If discomfort arises in the body, just notice it. There is no need to form an attachment to it. Those sensations do not belong to you. They're not yours. Just watch them rise and fall, ebb and flow. Leave them alone and just notice them. 

As you spend more time playing the game of working with rather than against your stories, they will begin to lose their grip. The energy will move through you. 

In the absence of resisting your stories, THEY will let YOU go. 💗

If you'd like to watch the video of my Golden Knights experience, click here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkPW08qoo1w

I hope you'll join me in September to discuss the stories behind the blog posts. Details about a fun and engaging zoom meet-up coming soon. 

How Do We See Who We Really Are?

 

In the external scheme of things, shining moments are as brief as the twinkling of an eye; yet such twinklings are what eternity is made of—moments when we human beings can say, 'I love you,' 'I'm proud of you,' 'I forgive you,' and 'I'm grateful for you.' That's what eternity is made of: invisible, imperishable good stuff. 

—Fred Rogers, The World According to Mister Rogers

We must not let ourselves be diverted from the truth by the strangeness of appearances. A fact is a fact even though it may upset our conception of the universe, for our conception of the universe is terribly infantile. 

—Charles Richet, 1913 Nobel Prize Winner for Physiology and Medicine

Years ago, I used to get such a kick out of watching people stare at those Magic Eye posters in the mall.  They would just stand there in front of them, trying as hard as they could to see the hidden images among the millions of squiggly lines and dots. 

And then... out of nowhere...their face would suddenly light up. They would smile. And I would know that they had finally SEEN it. It was magical.

Who knows why it took some people two minutes and others an hour for the image to "pop" for them. But the reaction was always the same. 

Delight. Joy. Awe. Amazement. 

The tension that had been building in their bodies for two or sixty minutes would suddenly release. There would be an exhale of triumph. 

"There it is! Right there!"

There were always those who wanted to know HOW to see the hidden images. They wanted to know specific techniques. Some would look slightly away from the poster while others would let their eyes get a little blurry.

But, in the end, there was no "how" to make the image show itself. It was seen when it was seen; often as soon as the person  gave up trying so hard. 

That's kind of how it goes when my clients and I talk about who-we-are beyond our mind's stories. 

In the beginning, most of my clients simply want to know HOW to see this. 

And, just like the Magic Eye posters, there is no solid, concrete "how." (And the mind HATES that!)

But there are some things that seem to make the journey to rediscovering who-you-are a little simpler and more enjoyable. 

First, it really helps to be curious and inquisitive, like a child or an anthropologist. When we look at conditioned thoughts and beliefs, we look at them with a beginner's mind, as if we honestly have NO idea if they're true or real. 

Second, it's incredibly beneficial to just play with the ideas of who-you-are beyond old stories and limiting beliefs. My clients and I play "what-if" games every week. We ask things like, "What if that thing you call a trigger is actually your greatest teacher?" and "What if that physical symptom you hate is the very thing that will walk you home to the truth of who-you-are?" By playing games and asking what-if questions, we allow for never-before-seen possibilities to show up. We become vast open spaces for brand new insights to appear.

Finally, it's helpful to be willing to be dead wrong. This may sound crazy and counterproductive. But it's a game-changer. My brilliant mentor, Dr. Amy Johnson, PhD, first introduced this idea to me. She said, "You don't need to believe anything I say. Just be open to the idea that what your mind is telling you is dead wrong." 

As my wise friend Carl Frazier said this year on Easter Sunday, "I am not asking you to believe. I am asking you to consider suspending your disbelief for a moment."

As you consider who-you-are beyond your labels and stories, be curious and playful. Be willing to be dead wrong. And consider suspending your disbelief for just a moment.

When you see....really SEE...what's there beyond your intellect's limited version of you, it will be like seeing that hidden image in the Magic Eye poster. Only a million times better. 

**Coming in September**

Have you been wanting to find out what all of this is about? Do you have specific questions about any of the blog posts? In September, I will be hosting a zoom call to dive a little more deeply into what is being pointed to here in this blog. I hope you'll join me!

The Physical Sensations of Overwhelm

 

Apple Fritters at Back Door Donuts

"You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus."

—Mark Twain

One of my favorite things about going on vacation is the anticipation of it. Right now, our family is just weeks away from heading back to our most cherished summer get-away in Martha's Vineyard. I have already spent countless hours lost in imagination, daydreaming of hot apple fritters at Back Door Donuts, sunsets at Menemsha Beach, and lazy strolls down Circuit Avenue with Mocha Motts coffee in my hand. 

It is such a gift to be able to fully experience these kinds of imagined scenarios as if they were really happening. Somehow, it seems to prolong the joy of the actual vacation. 

But what if my imagination is out of focus and, instead, the imagined scenario is scary or overwhelming? No one wants to experience those things as if they're really happening.  

And yet, we do.

We feel those out-of-focus imagined scenarios as physical sensations in our body. We've been taught to call them things like "stress-induced" tension, tightness, stomach aches, or even pain.

But what if those things are actually part of the kindness of our design?

For a very long season, my imagination ran wild with stories of overwhelm. The stories involved urgent, high-stakes scenarios that looked very real and true. My mind would say things like, "I've GOT to get this done. There is so much riding on this. Oh, God! Who am I kidding? There are not enough hours in the day. I'm not sure I can handle it." 

In the midst of my mind's stories, I would notice an uncomfortable tightness growing throughout my chest and neck, often accompanied by elevated blood pressure and a racing heart. Since I hated those symptoms, I added them to my list of things to work on and figure out. 

It was explained to me that the stories of overwhelm and the intense physical sensations were signs that I had too much on my plate, and that I needed to do a better job setting boundaries and saying no. OR, that I needed to do a better job managing those damn imagined stories in the first place! 

But, something seemed very off about that explanation.

I was curious about the fact that all imaginations are prone to dramatic, intense stories, AND there are millions of people who accomplish far more than I do without any sign of stress or overwhelm. Something didn't add up. What was different for them?

I set out to learn more about these people who are able to achieve great things while living with great ease. As it turns out, they have a few things in common.

First, they don't waste energy trying to figure out or manage the imaginary stories that involve scary or overwhelming themes. Even the shitty stories are just noticed. There is no attempt to modify or rationalize them. There is a simple understanding that all stories are safe, transient, and inherently neutral. These amazing groups of relaxed, productive people don't TRY to leave their stories alone—they just know it makes no sense to get involved. 

Second, they aren't obsessed with themselves or how they're doing, feeling, or measuring up. They don't view the world through a distorted me-centered lens. They know that they are part of something much larger than themselves. They are inextricably linked with an intangible, universal intelligence beyond what they can see, hear, or touch. As such, they know that they are held, carried, and guided.  

Third, they see that, at various points throughout life, every human will experience the things we call joy, grief, excitement, devastation, hope, failure, triumph, and humiliation. Since this is a given, they don't waste a single ounce of energy trying to hold any experience at bay. 

After all, all experience is simply Life arising in the moment. The people who live with the greatest ease seem to meet each experience as it unfolds, knowing that they are part of the unfolding. Experience is not separate from them or happening to them. It simply is. And it needs no management or figuring out. 

Finally, the people who live with the greatest sense of ease seem to know that the mind's ideas about what should and shouldn't be happening are incredibly biased and limited. So they don't hang their hat on outcomes. They do the very best they can in any situation, of course. But, then they release the outcomes to that same intangible yet trustworthy universal intelligence that is beyond their intellect's grasp. 

Identifying with out-of-focus stories such as, "I can't handle it," "It's too much," or "It's all on me" is SUPPOSED to feel awful. (Read that again)

If it didn't, what incentive would there be to wake up to the lies being believed?

Imagine if it felt GREAT to believe, "I can't cope" or "It's all on me to get this right."  You'd be compelled to stay stuck in that distorted reality indefinitely. 

Life is so much wiser and kinder than to allow you to identify with the scary, overwhelming stories in your imagination. It will always do its best to wake you up. It will arise as something you call a racing heart, a knot in your stomach, a pain in the base of your throat, a tension in your head and neck, or a myriad of other brilliant, perfectly-tailored sensations.

As bodily sensations are seen for the gifts they are, there will no longer be a need to fight them, manage them, or figure them out. 

 You are free from those chains. 

In the absence of managing and controlling, ease is revealed. It was there all along, just waiting for old, worn-out beliefs and concepts to fall away. 

From a place of ease, Life can look like absolutely anything. It can look like pulling all-nighters to seal a deal at work, or it can look like quitting work altogether to spend more time in the garden. It can look like hiring a personal assistant to give you more time to relax, or it can look like going back to school while keeping a full-time job and running the PTA.

Ease gets to look like anything because it's who-we-are when we're not identified with out-of-focus stories playing in our imagination. 

Imagination is a gift. We get to relish it, swim around in it, and savor it. 

And when it falls out-of-focus (which it will), the intelligence of those brilliant sensations and symptoms will wake us up and walk us back home to ease. 

Ease is our natural design. 

Worry and Rumination

 

Worry pretends to be necessary but serves no purpose. — Eckhart Tolle

Years ago, a good friend of mine walked me through the story of her husband's heart attack—how the morning unfolded, how she found herself calling 9-1-1, how she got herself to the hospital , and how she handled the medical decisions that had to be made. These are longtime friends of ours—our age—with whom we've raised our babies, survived potty-training, planned NYC trips, and celebrated milestone birthdays. I couldn't wrap my head around how this could even happen. 

I remember listening—heartsick— as she told her story, and thinking, "I could never handle that." In my wildest imagination, I could not fathom how I would get through something so unexpected and traumatic. I tried to picture scenarios in my mind in which I would be OK, but I only came up with images of myself crumbling, unable to do the things required of me.

And yet, as my friend continued her story, I heard how—in the moment—she did handle it. It was surreal and uncomfortable, but she did the things that needed to be done. And—in her words—she found moments of profound peace, comfort, and even humor throughout the unfolding of that day and subsequent weeks. 

What I saw that day and a hundred more times since then is this:

We have precisely the resources we need in the actual moments we need them—NOT in the midst of an imaginary movie playing in our head. 

Minds—ALL minds— tell compelling, dramatic stories. That's just what they do. They worry about imagined future events. They ruminate about past events and how things could have or should have gone differently.

Then, they say things like, "I can't relax and be at peace until I get the biopsy results." Or, "I'll finally get a good night's sleep after I see for myself how my dad is doing." 

The mind pretends that worry and rumination are helpful and relevant; that's how it keeps you on the hook to keep paying attention to it. 

But here's the thing:

Your mind will keep you on the hook for as long as you're willing to engage. Minds are designed for constant, never-ending activity. They have nothing better to do than spin stories in hopes that you will pay attention to them.

Your attempt to manage, suppress, and control the mind's stories provide the energy that keeps them going. It's the gasoline on the fire, so-to-speak. 

Two of the mind's favorite stories are "It could happen because it has happened before" and "Oh, this story must be really true and important because it keeps playing over and over again." 

Every time you fall for and attempt to manage stories like these, it will feel awful.

Believe it or not, the suffering is not a cruel design flaw of the mind and body. The racing heart, the pit in the stomach, and the pressure in the chest are BRILLIANT. 

The human body is ingenious in the way that it alerts us to the fact that we are lost in an imagined, made-up scary world in our head. The sensations and stress-related symptoms in the body are there to bring you back to reality, back to the this present moment in real life. The body's shitty sensations are GIFTS. (In my coaching forum, we call them the "shitty golden tickets").

Worry and rumination are never problems on their own. They don't need to be managed, silenced, or pushed aside.

The suffering we attribute to worry and rumination is actually the result of our fighting, resisting, and attempting to control them or make them go away. 

Telling dramatic—even scary—stories is just a healthy, normal mind's activity. I think of it like a puppy chewing endlessly on a bone just for the sake of chewing. It's an activity—not a problem. 

Once the mind is free to play any movie it wants, no matter how urgent or repetitive, the resistance to it and the attempt to manage it will end. In time, the movies will begin to fade away from lack of attention.

Your worry-movies have masqueraded as "helpers" for long enough. Let the movies of worry and rumination play as often as they'd like. Notice them. Smile because you're onto them. And then let them play, freely.

When the moment arises that an actual response is needed in real life, you will be moved, guided, and lived in the moment of requirement. 

A few months ago, I was visiting my parents for our weekly breakfast. My dad collapsed on the floor quite unexpectedly. In the moment of requirement, actions were taken and decisions were made. I found myself calling 9-1-1, leading the first responders to my dad, and then lying on the floor next to him, telling him stories about Martha's Vineyard as the paramedics did their job. There were moments of deep peace, gratitude, and love. As the events of the morning unfolded, I was held. I was lived. And so was my dad. 

Chronic Hives and Other Beautiful Gifts

 

"Once you begin to heal, what you discover will not be the new you, but the real you. The you that was there all along; born with love and joy."

—Desmond Tutu

In 2018, I found myself in an unexpected season of chronic hives, accompanied by relentless anxiety and depression. There were moments I felt like my life as I knew it was over. I lost hope of ever returning to the "me" I had been for 47 years. The thoughts and stories that played in my head day and night were filled with what I often described as "gun-to-the-head terror." I was consumed by fear and hatred of my physical symptoms. My world became very small. 

Ironically, that season turned out to be one of the greatest gifts of my entire life. 

I was given an opportunity to be still and get really curious about who I was beyond the habitual, repetitive stories my mind created. 

As a lifelong perfectionist and people-pleaser, it never occurred to me to question the narratives in my head. My head was where I lived! I was constantly planning, analyzing, comparing, projecting, and figuring things out. Vigilance was the name of my game. My mind was like a sonar on a submarine, continuously scanning for what might go wrong so that I could manage and control all potential outcomes. I embodied the mantra, "If it's to be, it's up to me!"

Thankfully, a prolonged season of hives, anxiety, and depression showed up as a brilliant course-corrector. 

I was given an opportunity to learn how to live in the world rather than in my head. 

With the help of some patient and compassionate mentors, I began an excavation—an un-learning of old beliefs and patterns.  

I began to understand that all experience is filtered through my mind—that I don't experience the world as it is; I experience it as I am—through a lifetime of unquestioned beliefs and conditioning. I saw that I would never be able to pin-down any experience long enough to stake my happiness and peace in it. 

As a result, I stopped trying to manage my experience—my thoughts, feelings, emotions, and physical sensations/symptoms. 

The first thing to fall away was vigilance. It no longer made any sense to track emotional states, symptoms, thoughts, and visceral sensations. My attempt to manage them had been exhausting. 

There was a palpable, physiological shift in the midst of that surrender. 

I found myself relaxing more in the natural momentum of Life. Instead of putting my faith in my mind's interpretation of  each moment, I began to see that there was something beyond my intellect's grasp that was more trustworthy and stable.  

Then, something interesting happened. I had moments of suddenly realizing I felt joyful again. There were moments of unexpected peace and bliss.  And then moments, weeks, and even months with no hives. 

In the absence of my attempt to control life, I was being lived. Effortlessly.

I realized how long I had been under the spell of belief that my experience was THE truth rather than my mind's clumsy interpretation of it. I had been buying into the dramatic stories of what my hives meant, and what my anxiety and depression said about me. 

I had been confusing my bodily sensations of overwhelm, urgency, and fear as evidence that my mind's stories were true and real. When I felt overwhelmed about an upcoming event, I assumed that the awful, visceral sensations that accompanied the story were saying, "Yes, the story is TRUE. Now, you must do everything in your power to get control of this situation. You must avoid the overwhelming thing at all costs." 

And then, thank God, I woke up from that 48-year-old belief. 

I realized that the uncomfortable sensations of overwhelm and urgency are NEVER an indication of the truth of my mind's stories. They are never pointing to anything outside of me. They are only and ever pointing me back to the truth of who I am.

They are saying, "Hey, you! You are identifying with a grossly inaccurate, me-centered, dramatic version of reality. Come home. Come back to the truth of who-you-are. You think this is somehow on you, but it's not."

There is a space that is untouched by our mind's stories. We can't intellectualize it, define it, manage it, or control it.

But we can be open to sensing it, knowing it, and trusting it. 

In that space beyond our mind's grabby reach, our bodies relax. Our nervous systems settle. Our hands stop gripping the proverbial wheel so tightly. 

We heal. 

It took a brilliant season of hives, depression, and wicked anxiety to wake me up to that ineffable space beyond my mind's narratives.

In the discomfort, I discovered that there is far less for me to do, figure out, or manage than I once believed.

Now that I understand what the discomfort is, it is welcome.

I am beautifully held in it. 

 

I'll Be OK When...

 

Let what comes come. Let what goes go. Find our what remains. 

—Ramana Maharshi

Your sacred space is where you can find yourself over and over again. 

—Joseph Campbell

Imagine standing at the ocean's edge with your bare feet planted securely on a stretch of firm, wet sand. As the waves lap onto the beach, your feet begin to sink  into the shifting ground below you. What appeared to be a stable, reliable foundation is now washing away beneath you. 

Just like the sand at the ocean's edge, everything in our perceptual world is continuously shifting, changing, and moving. Sights, sounds, tastes, and even thoughts are in unceasing motion; as impossible to secure as the sand beneath your feet. We couldn't hold our world in place if we wanted to. 

And yet, there is a belief that we can somehow pin our security and OK-ness on things that are always in motion. Things like health, money, image, weight, relationships, and emotional states. Our minds say, "I'll be OK when my children stop struggling, when the chemo ends, when the bills are paid, or when the anxiety abates."

Somehow we know not to trust the stability of the shifting sand, but we don't know not to trust our equally precarious thoughts and beliefs. 

We fall for the myth of relief—that fleeting, seductive feeling when a problem is resolved, health improves, or a child finally finds their way. 

But like the shifting sand at the ocean's edge, relief is already falling away as soon as it is felt. Your mind will never let you stay in the story of relief for very long. 

Why?

Because, to your mind, enough is never enough. 

The mind's fundamental job is to keep itself relevant. That voice-in-your-head, the one that narrates your day and makes meaning of everything, is designed to solve problems—even if it needs to create them. 

Among the mind's favorite narratives, "I'll be OK when..." is probably its most compelling. 

That little mind is so clever and so brilliant at its job that it always keeps you on the hook for just one more achievement or milestone.

It says, "I'll be OK as soon as I have...a partner, a baby, a financial security." And then it will let you relax and breathe for just a minute before it says, "Now I'll be OK when I have a college fund for the kids, a clean bill of health, a plan for my aging parents." 

Life becomes a never-ending narrative of, "I'll finally relax when..." 

And, here's the cosmic joke: That narrative never ends. 

It can't end because that would be the end of the story-teller. It would be the death of that little voice-in-your-head whose job it is to solve problems and keep its story of you relevant.

But, there is GOOD NEWS in all of this. 

That voice-in-your-head, the one that never stops talking, does not belong to you. Its stories are not personal, and they have no relevance to who-you-are. They are a product of a lifetime of conditioning and circumstances, processed through what amounts to a simple yet incredibly efficient machine. 

YOU—that complete, uncontaminated, resilient bundle of aliveness that you were on the day you were born—are simply a space for those stories to pass through like clouds passing through a blue sky. You are the timeless, stable, expansive space in which stories arise and dissolve. You get to watch the stories without becoming identified with them. 

The story, "I'll be OK when..." is remarkably predictable, so it's simple to notice when it arises. 

Just like your refrigerator predictably cools your food and your washing machine predictably washes your clothes—your mind can be counted on 100% of the time to tell you what you need in order to relax and be OK. It's just a machine doing its job.

When that meaning-making, problem-solving machine in your head tells you what you must have in order to be OK, you can simply observe it. You can thank it for doing its job so well. And then, you can watch how quickly that story passes all on its own, allowing space for the next story to arrive on its heels. When the story is seen for what it is—a cloud passing through the sky— it loses its power.

There is a quiet space that is untouched by the mind. That space is who-you-are, and it is always OK. 

I Don't Know.

"We don't realize that, somewhere within us all, there does exist a supreme self who is eternally at peace." 

—Elizabeth Gilbert

When my daughter Megan was 13 months old, we took her to visit her grandpa and two uncles—Andrew and Matthew—in Columbia, South Carolina. Shortly after we arrived at my father-in-law's home, there was a knock at the door. With Megan sound asleep in her car seat in the hall, I answered. There in front of me stood a police officer, a woman who appeared to be a minister, and two other people I did not know. 

The next few minutes remain a blur, but I distinctly remember my father-in-law, Lou, who had just lost his wife to pancreatic cancer a year earlier, crying out, "Why? Why is this happening?" His son —my brother-in-law Andrew— had drowned, caught in the undertow of the Saluda River at the age of 19. It was the day before Father's Day. 

The officer asked my husband Pete to accompany him to identify Andrew's body. After that, we did the things you do to plan a funeral. When the service was over, we sat together in alternating moments of numbness and despair. Why in the world did we lose Pete's mom and brother in a single year?

Why?

Today, I often talk with people who feel stuck in needing to understand why something awful has happened or is happening. It is as if their peace and ability to "let go" or relax is dependent on the answers to unanswerable questions. 

Why were six million Jews and five million prisoners-of-war allowed to be killed during the Holocaust? Why are human beings indiscriminately brutalized, lynched, or otherwise tortured simply because of the color of their skin? Why, today, are perfectly kind and wonderful young people targeted and made to feel broken simply because of their gender identity or sexual orientation? Why? 

I don't know. 

There are a million different experts who hypothesize a million different reasons for these things. But in truth, how do any of us really know why horrific things happen?

We are human beings living in a very human world. Since the dawn of time, there have been atrocities, injustices, and horrific, heart-shattering events. There have always been people who, because of what looks real and true in their minds, do unimaginable things to other people. 

And in the same moments as these atrocities, there have always been stories of exquisite kindness and compassion; stories of heroes brave enough to stand up for what is right at the risk of losing their reputation or life. In the midst of hatred, fear, and grief, Love has always been there, holding it all.

As I have grown more interested in what we all are beyond our bodies, minds, and psychology, I have seen the absolute wisdom and freedom in these three words: I don't know. 

I don't know why human beings do things to hurt other human beings. I don't know why babies get leukemia diagnoses or why fathers die before they get to walk their daughters down the aisle.

I don't know. 

But I do know this. Maybe we aren't meant to know some things right now (or ever). And the not-knowing has nothing to do with our ability to be completely at peace.

Believe it or not, the not-knowing is never the thing standing in the way of our peace. 

The only thing temporarily veiling our true peace in any moment is the belief in a story. The story, "I need to know why things happen" is one of our mind's favorite and most compelling narratives.

When it looks like our intellect is the thing that has gotten us this far in life, we tend to listen to it. So, we go to work figuring things out. 

But, when we have a sense of the momentum of Life that is always there—moving us forward, carrying us reliably from moment to moment—we rest in the not-knowing. We rest in the present moment, which is all we really ever have.

From a place of rest, we find ourselves naturally drawn to do the things that make sense in real-time (rather than in our imagined future). We donate money, help a friend, show up for the cancer treatment, join a peaceful protest, or lead a military combat mission. We bake a cake or plant a garden so that our joy can radiate out into a world desperate for more lightheartedness.

Our minds will never give up the search for answers to the unanswerable questions.

But, beyond our intellect, there is a space in which nothing needs to makes sense and, paradoxically, where everything does make sense. 

Thankfully, our true peace and our ability to show up in the world have nothing to do with our mind's stories and demands. 

Even in the unimaginable, we are immersed in the infinite peace and wellbeing of Life. 

I'll see you next week. 💗