Walking through the fog

And sitting with the complex heartache that comes with non-dualistic thinking

Photo by Lawrence Braun via The DeBruce and Lillie K. Team. Was unplugged on my walk but this photo is from a property a little bit down the road from my house and captures the essence of of the fog and foliage on my walk this morning.

Contemplations

What comes up for you when contemplating on the idea that there is and there is not a right or wrong?

How do you reconcile and hold multiple truths in your heart?

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Last week was a challenging week for me. I was holding a lot of anxiety, anger, confusion, fear — for myself and for others. Some relief came midweek and by the time Friday came around, I was giddy and then crashed over the weekend.

I spent the rest of the weekend napping and doing things that nourished me — spending time in nature, being with my wife, working on our house, watching Bake-Off. Even though it helped, I woke up this morning filled with anxiety, my mind whirring with mundane task lists and what ifs.

I have a daily sitting practice — prayers for myself, my given and chosen family, and for the world and then I sit for 15 minutes. When I first started my meditation practice I didn’t understand folks who said they couldn’t sit still, that sitting practice didn’t work for them. That first year when I thought I had opened up the secrets of the Universe, I often said “you should try anyways” "or “this means you should practice more” in response. 🙄 I know now after being in a relationship with a beautiful neurodivergent human and studying how trauma shows up in the body that connecting to the breath doesn’t work for everyone. I have also learned over time, that sitting meditation can amplify the noise in my head if my anxiety is coursing through me. It doesn’t always quell my thoughts. Meditation is a powerful practice that I believe in deeply and also know now that it doesn’t work for everyone, all the time. That has been my journey these last few years — to investigate other ways in to disperse the destructive thoughts that can tear us apart.

This morning was one of those mornings. I started to lean on the practices that I preach to everyone all the time and I got into my body. I took my time during my morning shower, feeling the warm water washing over my body and slowed down enough to smell the fragrant soap that was inspired by the Taiwanese tea on Mt. Ali.

After getting dressed, I could still feel my mind ping-ponging in a million directions. I looked outside our (new!) kitchen window, saw the autumn leaves folding in and out of the fog in the distance and decided to go for a walk on our land. Our house is right on the edge of the Willowemoc Creek — a huge estuary of the Delaware River that runs through the Catskills Mountains. And I love walking to the water on days when I need a bit more spaciousness in my heart.

Walking meditation is a foundational practice at Plum Village. I am discovering more and more over time that the practices Thầy (Thich Nhat Hanh) taught were not just Buddhist, but also trauma-informed, prioritizing presence over anything else. He knew after surviving war and being exiled from Vietnam, my motherland, that these practices could heal us all.

Thầy used to say to walk as if you were kissing the Earth. It is a beautiful invitation to slow down and allow your focus, your breath, to go to your feet, to the ground below you. And to walk with reverence, with gratitude.

I started to match my breath to each step, feeling the cool morning dew mist my toes as I gently walked through the blades of grass. Slowing down, I was able to see red berries fruiting for the first time this year; I was able to smell the sweetness from the flowers that grow on our property; I was able to focus on something else for a few moments before letting my mind race forward into an abyss.

Once I got to the opening of our neighbor’s property, I felt called to walk through the unmarked field instead of straight down the path like I normally do. As I walked towards the nook of the water, through the clearing, amidst the fog, I saw a deer a few yards from me — and it saw me. We stood there in the brisk Fall air and looked at each other for some time, seeing the outlines of each other, not knowing if we were friend or foe, but just being. It finally ran off into the forest and I continued to cut through the fog, seeing only glimpses of the landscape — pops of green, red, and yellow guiding my eye line towards the water.

I finally arrived at the nook and decided to lay my brown corduroy jacket down on the ground and sit. Even after a mindful walk, I could feel my thoughts swirling more than usual, but it was quieter than it was when I first started walking. I kept on bringing my focus to my breath, and eventually the sun emerged and I could feel it on the left side of my body, kissing my cheek. All the while the right side of my body was in the shade, cooled. It was as if summer was still with me and also leaving me at the same time. And so I sat for a moment, listening to the sounds of the river in the juxtaposition of warm and cold happening simultaneously in me, in that moment.

Not to be all Buddhist about it, but…

For the last four weeks, I have been studying the Heart Sutra with Susan Piver and Crystal Gandrud at the Open Heart Project. I came to the realization this past weekend that all the teachings in the Buddhist canon point and lead toward non-dualistic thinking.

Non-dualistic thinking requires us to have a certain level of mental flexibility, but what I am sitting with is a deeper understanding — really, a deeper heartbreak, that there is no wrong or right. And yet, the Heart Sutra teaches us that there is right and wrong as well. Can that be? I am still dwelling in the nothingness, what Buddhists call emptiness, of this.

Intellectually I can make the leap towards understanding that this is a path of liberation. If we are not so attached to an idea, to our morality, then we will no longer grasp, be in desperation, anger, fear if that idea does not come to fruition. As Thầy writes, “For things to reveal themselves to us, we need to be ready to abandon our views about them.

After walking through the fog this morning, I am slowly starting to accept this just a little bit. Because to accept it, also means to accept the heartbreak that is in and around us. It is through this acceptance, that we can start focusing on what gives us joy, ease. This is why we practice.

This is why they call the Buddhist path a noble one; it is filled with heartbreak. The practice is to remind us of our resilience, to know we can withstand it, better yet, that we can choose another way.

I am sitting with this heartbreak as I type this, but much like this morning, I am also sitting with the sun shining on my face — holding both of those truths, those dualities all at once, trying to take in the overwhelming experience of what it means to be human in the world we live in today that can be cruel and unjust but still choosing to listen to my ever-beating heart pump through my chest.

Yes, this is what my dear teacher means when he writes "When you begin to see that your enemy is suffering, that is the beginning of insight…It is my conviction that there is no way to peace—peace is the way,"

***

Contemplations

What comes up for you when contemplating on the idea that there is and there is not a right or wrong?

How do you reconcile and hold multiple truths in your heart?

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If you are interested in listening to the Heart Sutra, here is the Plum Village version I listen to. It has been said that it can heal any suffering. I am putting that to the test. If you do too, please let me know in the comments. If you’d rather watch the monastics perform, please enjoy this video and take in their loving energy 🙏

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