{"id":9845,"date":"2015-01-28T16:20:37","date_gmt":"2015-01-28T21:20:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/beginnersheart\/?p=9845"},"modified":"2015-01-28T16:20:37","modified_gmt":"2015-01-28T21:20:37","slug":"some-periods-you-just-breathe-through","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/beginnersheart\/2015\/01\/some-periods-you-just-breathe-through.html","title":{"rendered":"some periods you just breathe through&#8230;"},"content":{"rendered":"<figure id=\"attachment_9846\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-9846\" style=\"width: 139px\" class=\"wp-caption alignleft\"><a href=\"https:\/\/wp-media.beliefnet.com\/sites\/239\/2015\/01\/tonglen2.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-9846 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/wp-media.beliefnet.com\/sites\/239\/2015\/01\/tonglen2.jpg\" alt=\"via google\" width=\"139\" height=\"80\" \/><\/a><figcaption id=\"caption-attachment-9846\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">via google<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>At times like this, I don&#8217;t know what I&#8217;d do w\/out\u00a0<em><a href=\"http:\/\/old-shambhala.shambhala.org\/teachers\/pema\/tonglen1.php\" target=\"_blank\">tonglen<\/a><\/em>. When I&#8217;m grieving for a loved one&#8217;s unhappiness, or breathing through my own, I remember: all over the world there is suffering.<\/p>\n<p>I know &#8211; how hokey is that? But you know what? It helps. Every time, it saves me. This week several dear friends had very bad news &#8212; each different, each devastating: loss, critical health issues&#8230; The dark threads of life&#8217;s tapestry, as I said <a href=\"http:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/beginnersheart\/2015\/01\/the-fragrance-of-peaches.html\" target=\"_blank\">the other day<\/a>. Law suits, and battling greed that victimises the helpless, are\u00a0never easy. Make the victim a beloved family member, and it&#8217;s even harder.<\/p>\n<figure id=\"attachment_9847\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-9847\" style=\"width: 123px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><a href=\"https:\/\/wp-media.beliefnet.com\/sites\/239\/2015\/01\/tonglen3.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-9847\" src=\"https:\/\/wp-media.beliefnet.com\/sites\/239\/2015\/01\/tonglen3.jpg\" alt=\"via google\" width=\"123\" height=\"39\" \/><\/a><figcaption id=\"caption-attachment-9847\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">via google<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>So practicing <em>tonglen<\/em> &#8212; breathing deeply into my own grief &amp; pain, and remembering all the people in the world who share that kind of pain &#8212; is a way of at least feeling I&#8221;m not wallowing. I acknowledge how much this hurts, damn it! And then? I remember that I can breathe for those others, and use my pain as a way to do so. Taking on a bit of their grief, and breathing out comfort &#8212; even joy &#8212; for them. Whether it&#8217;s loss of a loved one, life-altering illness, an ugly court battle&#8230;whatever, I can take the heavy lead of that sorrow, that hurt, and perform a kind of alchemy. Turn it to the warm gold of comfort.<\/p>\n<p>It&#8217;s not easy, I know. But right now, as I breathe through a very hard few days, I&#8217;m grateful. NOT for the pain (I&#8217;m no masochist!), but for this practice taught by so many wisdom traditions. Years ago, as a <a href=\"http:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/beginnersheart\/files\/2015\/01\/compassion1.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-9849\" src=\"https:\/\/wp-media.beliefnet.com\/sites\/239\/2015\/01\/compassion1-300x225.jpg\" alt=\"compassion\" width=\"300\" height=\"225\" \/><\/a>very young woman, I remember reading one of my favourite authors &#8212; the English Catholic Elizabeth Goudge. She spoke of &#8216;offering up&#8217; our pain, a venerable Christian tradition. It&#8217;s the same thing, I suspect. Transmuting the base metal of pain &amp; grief into the honeyed gold of love.<\/p>\n<p>Because love is what animates\u00a0<i>tonglen<\/i>. As it&#8217;s love that grounds compassion, which is really another word for sharing another&#8217;s grief. And it&#8217;s love that says &#8212; your grief is mine. We are far more alike than different, each of us caught in this very human web of suffering, wishing things weren&#8217;t the ways they are\u00a0&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>And as I contemplate unattachment &#8212; that elusive Buddhist quality of not clinging to what\u00a0<em>should<\/em> be &#8212; I realise just how far away my attainment of it is. I&#8217;m sooo not okay w\/ the grief of my loved ones. I want to FIX IT. So\u00a0<em>tonglen\u00a0<\/em>is a wonderful gift. No, I can&#8217;t\u00a0<em>reeaaaalllly<\/em> fix it. But I can breathe for you, each of you. And that&#8217;s a start.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>At times like this, I don&#8217;t know what I&#8217;d do w\/out\u00a0tonglen. When I&#8217;m grieving for a loved one&#8217;s unhappiness, or breathing through my own, I remember: all over the world there is suffering. I know &#8211; how hokey is that? But you know what? It helps. Every time, it saves me. This week several dear&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":398,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15,30,397,157],"tags":[11,1181,1187,262,1185,1250,1193,1281,1225],"class_list":["post-9845","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-compassion","category-grieving","category-love","category-tonglen","tag-beginners-heart","tag-britton-gildersleeve","tag-buddhism","tag-buddhist-blogs","tag-compassion","tag-gratitude","tag-grieving","tag-love","tag-tonglen"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v23.9 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>some periods you just breathe through... - Beginner&#039;s Heart<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"At times like this, I don&#039;t know what I&#039;d do w\/out\u00a0tonglen. 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