Read by Thich Nath Hanh, chanted by brother Phap Niem.
The creators of this audio track were Gary Malkin, the composer/arranger, producer, and collaborator Michael Stillwater. The work came from a CD/book called Graceful Passages: A Companion for Living and Dying, and it could be purchased by going to wisdomoftheworld.com.
Visuals taken from:
HOME, Earth and Baraka
(Forwarded by Zoë Robinson, H.W., M.)
Today is your resurrection from human identity to your true identity as pure awareness. Today you rise above the person you experience yourself to be, to the awareness that is aware of that person. Today the Christ rises from obscurity to shine forth from you luminous forever.
Oh, Christ, Thou Son of God, My own eternal Self. Live Thou Thy life in me, Do Thou Thy will in me, Be Thou made flesh in me. I have no will but Thine, I have no self but Thee.
Happy Easter, by Hans BørliGlåmdalen, 24.5.1969
I’m sitting here in a church of forest scent and dogg and day. Linnéa calling the fair with silent bell beats.
And the priest has no face and the sermon has no words. The sacred sacrament is the ancestor of springly earth.
A leaf singer chirping at the nesta beetle climbing a straw. And deep in the signed silence, I hear the life heart beat.
There is a trust in the world alight on big and small.
“The term Kymatica or cymatics in Portuguese was coined by Swiss scientist Hans Jenny, and derives from the Greek kyma ( κύμα ), meaning ” wave ” and ta kymatika ( κυματικά τα ), meaning ”matters pertaining to waves.“
“Kymatica is the sequel to Ben Stewart’s ‘Esoteric Agenda,’ one of the most important films ever made.”
“This movie (Kymatica) focuses on human and universal consciousness and points out the psychic disease that mankind has induced that is creating an insane illusion which is the main cause of pain and suffering. The Kymatica documentary explains shamanism, duality, and the reality behind DNA and modern false beliefs. Overall, Kymatica is another excellent movie that attempts to point out the fundamental misconception that humankind is facing today that has resulted in an imbalance between planet, nature, and species.
“The questions that have remained timeless and profound throughout history have been all but left for dead. There have been messages left in scripture, archeological remains, shamanic traditions, philosophy, poetry, art, and music. As we move closer to an apex of technological and intellectual information, we find ourselves farther and farther away from feeling any comfort or wholeness within our hearts and souls.
“Yet even though the concept of spirituality should have been long gone by now, we are seeing an awakening among people and a growing desire for truth. For the first time in history, we are finding that there are no sole saviors or lone prophets to guide us, but a whole race waking from a sleep that has brought this world to the brink of destruction. In a world where Apocalyptic catastrophes seem inevitable, we must look at the solutions in a whole new manner.
“As the latest quantum mechanics and metaphysics are just being discovered, we notice that we are not moving forward, but returning to a consciousness that the ancient shamans, mystics, and sages have left for us.
“It is a new age. An age for responsibility and stewardship. And as we begin to look for answers in the world within, the world without will reflect. In this new age, we will discover that we are all one mind, one organism, and one spirit. We are the savior we have been waiting for.”
Dorothy Toy loved to dance. With Paul Wing, they formed the most famous Asian American dance team in U.S. history. They performed on Broadway, Hollywood films and around the world. Dorothy passed in 2019 at 102 years old. She said “Dancing makes you happy, I’m happy I danced all my life”.
By Dorlie Fong (storycorp.org)
In the late 1930s, Dorothy Toy and her dance partner Paul Wing made their Broadway debut after years touring on the Vaudeville circuit. In one of their earliest Broadway appearances, the duo, billed as Toy & Wing, performed in a musical review. That night, as Toy & Wing took their bows, the applause was thunderous. Dorothy later told her daughter that the audience got on their feet and applauded so vigorously the bandleader was forced to bring them out repeatedly – stalling the next act. Dorothy would say, she lost track of how many bows they took that night, but that they became a fixture on Broadway from then on.
Dorothy, Paul and a young Dorlie Fong dancing the cha cha during an encore performance. Courtesy of Dorlie Fong.
Decades later, after founding her own dance company and touring the world, Dorothy Toy planned to visit StoryCorps with her daughter, to look back on a lifetime of performance. But she passed before that was possible. Dorothy was 102 years old when she died. She had suffered multiple broken hips and lived with dementia, but she considered herself a dancer well into her final years.
In March of 2021, her daughter Dorlie Fong came to StoryCorps to honor her mother. In that session she committed to tape many of Dorothy’s stories from a bygone era of Vaudeville, Hollywood, and Broadway. But beyond that, Dorlie described what it was like growing up backstage and finding connection with her mother the star.
Originally aired April 2, on NPR’s Morning Edition.
(Submitted by Suzanne Deakins, H.W., M.)
MODERN LOVE
I thought I had a classic fear of commitment, but it’s more complicated than that.
By Haili Blassingame
April 2, 2021 (NYTimes.com)
I broke up with my boyfriend of five years during quarantine, but not because we had fallen out of love.
I sent him an email with the subject line, “My Terms,” and proceeded to outline why I wanted to be single. In an effort to impose order on my decision, I included subheadings like “Why I Need This,” “What This Change Means For You” and “What We’ll Say To the Outside World,” followed by a trail of bullet points.
Under the subheading, “What This Doesn’t Mean,” I wrote: “That I don’t love you anymore.”
We were three months into the pandemic, and most of us couldn’t fathom the devastation to come. By then, though, we could begin to see our loneliness stretching into the future with no end point. Singles stared absently into the eyes of strangers on Zoom, longing to be touched.
And here I was, alone and equally desperate for connection, breaking up with my boyfriend of five years, even though nothing between us had broken.
For months afterward, I struggled to understand why. It was only when I looked back on flash points throughout the relationship that I realized my singleness was inevitable; I was simply building the vocabulary to explain it to myself.
I had met Malcolm my freshman year of college at a luncheon for honor students. He was wearing a blue plaid button-down and his voice was a startling baritone. Everyone compared him to Barack Obama, and the comparison was fitting — he was similarly warm, what some might call magnetic. He seemed like a reasonable person to trust with your life or your love.
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My friend and I had been talking idly about starting a dating service on campus, but first we needed to create a database. I walked up to him and asked if he wanted to be our first client.
He laughed. “OK, sure. How does it work?”
I pulled out my phone. “First, I have to take your picture so girls can know what you look like.”
I positioned him before a wall and gave him unhelpful guidance on how to look appealing. The picture came out awkward and blurry. Still, I sent it to my mother, giddy about the cute guy with the deep voice who looked like Obama.
After the luncheon, he and I circled each other for two years until one night I called to see if he wanted to hang out. What followed was a relationship plucked from romantic folklore. He sent me flowers with handwritten letters and arranged for my favorite ice cream to be delivered to my hotel room while I was at a conference in New York.
After four months, he followed me to France, where I was studying abroad my junior year. That’s where our relationship became official. On a call several weeks before he arrived, I said, “I guess we should get together or something.”
He said, “We’re kind of already together, aren’t we?”
“I know. But I should probably be your girlfriend, right?”
He laughed. “OK.”
Our exchange felt like a conversation between two third graders in the playground. I understood that I was supposed to care about this milestone — he was my first boyfriend. Yet when I grasped for the significance of it, I came up empty.
When he left France several weeks before I did, I was surprised to feel relieved. I longed — not to be alone, not to be without love, but for freedom and autonomy. Since we had gotten together, I had felt our identities weaving into a beautiful quilt, and I didn’t see how to disentangle myself without alienating the man I loved.
I was somebody without him. I knew this, but others didn’t seem to. Even when I was by myself, people always asked me about him, their remarks dropping me into a future — of marriage, children and muted desires — that I had not signed up for. I wanted my identity back. I wanted to unravel.
As soon as I got back, I suggested an open relationship, something I had wanted from the beginning. I saw it as a step toward establishing myself as a romantic and sexual entity outside of my relationship.
The following year, after leaving college in Atlanta, we moved 2,000 miles apart — Malcolm home to California, me home to D.C. — with no plans of either of us moving to be with the other anytime soon. We saw each other several times a year.
By the time the pandemic hit, we had been long-distance for three years, and I saw no problem with it. When the travel restrictions began, co-workers said, “It must be hard not being able to fly to see your boyfriend.” To which I replied, “I actually like the distance.”
Many times, I thought I had a classic fear of commitment, but I knew it was more complicated. I was resisting something greater than our individual relationship, and my resistance was political.
A day before I sent Malcolm the email saying I wanted to break up, I came across a term online: solo polyamory. It described a person who is romantically involved with many people but is not seeking a committed relationship with anyone. What makes this different from casual dating is that they’re not looking for a partner, and the relationship isn’t expected to escalate to long-term commitments, like marriage or children. More important, the relationship isn’t seen as wasted time or lacking significance because it doesn’t lead to those things.
I wasn’t comfortable identifying as polyamorous then. My desire for something nontraditional was a source of shame and questioning. But for once, in the vast literature on love, I felt seen. I liked how solo polyamory cherished and prioritized autonomy and the preservation of self, and I found its rejection of traditional models of romantic love freeing.
When Malcolm and I first told friends and family about our open relationship, we were met with verbal lashings and gross generalizations, including that this was “not something Black people did.” Much later, I realized they viewed our arrangement as a personal attack on an institution they wanted to believe in. In some ways, this attack was the rebellion I had been seeking.
My entire girlhood had been consumed by fantasies that were force-fed to me. Love and relationships were presented as binary, and in this binary, the woman must get married or be lonely (or, in classic novels, die). The path to freedom and happiness was narrower still for Black women. Even in our extremely loving relationship, I had felt confined.
I knew my mother would be devastated by the breakup. A divorcée of 20-plus years, she often warned against “ending up like me,” a woman untethered to a man.
I waited nearly six months to tell her. When I did, she said, “What if he finds someone else?”
“He could’ve found someone else when we were together,” I said, puzzled.
But relationships do give the illusion that we exist in a bubble with another person, insulated from the rest of the world — that’s part of what makes them feel so intimate. But if this year has taught us anything, it’s that none of us are insulated from each other, even in isolation, and that, at any moment, our bubble could burst. I no longer see this rupture as a bad thing.
After I sent Malcolm my breakup email, he and I spoke on the phone.
“I have to be honest,” he said, “I was a little sad when I read it.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It just seemed more final in an email.”
“You know, we can change the terms whenever we want,” I said.
“I know.”
“You’re still my best friend,” I said.
He made a joke about being friend-zoned, then said, “Yeah, you’re my best friend too.”
I recently listened to a conversation about polyamory on Clubhouse — a new voice-based social media platform. All the faces in the chat were Black.
“You have to own your choice,” one guy said. “You have to remember you chose this for a reason.”
I thought of my choice to be single and not looking but still very much loving.
What I want are relationships that operate with a spirit of possibility rather than constraint. Shedding the identity of “girlfriend” has allowed me to experience the expansiveness of love. It has challenged me to stretch the limits of my relationships to see what they can be when relieved of social pressure.
As humans, we’re always going to reach for certainty using the few tools we have, and sometimes that tool will be a label like “girlfriend.” But in a year of crippling loss, canceled trips, delayed milestones and a charged election, I have found strange consolation in knowing that nothing in our lives has ever been certain. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, I am just here to enjoy this, whatever this is, for however long it lasts.
Haili Blassingame is a producer of the 1A show at WAMU in Washington, D.C.
Modern Love can be reached at modernlove@nytimes.com.
To find previous Modern Love essays, Tiny Love Stories and podcast episodes, visit our archive.
Want more from Modern Love? Watch the TV series; sign up for the newsletter; or listen to the podcast on iTunes, Spotify or Google Play. We also have swag at the NYT Store and two books, “Modern Love: True Stories of Love, Loss, and Redemption” and “Tiny Love Stories: True Tales of Love in 100 Words or Less.”
(Submitted by Suzanne Deakins, H.W., M.)
Event on April 4, 2021: Releasing the Hidden Splendour workshop facilitated by Richard Hartnett, H.W., M. and Rick Thomas, H.W., M. will be held on Sunday, April 4 at 3 p.m. Pacific time. Open to all students of RHS.
Here’s the link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/82448721437?pwd=UGFVQ3dmTitOTW10V3ZSazhwUlViZz09
Photo by Carolyn Drake/Magnum
Christina Chwylis a clinical psychology PhD student at Drexel University in Philadelphia, and an artist.
Edited by Christian Jarrett
24 MARCH 2021 (psyche.co)
I’ll never forget the time I overheard one of my high-school classmates repeatedly calling herself stupid in front of the bathroom mirror. When I recognised her voice, chills ran down my spine. I’d always thought of her as one of the kindest people in the whole school. I was shocked to hear how cruel she was to herself when she thought she was on her own.
From a young age, we learn how to be a good friend to others. In kindergarten or nursery school, we’re taught how to share, cooperate and play. Any child who calls other kids dumb, losers or ‘fart face’ is swiftly scolded or given a time out. All in all, we grow up learning to follow the golden rule: ‘Treat others how you want to be treated.’
Yet many of us receive no guidance on how to be a friend to ourselves. In fact, we might even get counterproductive messaging about what it means to treat ourselves with kindness. We might come to believe that being kind towards ourselves is self-indulgent, lazy or weak.
As a clinical psychologist in training, I’ve discovered such self-beratement is commonplace. For example, people often judge their bodies, work performance or parenting abilities by standards to which they’d never hold others. Many people call themselves names they’d never dare utter to friends or family members, or even to people they dislike.
It’s little surprise that the psychological concept of ‘self-compassion’ is cloaked in controversy. At its core, self-compassion involves treating yourself with the same kindness and consideration with which you’d treat a loved one. Just as compassion begins by recognising another’s pain, self-compassion begins by recognising when you, yourself, are suffering. A self-compassionate response, according to a leading self-compassion researcher, Kirstin Neff at the University of Texas, entails three critical ingredients:
I’ve found that the idea of self-compassion elicits reactions ranging from an enthusiastic ‘Sign me up!’ to suspicion or even fear. Upon the mere mention of self-compassion, a host of thoughts can bubble up: ‘Self-compassion is just not for me.’ ‘Aren’t people too soft on themselves these days?’ ‘I need self-criticism to motivate me to achieve my goals.’ Or, ‘If I’m self-compassionate, won’t I just sit on the couch and eat Ben and Jerry’s all day?’
Without the heavy baggage of self-criticism and shame, it’s easier for self-compassionate people to grow, improve and move forward
These beliefs have consequences, including affecting how people respond to life’s challenges. For instance, in one study, my colleagues Patricia Chen, Jamil Zaki and I looked into the coping strategies used by people who were disappointed and upset following the outcome of the 2016 US presidential election. Those who viewed self-compassion positively were more likely than others to draw upon self-compassion in a beneficial way to help them get through the difficult times – for instance, they reported using more active strategies to manage their emotions, such as seeking support from others, and relied less upon unhelpful strategies, such as distraction or self-blame. This not only helped them feel better, it worked better too – our participants who practised more self-compassion reported having more intentions to improve themselves and the situation, such as by committing to become more politically active.
Our work echoes what research finds time and time again – self-compassion is a healthy response to suffering. It is critical not only to our wellbeing but also helps us rise to challenges. For example, other researchers have found that self-compassion helps people take personal responsibility for transgressions and persist following obstacles, such as a disappointing test grade. Contrary to assumptions that self-compassion is selfish, self-compassion even helps us to be kinder towards others. All of this might sound counterintuitive: how can something as unassuming as self-compassion help us become better, more resilient versions of ourselves?
An interesting thing happens when we’re self-compassionate – it becomes safe for us to admit our missteps to ourselves. Think about it this way: would you rather share an embarrassing mistake with someone with a track record of responding kindly – or with someone who might fly off the handle with harsh criticism?
In this way, when mistakes or perceived failures arise, self-compassionate people are able to recognise them for what they are: normal human happenings. Then, without the heavy baggage of self-criticism and shame, it’s easier for self-compassionate people to grow, improve and move forward bravely.
In her popular TEDx talk from 2013, Neff offered a helpful analogy for understanding why self-compassion works so well. Imagine that a child returned home from school upset, having received a failing grade in mathematics. A parent could respond with harsh criticism, expressing disappointment, anger or even shame. They could yell and question the intellect of the child. For a short while, the child might study harder. But over time, the child could become depressed and quit mathematics altogether, as the consequences of failing again are too high. Alternatively, a parent could respond to the child with compassion, recognising and validating the child’s feelings of disappointment (eg, ‘I can tell how upset you are. That sounds really tough’), reminding them that everyone struggles occasionally, and helping them maintain a balanced perspective (eg, ‘There are still more quizzes ahead of you. Let’s figure out together how we can help you feel prepared and ready for the next one’).
Notice that the compassionate response didn’t involve turning a blind eye to the test grade. Nor did it entail stroking the child’s ego. Instead, it involved creating a safe and nurturing environment, where mistakes are OK for the child to confront.
Put another way, your words of self-talk are the fuel: you can choose to fill your tank with either criticism or compassion. Both will get you moving, but the self-compassionate variety lasts longer and causes less harm to the engine in the end. When you’re kind towards yourself, you’ll find it easier to confront life’s many challenges, whether that be studying after receiving a failing test grade, apologising to someone after losing your cool, or returning to the gym even when you feel weak. Importantly, self-compassion enables us to confront these hurdles head-on, without becoming consumed by feelings of inadequacy.
Self-compassion is not an elusive trait that only some people can possess. There are concrete ways for us all to cultivate compassion, both for others and for ourselves. Researchers have created programmes (eg, the Mindful Self-Compassion programme), workbooks and resources to help people build greater self-compassion. We can train our self-compassion muscle in various ways, for example, through writing exercises (eg, writing a letter to oneself from the perspective of an unconditionally caring friend), imagery or meditations. These exercises train us to respond to our own pain or perceived inadequacies just like we’d respond to those of a friend – with encouragement and caring.
Self-compassion is about relating to yourself in a more constructive, nurturing way. It’s not about feeling good all the time
And yet, if you’re like most people, getting to the self-compassion gym is the hardest part. If you have doubts that the gym will bring any benefits, you’re unlikely to visit! Encouragingly, in our work, we found that just changing participants’ beliefs about the usefulness of self-compassion helped them cope better with challenges. When we told people that the research shows that self-compassion actually improves motivation rather than harming it, they were subsequently more likely to practise self-compassion during difficulties. This, in turn, helped them to cope better and seek self-improvement.
Our work thus underscores the importance of taking the time to understand and gently correct your assumptions about self-compassion. Doing so could help you respond more effectively to the inevitable bumps in the road ahead.
First, notice what beliefs you have about self-compassion. Ask yourself: what have other people told you, either through words or actions, about self-compassion? Did parental figures in your life practise compassion? If so, did they include themselves within their sphere of compassion? What do you believe would happen if you were self-compassionate? What do you think would happen if you let go of harsh self-criticism?
Next, notice how you talk to yourself. If you’re like most people, your mind is filled with a steady stream of chatter and yet, just like when you mindlessly consume popcorn during a movie without noticing its texture or flavour, you might not pause to reflect on your self-talk. Does it tend to be negative? Do you hold yourself to impossible standards? You’ll be spending the rest of your life with this voice, so take the time to truly get to know it and consider making conscious adjustments if necessary.
Finally, check your assumptions about self-compassion. Remember that, time and time again, researchers find that self-compassion not only helps us feel better but has positive practical consequences too. Self-compassion is a powerful motivational tool that can help you persist, even in the face of challenges.
At first, self-compassion might feel foreign, scary or difficult. Be patient with yourself. Remember that self-compassion is about relating to yourself in a more constructive and nurturing way, and that it might take time to develop. It’s not about feeling good all the time. I’ve seen how, just like beginning a new physical workout regimen, the journey to relate to yourself with compassion can be difficult, even painful at the start.
For many people, self-compassion is a radically different approach than they’re used to – it means having compassion for yourself that’s unconditional, regardless of your circumstances or achievements. This stands at odds with a culture that often rewards us for accomplishments, capital and accolades. Where the ego whispers a siren’s call (achieve more, do better, and you will be worthy), self-compassion is the reliable friend that we all deserve (I believe in you, I’m here for you, no matter what).
Thinking back to my high-school classmate berating herself in front of the bathroom mirror, I wish she could have known that she didn’t have to be her own bully. If she’d believed in the power of self-compassion, I might have instead overheard a self-compassionate pep talk: ‘Receiving that bad test score really hurt, but it doesn’t say anything bad about me as a person. I know that other people in class are struggling, too, and that I’m not alone in this. I’ll ask for help on how to study more effectively, and get the support I need and deserve.’ In my clinical work and research, I’ve seen that self-compassion is a resiliency supercharger. If my classmate could have befriended herself, I bet she’d have found school would improve, and her life down the road would have grown much richer.
Know that this applies to you, too. While the journey towards cultivating greater self-compassion might seem daunting, it’s worthwhile. With you by your own side, you will be unstoppable.
By Evan Waite April 2, 2021 (newyorker.com)
Is your boy beginning to show signs of toxic masculinity? Unnecessary aggression? Starting to look up to Dan Bilzerian? Then come on down to Lou’s Boy-Repair Shop! We’ll get your boy up and accessing the full range of human emotion in no time!
For more than thirty years, we’ve been the country’s most reliable source for fixing the damaged male psyche. We perform comprehensive machismo overhauls on boys of all ages and insecurity levels. Our technicians will restore your boy to the sweet little guy he once was, before his exposure to beer commercials, older brothers, and America.
We’re conveniently located next to the Duane Reade parking lot where your boy lied about his penis size.
If your boy is stuck in old patterns and needs help getting back on the road to feeling again, we offer a twenty-four-hour towing service to pull him out of the Barstool Sports message board. Headspace assistance is available upon request. If your boy’s empathy valve has been ruptured by demands to “man up,” ask about our collision-of-regressive-attitudes-with-evolving-society insurance.
At Lou’s, we believe that your boy works best when he’s not becoming a parody of his father. So we stock a wide range of role models for your boy to look up to, as well as cautionary tales (men who have taken pickup-artist classes).
Our staff is all male, because we pride ourselves on not burdening women with even more emotional labor.
When you come to collect your boy, you’ll be impressed by how much less violent the terms he uses to describe intercourse are. We offer a money-back guarantee if anyone we’ve serviced refers to sex as “hitting that” or claims to have “beat up” the female genitalia.
As part of our standard evaluation package, we place your boy in a yoga studio to check whether he tips his shades or says “humina humina.” Sign up now to receive an online estimate of how many times your boy has watched hard-core pornography.
If you want to keep your boy running smoothly, it’s important to change his fluids. A boy can’t work properly when he’s full of Rockstar Energy Drink or that soda Juggalos spray on one another. And tear-duct clogging can lead to a complete breakdown if left unattended for forty years. Investing in the upkeep of your boy now can prevent the need for costly legal fees down the line, when he spits on a woman at a bus stop.
It’s tempting to delay servicing your boy because of the emotional cost, but skipping masculinity realignments can lead to your boy’s trying out for Duke’s lacrosse team. No parent wants that.
In addition to our domestic-repair options, we also service foreign boys. In fact, we repair all makes and models, except Randall. That kid is wack. His dad is one of those football coaches who throw folding chairs. But, if your boy is deemed beyond repair, you’ll be offered a trade-in who doesn’t call his friends “gay” for liking to dance.
All of our emotional work is backed by a lifetime warranty. If your boy punches a wall because rage is his default setting, we will come to your house and wipe off the knuckle blood.
To make an appointment, simply select a time when your boy isn’t bullying a weaker child. And remember: today’s little shit is tomorrow’s huge asshole!
Evan Waite is a co-producer of “Family Guy.”
This eBook is excellent and of exceptional value to Prosperos students and others immersed in “doing the work.” It’s a pre-published release. – https://glose.com/read/how-to-do-the-work/
