The attitudes and behaviors we scorn in others
will be the ones that offer us
the greatest personal and spiritual growth.
When we witness things like rudeness,
selfishness, arrogance, insensitivity, or callousness,
we can remind ourselves to exhibit its opposite.
When you see someone act in this fashion,
consciously choose not to walk that path.
Choose the higher road,
the one characterized by compassion and forgiveness.
You may be surprised how your choice of
"the road less traveled"
may be the one they choose to walk in the future.
Be your own best example.
Gratitude Can Be Your Spiritual Practice
Just in time for holiday gift giving: my new collection of original prayers, blessings, affirmations and reflective essays on how to keep gratitude in your heart, even in difficult times. Gratitude is a potent spiritual practice that can transform your life from the inside out.
Learn more and read excerpts here.
Is this a question you ask yourself? Sometimes I ask it.
I used to think that we were put here on this planet to love. Just plain love.
Today, I hold a different view. I think we're here to embody compassion. Why? Because true compassion, in my view, anyway, is a step "above" love. Some people are easy to love; others more difficult by their very nature. But with training and practice anybody hold any person—even the most difficult or unkind—in tenderness and mercy.
The problem is that we are not really taught how to be compassionate. We are taught to like or dislike, to love or disdain. And the same applies to ourselves. We are not shown (nor encouraged) how to be self-compassionate, which is absolutely vital, before we can even begin to demonstrate genuine compassion for others.
This is why I talk and teach so much about self-compassion. Self-compassion is the pre-requisite for living in and creating a peaceful, kind, and loving world.
I'd like to share an excerpt from my book, My Deepest Me, on self-compassion. The text below serves as Day 14 for our 30-day journey. I believe it offers a solid explanation of my perspective and take on "the meaning of life."
Our faith traditions tell us we are supposed to be patient, kind, and generous, but sometimes that’s just plain hard to do. Life is challenging. People are too. This is why it is important to learn to treat ourselves kindly—to treat ourselves as lovingly and tenderly as we would a dear friend or a precious child. Instead of being disappointed in ourselves for missing the mark, or failing at embodying the spiritual virtues to which we aspire, we can choose another course of action: self-compassion.
In every spiritual tradition, compassion is highly valued. Compassion for ourselves, however, has often been aligned with self-absorption or selfishness. And we are not taught, nor encouraged, how to be self-compassionate.
In truth, self-compassion is one of the most powerful spiritual virtues we can adopt to walk peaceably in the world. First, we must learn to walk peaceably with ourselves. Then we can learn to walk this way with others. We cannot exhibit true compassion for others if we have not cultivated it for ourselves.
1. Self-assess and reflect: How skilled are you at self-compassion? Do you talk nicely to yourself or are you self-critical? Do you make kind choices for yourself or do you tend to push yourself? Do you have high expectations of yourself and find fault with yourself if you don’t meet them?
2. Reflect on this teaching about self-compassion by the Buddha: “You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection.” What stirs in you when you read this?
3. Right now, place your hand over your heart and offer self-compassion to yourself, saying “I am enough.” Breathe in, breathe out. Allow a sense of “enoughness” to wash through you. Feel the transformative power of knowing you are good enough—just as you are.
Self-compassion opens my heart to myself in a kind and loving way. It routs out feelings of selfishness, deservedness, and guilt. When I am tender with myself, I can be more gentle with others.
Excerpted from My Deepest Me by Janice Lynne Lundy.
©2015. All Rights Reserved
Reading My Deepest Me is like taking a soul-nourishing, one-month retreat with the added bonus of having a loving and supportive spiritual mentor by your side.
Learn more and order your copy here.
A few years ago, when I was serving as a magazine editor and feature writer, I had the privilege of interviewing Clarissa Pinkola Estes, PhD. I'd admired her work for years.
At the time we were talking about her new venture, The Dangerous Old Woman, and the conversation often returned to the subject of wisdom.
I finally asked her, "How do you define wisdom?"
Her answer, "Wisdom is what works."
I've thought long and hard about her answer and, truthfully, have pretty much taken the definition on as my own.
I used to think of wisdom as something lofty. Something only a gift few people had. Or something to be acquired as you aged and had clocked plenty of life experience.
Abiding by this definition, I believe that each of one of has a deep reservoir of wisdom. It may not feel like it on most days, but it's there. Sometimes the difficulty of daily life keeps us distanced from it, frantically paddling in a swirling pool of yuck and muck where we lack the mental clarity and emotional strength to climb onto steadier ground.
Wisdom is what helps us stand tall—calm, clear, confident. Cognizant that we have what it takes to roll with the ups and downs of life. To love rather than hate. To heal rather than hurt. To grow rather than hide. As Dr. CPE reminds us, yes, wisdom is what works.
A few years ago I was guided to engage a morning process of accessing my own inner wisdom. I wanted to remember what worked in terms of living a wholehearted life. I'd light a candle, set the intention to tap into my own good stuff (and that which the Divine revealed to me), then write it down. Those jottings became the "Beads of Wisdom" I sent out to my e-mail list beginning in 2012.
Today, I launched a new version of these Beads. I call them "Beads of Wisdom 3.0" because they're new and different, because I'm new and different.
Passionate about growth, I vow to always be faithful to what is unfolding within me and to where it's taking me. I'm always happy to share what I'm discovering along the way.
So with great pleasure I invite you to join me for a new and deeper understanding of wisdom and receive a daily dose of mindfulness, lovingkindness, and compassion. A dollop of what works for any of us to live in the highest way possible—calm, clear and wise, no matter what.
You can read more about Beads of Wisdom 3.0 here and read some samples too.
They're free, from my heart to yours. Enjoy!
I grew up in the era of "The Sound of Music." After watching the film many times, I can still hear Julie Andrews (who played the main character, Maria VonTrapp) citing all of her "favorite things" in a song of the same title.
Calling upon "favorite things", I believe, may be an act of profound self-compassion. When we are feeling afraid, worried, or anxious it is good and wise to turn the mind toward something more steady; something that is comforting, familiar, even nourishing.
I found myself doing this often in the last week. My youngest daughter underwent emergency surgery at University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor, and, of course, I flew to her side. There were a number of days sitting by her bedside in the hospital, waiting for the prescribed follow-up treatment to kick in.
I never really found myself anxious or worried (though her situation was a high-risk one) and I'm certain this was due to my many years of mindfulness training and practice. AND because when uneasy feelings did arise, I set the intention to examine them, and to offer myself a good sized dollop of self-compassion because what we were going through WAS difficult.
(I also knew that modeling this to my daughter would help her cope with all the unwanted, potentially frightening things that were happening to her. )
When you are in the midst of an ongoing difficulty (like illness or hospitalization), consider tuning into your favorite things. What are they? When the going gets tough, what kind choices can you make for yourself to bring you back to equanimity? To tend to yourself well and kindly?
Here are a few of the "favorite things" we accessed while in the hospital:
Short walks to places of interest: the coffee shop, the gift shop, and our ultimate favorite, an arboretum in the Heart Center. This was an extraordinary place of "inner beauty" that felt so very healing just by being there. Bamboo trees filled the space. I've heard bamboo has a very high "vibration" energetically. I believe it.
Treats: coffee, dessert, comfort food (mac and cheese!), anything that brought a sense of delight again
Naps: stretching out under heated blankets for a bit of rest
Tablet time: watching reruns of the original "Star Trek" TV series; watching episodes of "The Living Planet" narrated by Sir Richard Attenborough (his voice always put us to sleep)
Mindful meditation: simply being with what was, listening, paying attention to and resting in the breath
Fun & Laughter: recounting memories, noticing funny things people said or did, Facebooking cute doctors (my daughter is single and 25, need I say more)
What we turn our attention toward expands our experience, either enriching it or making it more difficult. The choice is always ours. What could have been one of the most challenging experiences my daughter and I have ever been through together was transformed into a time of bonding, discovery, and present-centered appreciation because of our intention to be mindful and self-compassionate—and compassionate toward one another.
Life is good, even when it's difficult, when our favorite things are within reach. May it be so for you.
This morning I awoke to the awareness that five of my dear ones are in the midst of great suffering. Five!
I also realized that I'd been carrying their suffering the last few days in a burdensome way. It was weighing me down, tiring me on many levels.
Four of the dear ones (two couples) are in the midst of their relationships ending, or, at the very least, transforming via separation. Such a difficult reality when you have been with someone for a long time!
Another of my dear ones is experiencing degenerative health issues and intense bodily pain. Nothing is bringing her relief.
When our dear ones are troubled, of course, we want to be as present as possible to them, but how can we do this in a helpful way? Instead of taking on their pain ourselves and becoming physically exhausted, mentally overwrought, or emotionally paralyzed, what can we do?
As I sipped my morning coffee, listening to the birds sing greetings to the early morning light, a song rose up in my heart for the well-being of my dear ones. Metta phrases, blessings of goodwill, filled my heart. This morning, the phrases were a bit different. Not the traditional phrases taught to me by my own good teachers. But those that felt more appropriate for the relief of great suffering.
They come from Mary Brantley and Tesilya Hanauer and their lovely book, The Gift of Loving-kindness: 100 Mindful Practices for Compassion, Generosity, and Forgiveness. This book is a favorite of mine.
I've been using these three phrases from their chapter, "Befriending the Monsters," for a while now (and have been sharing them with those whom I offer spiritual companionship).
May you be held in compassion.
May you be free from pain and sorrow.
May you be at peace.
To make the offering of loving-kindness feel more genuine, I often bring each person to my mind's eye, as if they were standing right in front of me as I offer the phrases. Sometimes I will imagine that I move closer to them and cradle their faces with my two hands. Tenderness infuses me when I do this. I am hopeful that somehow they will feel my tenderness too—and take comfort from it.
This morning, after practice, I felt more open-hearted and supportive to my dear ones. But I noticed the sense of "refreshment" I usually feel when doing this practice wasn't complete. I realized I hadn't offer Metta to myself because I, too, was suffering, feeling the pain of their travail.
I proceeded to offer the phrases of goodwill toward myself.
May I be held in compassion.
May I be free from pain and sorrow.
May I be at peace.
Indeed, relief flooded in. A few tears fell, opening and cleansing the tight places within me.
When life feels difficult for loved ones, it is good and wise to include ourselves in the compassion equation. In the spirit of inter-being, we never suffer alone. Your suffering is my suffering. Addressing one we tend to the other.
I am so very glad this is how life works.
p.s. Using the phrases above, sometimes I substitute the word "suffering" for the word "sorrow." "Sorrow" often implies loss or sadness to me, rather than physical or emotional pain. Feel your way through this and choose the word that best describes what you are feeling in the moment. Or what you sense another might be feeling.
I received a lovely gift from a spiritual companion a few weeks ago. I was struck by her thoughtfulness in offering me something so special. She knows my heart is rooted in the promotion of compassion, and especially the practice of self-compassion.
It's a Tibetan wall hanging featuring a powerful quote by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, which reads:
Usually, our concept of compassion or love refers
to the feeling of closeness we have with our friends and loved ones.
Sometimes compassion also carries a sense of pity. This is wrong.
Any love or compassion which entails looking down on the other
is not genuine, compassion.
Genuine compassion must be based on respect for the other,
and on the realization that others have the right to be happy
and overcome suffering, just as much as you.
On this basis, since you can see that others are suffering,
you can develop a sense of concern for them.
~H.H. The XIVth Dalai Lama
What strikes you when you read these lines? Is there something new or different for you about this understanding of compassion?
I was struck by this line: "Sometimes compassion also carries a sense of pity. This is wrong." As I read it, I felt a little stab in my heart and heard a soft voice whisper, 'Pay attention.' What I realize is that it is easy to confuse pity with compassion and sometimes I have.
What this line offers me today is a new touchpoint of practice, an attunement, to be more vigilant about my own response to people. If there is pity involved, I am not in compassion because I have separated myself out from someone, doing what Jon Kabat-Zinn calls, "otherizing." We do this often, don't we?
I invite you to spend some time today with this beautiful reminder from His Holiness about what it really means to be understanding of and empathetic toward others. And, of course, we must figure ourselves into the equation, for self-compassion is most certainly the bridge toward embracing others with tenderness and mercy. We begin where we are, extending the loving-kindness we need toward ourselves, because everyone suffers—even us. We are all on the path of healing and awakening to our true nature ...
My new book, My Deepest Me: A 30-Day Guided Journey, offers one month of short but sweet lessons in good self-awareness rooted in the practice self-compassion.
Have you taken a look at it yet?
Click here to learn more and read excerpts.
I've been goodly busy here just having hosted our largest family gathering yet for Thanksgiving. It was a wonderful time of being with adult children and grandchildren we don't see quite often enough.
And now we are full blown into the holidays. I've made several vows to myself this year—ways to stay plugged-in to the Holy and unplugged from stress or overwhelm. Here are my top 10:
• I vow to stay present and mindful so I know what I need to feel well and happy.
• I vow to eat mindfully and healthfully.
• I vow to engage in sacred rest when I need it.
• I vow to spend some time each morning with my candle lit and my heart attuned to the One.
• I vow to be gentle and compassionate with myself because this IS potentially a stressful time of year.
• I vow to set healthy limits and boundaries so I do not fall prey to overwhelm, "shoulds," or pressure from others.
• I vow to savor the season with music, lights, laughter and "presence."
• I vow to keep things simple and stay attuned to the true meaning of this "Season of Light."
• I vow to hold a compassionate stance and keep my heart open to everyone—no matter what.
• I vow to give thanks daily for the many blessings I have been given, and offer advance praise for all those yet to come.
Well, these are just a few of my kind promises. I could sit here a bit longer and, likely, come up with a whole lot more but, after all, 'tis the season, and there is much to make jolly. There are surfaces to decorate and cookies to bake.
May I--may we all—do so mindfully, kindly and self-compassionately all throughout this beautiful month of remembering, waiting for, and welcoming in the Light.
What kind promises can you make to yourself to ensure that your love and Light shine during the holidays?
(Photo credits: Top image
Hello Lovely Friends,
I've just had an essay published by Shambhala Sun magazine [on their SunSpace blog] — an invitation and question to go deeper into self-understanding during the holiday season so we can be more kind to others.
"'Tis the Season of Compassion" is here for your enjoyment and consideration.
You can read it here.
May we treat all beings everywhere kindly and with compassion.
I've been wrestling with myself a bit lately. Just a gentle tug of war, not a Jacob and the angel throw-your-hip-out-of-whack sort of contest.
The source of my angst? The weather is not doing what I want it to. Simply put, I want it to be spring. It is April 14, after all, and we still have snow here in upper Michigan which is nearly unheard of and it's making me very cranky. It is supposed to be spring-like now—warmish and sunny—crocus and tulips bending and bowing in the breeze.
And we have had nearly 6 consecutive months of cold, windy weather here and, truthfully, I am tired of it.
I long to amble in the woods and look for early wildflowers. I ache to put my hands in the dirt and rearrange the soil to midwife seeds into blooms. My heart longs for color.
I'm cranky because, like a spoiled child, I am not getting my way.
I know full well that this internal struggle is a matter of acceptance and letting go. It's not an uncommon struggle for me, being someone who rather likes to be in charge.
I know full well that this inner angst is simply ridiculous, a complete waste of time and, spiritually, very foolish.
I know full well that we can't always get what we want. (Though Mick Jagger sang that we might, sometimes, get what we need.)
But this doesn't stop me (or any of us) from wishing and hoping life could be different than it is.
If we are awake and aware and even a little bit wise, we see the error of our ways before we've created too much suffering for ourselves.
All of this chafing against something not to our liking causes us to walk around with a curmudgeonly attitude, a hitch in our gate, a speck in our eye.
The best thing I know to do when I am resisting "life as it is" is to stop. Just stop, and ...
... say what is ("I really don't like this, you know!"" ...
... take a deep, cleansing, breath ...
... and settle down by whooshing myself with compassion.
A whoosh of compassion is a visualized wash of lovingkindness—beginning at the top of your head, gently pouring over the length of your body like a warm saltwater flow, pooling at the soles of your feet, so you find yourself standing in a puddle of well-being.
Amazingly, it works. Our disquietude becomes silent. The eye of our heart clears. Wisdom returns.
And as it does, life in the world goes on as usual. The snow is still here. The flowers will rise when they are ready. It is I who feels different today because I've taken myself out of the equation.
The world does not rotate around me and my wishes. I rotate around and through it. As long as compassion is present, I can. Any of us can ...
(Photos © 2012, Jan Lundy.
From my garden of longing.)
"And the day came
I seem to see this quote everywhere lately. It also seems that hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, have been touched by its raw truth. A truth which invites us to awakening, to living life in a more healthful and harmonious way.
Or at least to stop doing what we're doing because it's causing tremendous pain.
Which is what the passage did for me in 1994, "the year of my awakening." Anais Nin's words spoke to my heart and gave voice to the silent screams within: "I can't do this anymore!"
The "this" was living my life on other's people's terms and according to their expectations (which I had, over time, adopted as my own.) Hurry, rush, be more, do more, get it right. Be perfect.
For many years, I'd heeded a loud inner voice, a brassy "should" filled one, that urged me to keep going; to don my Super Woman cape just one more time so that the life I'd built, a fragile house of cards, did not come tumbling down.
Thankfully, the day came when I realized that the pain was too great to keep doing it. I was worn out. The moment I read Ms. Nin's words, I felt relief. Permission granted. Within moments, soul wisdom flew in on shimmering wings and entered the portals of my heart, filling it with boundless joy. I woke up. I remembered who I really was.
I remembered my essence—who I was as a soul being—and how I was meant to live as a human being. With ease and joy. With laughter on my lips and love in my heart, with peace at the core. I recognized my true self and who I could be, but didn't have a clue how to get there.
That's the very moment my "year for me" began. A year of saying Yes to myself and No to what wasn't working. A year of trust that my soul would guide me where I needed to go, of surrender to my Higher Power which was welcoming me "home."
As I look around today, in my community and on the internet, I see many people who are in this place of pain of which Ms. Nin speaks. I assume she had been there herself for her to offer such profound guidance.
Our soul calls us again and again when we have lost our way. The soul is not a wounded animal that needs healing but a wise guide, holy and whole, sourced and immersed in the Sacred One itself. It finds us and leads us to the shores of human wholeness if—and this is a very big IF—we have the ears to hear and the heart to listen.
Most of us are moving so quickly we can't hear our soul's calling. We are bombarded with noise moment by moment in a world that thrives on such and continues to perpetuate more. We are dumbed down by television and battered by the news media. We are so caught up in the act of juggling the nuances of our lives that we are ever in motion, striving, working hard at making ends meet, trying to get everything just right. We don't dare stop. Our flimsy house of cards lives might fall apart—and so could we.
This struggle causes pain. It causes us to feel as if we are trapped tight in that bud of of which Ms. Nin speaks and we are stuck, unsure of how to open to the light of day ... and the freedom that we innately know will come with that.
But it's a risk to open up to your true self because, in the end, you and your life will not be the same.
In my very first "year for me," I gave myself over to the pain and suffering of life as I'd created it and, then, organically, with grace, somehow I found my way through it. From my bed, I read and learned how to breathe again. At the water's edge, I learned how to walk and only walk, to be in the present moment where I heard the first whisperings of inner peace. In the woods, I learned to listen and watch how nature's elegant creatures lived in alignment with their true calling, and I began to remember my own.
Breath, books, the wise words of others. Water and fallen leaves on a soggy trail. Sunsets and sunrises. Journal pages and warm blankets. Each gentle urging, midwifed by growing self-compassion, brought me back to my soul self.
This same formula can work for any of us if we are brave enough to take the medicine. There is a risk involved in blossoming but the fruits are delicious.
In 2013, I am embracing another year for me though this time I am not down and out or flat on my back. I am healthy and whole but a bit overloaded from mistakenly taking on a sense that I have to do so much to live well. I am "paring back" and, at the same time, going back. Back to nature. Back to the simple things. Back to the shore and to the woods, to places of nurturance. To journals and blankets and timeless days that go on and on ... The "work" will get done. The money will flow. All will be well. I know this to be true.
When we listen to our soul's calling, there is nothing that is not just right ...
This year, I return "home" again, one gentle step at a time, to the quieter places within. My soul is eager to engage in meaningful conversation. She has secrets to tell me. I am ready to listen.
I do this—each of us can do this— one firmly held intention, one compassion-filled breath, at a time.
Perhaps you will join me. My bed is very big and I have lots of blankets, journals and books to share ...
Have you begun your "Year for Me" yet? This can be your year to finally access the deep peace and happiness you have longed for by listening to the whispers of your soul. I'd love to show you how and companion you all along the way.
Learn more. www.ayear4me.com
is a touchpoint. a resting place, a "remembering" of who we really are: beings of unshakeable peace, boundless compassion, and deep joy.
A one-of-a-kind collection of original blessings, poems, affirmations and reflective essays to help you hold onto your grateful heart—even when times are difficult.