The time for kindness

I do not have what most people would call "a strong personality."

Distinctive, yes. Unique, probably.

My friend Evan often describes me as "a girl whose axis is on a tilt." (cue group sing-along of this epic song)

Strong, though? Not in the way this culture defines that word.

Yesterday, the sangha continued reading the new book by Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, The Shambhala Principle. Full disclosure: I haven't read this book beyond what we've discussed as a group at the center, but I've got a pretty good sense of what he's talking about from the bit I've read, and it's really resonating with me so far.

Grouches like hugs, too

We're living in a time when the majority of humanity is suffering from sickness. Our politicians are obsessed with power, and it's making us sick. We're obsessed with technology-- so much that we have become confused about what is real  and what is constructed (hint: it all is), and it's making us sick. Our food comes from hurt, and it's making us sick (literally). We value industry over environment, and it's making us sick. We value money over meaning, and it's making us sick. Sickness everywhere.

But most of all, we've lost touch with ourselves. We have lost faith in our basic goodness, as a species.  We get bombarded with stories of violence, every day, at every angle. We believe that when we are angry, we are showing our "true selves" and "aggressiveness" is something to be rewarded. Anger and aggressiveness are emotions that are "strong."

This is not an anti-society rant. This is not even one of my anti-technology rants (though I do love to have those). This is a call-- a plea-- to begin curing ourselves.

We have the antidote to this sickness. Humanity is at a crossroads-- it all comes down to a choice, and it begins with one simple action:

Be kind.

Be kind to each other. And be kind to yourself.

I know I sound a little nuts-- do I really believe we can save the world by being more kind? Yes. Absolutely. It's simple, but it's not easy.

Here's where I want to challenge our society's notion of what it means to be strong. It takes strength to be kind. It''s easy to be aggressive and unaccommodating. It's easy to just be totally pissed off all the time. It's easy to be in a hurry, to be too busy to care.  Those emotions allow us to build a wall around ourselves-- we don't have to think about anyone else in the world.

Be excellent to each other!

Kindness is hard. Random acts of kindness are often not received well. People don't think they deserve kindness, and so they're skeptical when someone gives it out for free. At best, we'll get called naive or maybe crazy. At worst, we will be on the receiving end of some anger.  But don't let that stop you.

Be kind and without becoming attached to a particular outcome (this is what my yogi friends call "karma yoga".) Be kind without desire for reciprocity. One simple, random and even silly act of compassion is enough. Kindness is one of those great things-- by making someone else feel better, we feel better ourselves. 

It was one of the first life lessons I learned from psychology-- if you want to like someone, do them a favor. If you want more kindness in your life, be kind to others. 

Go pass out flowers in the park. Buy a stranger's coffee. Tip really well (and write a haiku on the receipt). Smile at someone who looks lonely. You'll feel silly, sure, but you'll also feel better, I promise.

The time I was asked to speak my truth

"Every shelter is for men" B tells me, emphatically waiving her hand in the air and looking down, as she always does when making a point. "There is no other place for women to go. That's what makes this place stand out so much."

The DWC does stand out. It is one of the first permanent supportive housing facilities, and the only center in Los Angeles that is dedicated to serving the needs of homeless and low income women living in Los Angeles' Skid Row. B explains to me that, back in the late 70's, the center was originally a day center for women (the only one in LA). The woman who started it actually took her savings-- the savings she kept for buying her own house-- and used it to build the center instead.

Every other week, another volunteer and I visit the DWC and gather with a small group of women to talk about a book. This week's book was Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  The conversation quickly turned from the plot of the book to their own experiences of moving around frequently and seeking community-- as children and now as adults.

I began to wonder if this is part of the human experience-- something we all share no matter what level of privilege we hold. Are we all just looking for community?

Out of the conversation comes a very quiet voice. D, sitting back in her chair, looks directly at me and asks "So, I want to know, how do you see life?"

Every eye in the room turned to me.

And I had no idea what to say. The sheer expansiveness of that question really threw me for a loop. In what context? Could I talk about spirituality here? Could I say it's empty without sounding depressing, but also without having to give a lecture on existing in Maya? Plus, it's been a rough week, and I'm not the happiest little elf in the forest at the moment.

"Well, I think of life as an adventure" I began "and I think wherever you end up, there's a lesson to be learned. Some of these are harder than others, but there's always something to learn from a situation." I paused, afraid I sounded like some sort of bratty college kid. But all the women were nodding and smiling, so I continued. "I think it's important to just be where you are, at any moment. Just be aware of what is going on around you. There's always something."

It's something I've been thinking about a lot lately. How would I summarize my philosophy on life? I don't think I really can, because I create it in real time. The narrative of my life, as adventurous as it has been in the past, is always evolving. Stagnation is the breeding ground for attachment and suffering.

Current take on life, in 5 words: "Eyes to the horizon. Onward."

But on further reflection, I think what shocked me most about this question is that she asked it of me in particular. Not the whole room. Not the other facilitator. Just me. Usually, I intentionally take a back seat at these discussions and make sure everyone around me feels safe to speak. I don't share unless someone asks me to, or if there are tensions in the room. I have so many opportunities to be heard everywhere else in my life. This is their space, their home and their community. It is their time to speak, and my time to listen.

Something happened this evening. It seemed like D was curious about me, and it felt nice to be thought of in that way.  For the first time at this center (and really, for the first time in a while), I felt like I was being let into a little community. Not full membership, of course, but the door has been opened slightly for me to peek inside. Yes, it's only for a moment, but I wouldn't have it any other way.