I remembered that he told us that happiness is in the present moment. I reimmersed myself in the sound of his voice, surrounded myself with his books, let his vast wisdom nudge my tiny balled-up heart. Illustration of Thich Nhat Hanh by Michael Luong/YES! MediaĪnd I remembered his teachings. I know denying that which is is a waste of precious and possibly connecting energy. I am grieving people taken by COVID, I am fighting to protect my loved ones from those who would risk their lives, I have an autoimmune condition and don ’t trust that my body can survive exposure, and so on. I couldn’t spare my grace for people who didn ’t even believe in science! I couldn’t cast my generous love and compassion on, on … them.Īt moments, I felt twinges of doubt, but mostly, they got swallowed up in quick righteousness. Even when respected comrades reached out like, “Hey, you seem to be out of alignment with your own beliefs of big diversity and being with difference,” I defended myself and called it collectivism. They deserve the consequences of their own dumb choices.Įven when I started noticing that they included people I loved, I didn’t really soften. They hate the planet and Black people and freedom and the collective good. An “other,” an enemy, was unleashed in my consciousness: Those are them. I couldn ’t extend my love, my care, my understanding and respect, or even just basic well wishes to those who crossed my 6-foot boundary, or who were unmasked, then unvaccinated, then gathering in groups, then unboosted. The space I could hold for our human unfolding wasn ’t prepared for COVID-19. I apparently also picked up a narrow compassion, just wide enough for me and mine, my family and friends and people who thought like me. I found a hole with an ocean view to hide in, and I bought three months of groceries and all the toilet paper I could see. Almost two years ago, I set my vast cultivated compassion on the altar of my normal life, which I’d surely be coming back to soon.
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