Sunday 10/23/22
Good morning Beloved reader! ✨🌟💖🙏🕊
My intention is to continue to send out issues of this #RisingoftheDivineFeminine newsletter—the latest of which is offered below—interspersed with chapters of the book, The Rising of the Divine Feminine and the Buddhist Monks Across the Road: A Memoir.
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Usually when I am alone, I enjoy my solitude.
But on Friday, when Jamie went across the road to the Temple Forest Monastery to chop wood with his Buddhist monk friend, I felt lonely.
Being the word nerd that I am, I looked up the definition of lonely: “sad because one has no friends or company.” I do have friends with whom I can chat on the phone, have a tea or coffee, or go for a walk, but I wanted to investigate this feeling. Like I said, usually when I am alone, I enjoy my solitude. What was different?
First I will admit: I don’t like sad feelings. I’m an enneagram 7, and as Susan Piver writes in her recently published book, The Buddhist Enneagram, “Pain is the primary avoidance for Sevens. … Sevens are repulsed by pain as a waste of time.”
Piver also writes that the character arc of a Seven is to “…transform the passion of gluttony into the virtue of sobriety, to learn when enough is enough in a world where more is always preferred.”
Perhaps what I’ve come to understand is that sobriety for me includes taking refuge in spiritual practice…
But first, in continuing my investigation into this feeling of loneliness, I reflected on the past week. My mind was drawn back to Saturday a week ago when I drove west through Southern New Hampshire to visit a friend. I was literally in a state of awe—the brilliance of the fire-colored leaves among patches of still vivid green leaves, set against the cloudless, azure-blue sky was so outrageous it felt like an experience of mystical unity. Like there was a sense of the sacred in witnessing this transformative time in the life of these trees, and I wanted to share it with Jamie (my husband and partner-in-life of 30+ years.)
When I got home I told him about my ecstatic encounter and that I wanted to go on a drive with him so that he could experience it too. The following Wednesday we drove North to the White Mountains and walked through the Flume gorge, which was beautiful, but it wasn’t the same. The brilliant foliage colors were more or less already finished further North, and I was disappointed that I hadn’t experienced with him that sense of the sacred.
Perhaps this may have added to my feeling of loneliness on Friday when Jamie left to go across the road. I’m not sure. But the lack or absence I felt was like a hollow in my soul.
And so in wanting to transform my suffering, I took refuge in spiritual practice.
The book I have written that I am serializing through this Substack publication, has a forthcoming chapter where you will read about the time when I designed my own spiritual practice in consultation with Rev. Dr. Stephanie Rutt.
I offer full encouragement and support to anyone and everyone in committing to a spiritual practice, whether it be based in centering prayer, mantras, chanting, meditation—whatever may work best for you. I have found nothing else that comes close to its capacity for transforming suffering. Perhaps I received the most benefit when I committed to a daily spiritual practice for two years in interfaith seminary.
I still do sit in practice, just not quite as regularly. These days my intention is to bring my spiritual practice into every aspect of my life: from the meditative practice of chopping vegetables and creating food; to doing extreme sports like Flyte boarding where I experience a spaciousness in my mind with no thought chatter floating through—on a vacation this summer in Greece my sister shared this new toy and I was intrigued by how I was able to stay upright on it when my mind was still(!); to practicing staying in the present moment non-reactively when I’ve been triggered—this being the most challenging practice for me by far, especially with loved ones with whom I share a lot of history.
In any case, my sitting practice also still serves me well, especially when I want to tap into some alchemical magic to transmute suffering. Last Friday afternoon, I found solace and healing by first drawing a Tara card upon which to meditate. I’ve been loving reading a book by Rachel Wooten, PhD called, Tara: The Liberating Power of the Female Buddha, and I bought the cards to go with it—they’re double sided, with Green Tara on one side, and one of her twenty-one emanations on the other. (Once again, the publication of this book is a powerful addition to the canon of books being published that are supporting the #RisingoftheDivineFeminine.)
The card I drew last Friday was #11, Orange Poverty Removing Tara.
Rachel Wooten begins that chapter with a quote from Mother Theresa,
“There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread, but there are many more dying for a little love.”
And she continues,
“Mother Teresa speaks of the poverty of loneliness, the longing for someone or something missing. [Again, I adore the synchronicity in having blindly chosen this card.] For some, there is an impoverished childhood, for others a loss from the past—the death of a partner or being partner-less, the death of a child, or never having been able to have children. These losses cannot be ‘fixed.’”
Talk about nailing the emotion I felt. And my inner critic told me that my feeling of loneliness pales in comparison to the suffering others may experience. I thanked my inner critic and invited her to go sit on the couch, as I recognize that a feeling is a feeling is a feeling, and comparing serves no one. I have also suffered losses in my past. When my parents divorced, I remember reading, The deeper that sorry carves into your being, the more joy you can contain, and I thought to myself, I guess I’ll be able to contain a lot of joy.
As you may be able to read in the photo above, the writing on the card for #11, Orange Poverty Removing Tara says:
Her wisdom transforms your feelings of impoverishment and opens your eyes to the abundance that surrounds you.
Her expression is peaceful. She holds an orange vase. She enriches us materially and spiritually.
The mantra: Om Tare Tuttare Ture Basu Dhari Soha! (Pronounciation: Ohm Tahray Tootahray Tooray Bahsoo Dahree Soha!)
I praise the One who has the power to summon All the assemblies of the protectors of the world. She liberates all beings from destitution through The letter Hum agitated by her wrathful frowning.
All I can tell you dear reader, is that after chanting this mantra 21 times, and sitting in practice of meditation for 20 minutes, where I simply observed the thoughts moving through my mind, (“You are the sky, everything else is just the weather”) my suffering was transformed.
And I want to yell about it from the rooftops so that everyone can learn how to transmute their own suffering!
(You will read more about designing one’s own spiritual practice in the forthcoming Chapter 9, Courage.)
Also, I cannot help but wonder what will happen to big pharma when everyone learns how to alleviate their suffering by committing to a spiritual practice.
May this already be happening. May people already be waking up. May more and more people utilize these tools for transforming suffering and not blaming others for how we feel.
In addition to the impact on me by another’s actions, I’ve learned the importance of understanding their intention. If they did not intend harm, it’s up to me to work with my own feelings.
One more synchronicity that lit me up: right after writing the first draft of this article, I checked my inbox and opened an email from the Tree of Life Interfaith Temple. The email opened with this quote,
“Loneliness expresses the pain of being alone and solitude expresses the glory of being alone." — Paul Tillich