Spiritual Guidance Blog

I had an interesting exchange with a friend recently that was illuminating for me. The exchange was, on the surface, a rather mundane conversation, but underneath I was presented with a significant realization.

My friend and I were sitting in a café having a coffee. After about 20 minutes of sharing, my friend said to me, “You know, Rob, you don’t ever seem to get excited about anything. Are you happy with your life?” As I took in my friend’s question, an immense peace came over me. I may describe the sensation as joy.

I paused and, looking at my friend, said, “You know, you may be right about not getting excited about much. Perhaps I have unconsciously imbued the symbolic Buddhist teachings about the ‘middle way,’ to live one’s life between two extremes—in this case between elation and despair.

I asked my friend, “Would you describe me as happy?”

“Not really,” my friend replied. “But nor would I describe you as sad.” My friend went on to share, “You smile and laugh a lot, but there are also a lot of times you say nothing and seem disconnected. You simply don’t respond to things most other people do.”

I repeated my question, “Would you describe me as happy?”

“I don’t know,” was my friend’s response.

“Well, how would you describe someone who is happy?” I asked.

“Well,” my friend went on… “Someone who is happy shows that happiness in an outward manner through their communication, both verbal and non-verbal.”

“What does this happiness communication look like to you?”, I asked.

“A person will smile and laugh, and joke around, and… you know, just be happy.” My friend looked a little bewildered at my question.

“Earlier you said I smiled and laughed a lot. Am I not happy then?”

My friend seemed to be getting a little frustrated with my constant comeback-questions and blurted out… “Come on, Rob…you know what I mean. Yes, you smile and laugh a lot; but you don’t behave like those other happy people.”

“How do those other happy people behave?” I asked.

“They get excited and animated,” was my friend’s reply.

“So in some ways you see me as happy, but in other ways you do not?” I asked.

“I guess so,” said my friend.

I thought I would explore the other side of this happy / sad equation with my friend and asked… “Do you see me as sad.”

“No. Definitely not sad. You never seem to be down in the dumps or depressed, or worried, or even bothered my much. How do you do that anyways?”

I laughed at my friend’s question. “May I ask you another question?”

“Sure.” said my friend.

“Do you see me as ‘at peace.’?” I asked.

There was a momentary pause, then my friend tentatively said… “Well…yes. I would describe you as someone who does have a peaceful way about them.”

“So,” I said, “I am neither happy, nor sad. I am at peace.”

“Yeah, that about describes you.” said my friend.

I smiled. “Well,” I said, “then aren’t we all blessed.”

The objects of our happiness and sadness are nothing more than some form of idol, something we choose to replace our relationship with our true self, with the Divine. This idol we seek, that ultimately brings us happiness or sadness, is a thin veneer over our seeking of what the idol represents, not the actual idol itself. Usually, our outward search is for something to make us happy. When that happiness isn’t found, our quest for happiness turns to sadness. But the sadness, too, is a sought-after state of being; an unconscious punishment for betraying our relationship with the Divine and an attempt to appease our guilt for that separation.

The peace we so long for is not found in happiness manifest from anything outside of us. That form of happiness searching will always lead us toward sadness. The middle way, between the extremes of elation and despair, offers the greatest potential for peace. We need neither seek for happiness or sadness. The absence of both these states leaves us in the middle—peace.

Appearances deceive because they are appearances and not reality…Appearances can but deceive the mind that wants to be deceived. ~ A Course in Miracles

A few days ago I was walking along a quiet residential street in the neighborhood I live in. It was an unseasonably warm day for that time of year, the sun was shining, and I was in my glory! Out of the corner of my eye something caught my attention. I looked to the right and approximately 50 meters ahead of me on the other side of the street was a…are you ready for this…a small horse, or pony!!!

I stopped, looked away, shook my head, and looked back in the direction I was looking previously. Again, I saw a pony moving along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Don’t worry, I did question what I thought he was seeing.

I looked away for a second time. When I looked back in the same direction, I once again saw a pony walking along the street. Of course, I wondered how a pony could be walking the residential streets of downtown Ottawa without any apparent owner or handler to accompany it.

One more time, I looked away and looked back. This time the image of a pony in my mind earlier started to morph. As I looked more closely, two women started to come into focus. I was somewhat relieved. But as soon as I saw two women walking, the image of a pony started to come back. For a second, or two, what I was seeing changed back and forth between two women and a pony.

I looked away once again. When I turned back, what I now saw was two men walking along the street. I continued to focus my attention on the two men and my vision stabilized. I began to understand how the two men looked like a horse. A combination of factors—the size of the two men; the way they were walking; how they were walking in relation to one another; the angle I was looking at them, etc., etc., etc.—tricked my vision to send the message that what I was seeing was a pony, and then two women.

The experience recounted above was a sobering reminder that our body’s eyes can lead us astray sometimes. The experience above was a bit of an extreme example, but the experience was metaphorical for what happens more often that we may be willing to admit. How many times have you thought you saw something, but after a ‘double take,’ you realized it was something completely different than the first time you saw it?

What I began to ask myself as I continued my walk was: How often have I looked at something and really didn’t see what was there? How often have I made a judgement about something when I was not seeing it correctly? How often do my eyes let me down and show me something other than what is really there? How might I have reacted, behaved, responded, if I had seen something differently? What other ways are there to look at things, other than through my eyes?

When I begin working with new therapy / counselling clients, I invite an introductory meeting to listen to their issues and expectations of therapy, and to explain how I work (and do not work). After listening to the client’s issues and expectations of the therapeutic process, I explain how I work with an emphasis on the equally, if not more, important ways I do not work.

I begin by sharing with the client that I don’t give advice. This is often met with a “deer in the headlights” look from the client. I so often see the let down in their eyes. I can see them asking themselves… “But I’m coming to you for advice! If you don’t give advice, what do you do? If you don’t give advice, why should I even come to you?” Here are the three reasons I don’t give advice.

First, it is none of my business how anyone lives their life. In that way, I should be with the client in a state of non-judgement.

Second, I cannot know the client’s experience. I cannot know what the client is going through. I cannot know what is best for the client. In fact, I should not even be able to relate to the client’s issues. Yes, you read that correctly. I should not even be able to relate to the client’s issues. If I relate to the client’s issues, then I believe in their story. If I believe in their story, then I collude with their dis-ease. And if I collude with their dis-ease, then I lose the opportunity to heal. The whole purpose of psychotherapy is to question the reality of the client. The client’s perception has them in a state of dis-ease. If I relate to their story, then I cannot be any healing catalyst to them seeing their situation differently and beginning the healing process.

Lastly, and most importantly, people have to live their own lives, make their own decisions, and learn their own life lessons. I often explain to the client that a child does not learn by being told anything, but the child learns by doing and learning from their experience. I use the anecdote of the toddler who is entranced by the red-hot glowing embers of the log burning in the fireplace and goes toward the glowing embers to touch them. The concerned parent, perhaps naturally, intervenes to prevent the child from getting burned. In their intervention, the parent will likely say to the toddler “Don’t touch! You will get burned.” The child understands the ‘don’t touch’ part, because the parent is holding them back from touching. But the child doesn’t understand why (i.e., the child doesn’t understand the ‘you will get burned’ part of the intervention). All the child knows is they want to touch the red-hot glowing embers and mommy or daddy doesn’t want them to touch it. They have not learned why they should not touch the red-hot glowing embers. And they will not learn why until they actually touch the embers some day.

I had a client disagree with this approach once and blurted back to me… “So, metaphorically speaking, if someone was heading toward a pool of quick sand, wouldn’t you warn them?” My response was, “Metaphorically speaking, I hope I wouldn’t warn them. I would stand by, observe their choices, be ready to ‘be there’ for them, and, most importantly, wait until they asked for help. Then, and only then, would I intervene.” The client was not enthused or comforted by my response.

Let me try and explain this last point another way, with an actual, true, real-life situation.

A close friend living in Canada had recently divorced after 20 years of marriage. As the divorce was unfolding they developed an online relationship with someone half their age living in South America. Within 4 months of the divorce being finalized my friend hopped on a plane and flew to spend a few weeks with this person they had met online. As can happen in these situations, my friend fell madly and deeply in love with this person living in South America. My friend was communicating with me throughout their visit with their new-found love. And while they were experience love in overdrive, their life was thrown into upheaval. They held down a job with great responsibility in Canada. They had many family and friends in the Canadian city they lived in. How could they make this long-distance relationship work? They wanted desperately to be with this new-found love in their life.

The above is a true story. And how many of you have heard of such a story? How many of you have had someone in your life experience the same thing? We all know the stories of rebound relationships and how they end up. We all know the stories of the challenges of long-distance relationships and how they often end up. But how can we be so sure the ‘norm’ applies in all situations?

My friend kept asking me, “What do I do? What do I do?” I knew that it wouldn’t matter what I said; my friend was going to do what they wanted to do. I could share all the advice, anecdotes, personal experiences, etc., but toddlers and adults are alike and will, almost universally, not take or listen to advice. And when it comes to matters of the heart, the person embroiled in the euphoria of love, is even less likely to listen to advice. People are going to do what they are going to do. As difficult as it was, at times, I had to stand by, observe my friend’s choices, be ready to be there for them, and, most importantly, let them know I loved them no matter what decision they made. And the only way I was able to stand by and observe their choices was because despite all the statistics and stereotypical scenarios writing, I could not say with 100% certainty that the choices they would make would lead to a certain outcome.

The only thing I could be certain of, and the only thing I could share with my friend, is that this seeming dilemma my friend was facing, this seeming fork in the road, well…they couldn’t make a wrong decision. Life had brought them to this point in their life precisely to make a decision and that they were ready to make that decision—life had equipped them with the tools to make a decision about this situation. It was their lesson for the day. Whatever decision they made, they could be sure they would be faced with another fork in the road at some point down the road and then they would be faced with making another decision. This is the way of life. This is the way of our journey. 

It is none of our business how people live their lives. We cannot know another person’s experience. We must let people live their lives, make their choices, and learn from their life lessons. What can we do then when people ask for our advice? One thing, and one thing only…LOVE them! Love them enough to let them live their own lives. Love them enough to allow them to make their own decisions. Love them enough to let them learn what it is they need to learn. Be with them in that place of love and both of you will know what healing is.

When we begin our ‘conscious’ spiritual journey—by ‘conscious’ I mean we become aware we are on a spiritual journey even though we are unconsciously aware of such a journey from the moment we were born into this time and space—we tend toward building a practice to nurture and support our spiritual development. These practices may include reading, yoga, meditation, sangha (or spiritual groups), or any host of other activities or disciplines.

For some, our spiritual practices become the foundation and cornerstone of our lives. We may become very devoted to our spiritual practices. We may set aside time each and every day to honor these practices. Sometimes our practices will evolve as we evolve. So, for example, we may change our meditation or yoga practices by trying different styles of these disciplines.

As we deepen into our respective practices—whatever they may be—something interesting may emerge. The lines among the various practices may begin to blur. As we take time out of our ‘regular’ living to honor our practices, we may discover that our ‘practice’ starts to flow into our regular living. We may begin to notice that our practices merge with our living.

I remember the first time I experienced such an awareness was in cleaning the house one day. I was heavily into yoga at the time and everything became a reason to bring awareness to my breath. So, as I moved throughout the house, dusting, sweeping, and vacuuming, I was aware of my breath. I was aware of how effortless it was to bend and twist and maneuver my body to reach behind and underneath furniture, so long as I remembered to breathe. I became aware of how graceful (for me) I was able to move around the house and clean. It actually became fun!

Recently, after years of daily practice; day after day, after day after day of meditation, yoga, reading, prayer, contemplation, gratitude, forgiveness…I have come to a new awareness of how my spiritual practice is presenting itself in my life.

Life itself has become my spiritual practice. Everything I do, everything I experience…is my spiritual practice. From waking, to ablutions, eating, walking, talking, any and all activity, even my thoughts…have become my spiritual practice. And all the conscious practices that preceded it (the yoga, meditation, etc.) have blended into one, ubiquitous practice—awareness. This awareness is the gift of simply observing. It is made possible through surrender, acceptance, non-judgement, gratitude, and forgiveness.

I now understand why the Eastern masters encouraged the student to pick ‘one’ practice and devote yourself to it. It does not matter what the practice is; it may be knitting or drawing or writing, it may be raising children, or caring for others, it does not matter. Because the practice, any practice, if approached in a devoted way, will bring about awareness. As our awareness grows we are given the opportunity to explore our divinity and uncover the great mystery of life.

Life itself is a spiritual practice. This practice reveals the meaning of life, that life itself is its own meaning.

“May you welcome your mind to rest from time-to-time. It’s the greatest gift you may ever give yourself.”

 ‘Stop the World—I Want to Get Off’ was a thought-provoking, insightful and delightfully-entertaining Broadway musical (1962) about a man who each time something unsatisfactory would happen in his life, he would shout out “Stop the world!” and his world ‘literally’ would stop. The main character could pause life ‘at will’ and just sit in stillness and rest, until he was ready to throw himself back into his hamster wheel of life. The musical was recently played back to me as a metaphor for my thoughts, through a profound lesson and somewhat magical experience cross-country skiing one cold winter’s day.

On the morning in question, I rose before sunrise, had my breakfast, including a nice, hot cup of coffee, dawned my ski clothing and equipment, hopped in a car (what a blessing it was to have been loaned a car for the day), and drove out to a popular destination for cross-country skiing. As the sun started peeking above the horizon, the mist and rising, freezing humidity blanketed the tree branches with a glassy covering of ice. The previous day’s virgin snowfall gently blanketed the branches and cast a magical spell over the landscape.

I arrived in the parking lot just as the birds started their morning merriment and noted that a gauge on the car’s dashboard indicated it was -21 degree celsius outside. I remember thinking… “Oh boy!... -21. Hmmm…that’s cold!” But my excitement of cutting tracks in newly-fallen snow, as I venture off into the forest, was just too alluring. So, sporting my hat, mittens and other attire designed to keep me warm and dry, I set off for my adventure.

What greeted me was nothing short of breathtaking. The cold, crisp air was intoxicating and the symphonic crunching of snow beneath my skis was both hypnotic and invigorating. The trails were pristine. The sun burst through the tall stands of deciduous and coniferous trees and cast laser-like streams of light across the snow, as the sun’s rays filled my body, heart, and soul with hope and euphoric joy.

As I skied on I was reminded that a few days earlier there had been a major ice storm in the region. As the ice adhered and accumulated on the trees, many branches started to bend from the weight of the ice. In extreme cases, the tree would be contorted into an almost-perfect arch. Some trees, however, simply could not withstand the weight of the ice and broke, laying themselves across the trails. Along some sections of the trails, the forest floor was strewn with broken branches and debris from fallen trees. Sometimes the fallen branches and debris created such an obstruction on the trails that one had to traverse and circumnavigate the natural barrier to get around the fallen debris. But I welcomed these unexpected ‘veerings off’ as part of the grand adventure for the day—it only added to my joy.

At a point in my skiing odyssey, I realized I had not thought much about what the conditions on the day might have been like, in light of the ice storm we had only a few days earlier. Had I thought about the effects of the ice storm, I would not have gone out for the day. My thoughts would have prevented me from going. If I had allowed my thoughts about the ice storm to populate my mind, I would have realized that debris would be all over the place and some trees would have fallen and possibly blocked the trails. I would have allowed my thoughts to race and build to a crescendo of negativity and result in my deciding not to go skiing.

On this particular day, I am glad I simply said “Stop mind…I want to get off!” I simply did not think about any obstacles to my day. It wasn’t that I ignored the previous days’ weather and ice deposits, I simply chose to go anyway. I was conscious of the possibility of forest debris and downed trees that lay ahead of me, but I chose to go anyway. Frankly, I didn’t give it much thought. What I did think about was the joy of rising before sunrise, driving outside the city into nature, feeling the fresh air in my lungs, feeling the wind on my face, hearing the sounds of my skis on and in the snow, hearing the sounds of the trees creaking as they symbiotically swayed with the wind. I allowed my mind to rest and allowed nature to reveal its splendor to me.

May you welcome your mind to rest from time-to-time. It’s the greatest gift you may ever give yourself.