suburban adventures in bu-curious mothering

Category: discipline

refocus and recharge


I heard the news of Friday’s shooting while standing in my front yard, waiting for my kids to walk home from school.  I consciously decided not to turn on the TV or the radio that day or for the rest of the weekend.  This is why:

On September 11, 2001, I had just arrived at work, a small office in Back Bay, Boston.  The office was quiet and I was taking a few minutes to settle in when the buzz of a ringing phone cut through the room.  It was my step-dad.  “I don’t want to scare you, but have you heard from your sister today?”  “No, why?”  “I think you should turn on your TV and call your sister.”  I hung up with him, then did as he suggested.  Just as I flipped on the tiny black and white monitor, I saw the second plane plunge.  I frantically called my sister, only to hear, “I’m sorry, all circuits are busy.  Please try again later.”  I got this recording non-stop for I don’t know how long.  Eventually, my sister called and said she was fine, on a train home from Battery Park and surrounded by ash-covered New Yorkers.

I looked out my office window and saw the Prudential Tower standing tall over my Newbury Street office.  I picked up my keys and got the hell out of there.  Walking home, I saw a girl my age sitting on the stoop of her building, bawling, screaming into her cell phone, “No!  No!  No!”  It was awful.  I stared.  Witnessing someone experiencing tragedy is conflicting.  My humanness drew me into her.  I rubbernecked.  I thought,  Am I going to be screaming on my own stoop later today?  I picked up my pace and double-timed it home.  I called my (at the time) fiance and begged him to come home.

When he arrived we both sat on the couch and watched CNN for hours.  Watching the planes crash over and over and over and over…  I cried for weeks, continually watching those planes crash over and over and over and over…  I was insatiable.  The tears, the mourning, the sadness, the tragedy, the WHY? WHY? WHY?  It was sickly irresistible to me.  And it really fucked me up.  I think it fucked a lot of us up.  Depression spread across America like the plague.

I liken watching 24 hour news coverage to the incessant conversation that occupies our minds.  The practice of meditation provides us with opportunities to quiet our minds and hush the nagging, rambling voice that precipitates tangled emotions like worry, fear, anger, judgment, grief.  In order to do this, we need to quiet down, turn off the noise.  And once we discipline ourselves enough to turn off the noise, we can find some peace.  It’s the same with news.  We need to turn it off.  Give ourselves a chance to recover from experiencing the horrific, bizarre, disturbing events of Friday.

We do not need to watch the folks in Newtown, Connecticut mourn.  We know they’re mourning.  We do not need to attempt to bear their pain in order to understand that what happened to this community is terribly wrong.  We do not need to absorb every sound bite, be abreast of every development, stare into the face of every lost child, scrutinize the tortured shooter’s soul.  Nothing good will come of it.  It’ll only scare us, depress us, separate us from life and exploit those who are suffering intimately.

It is important for those not directly involved to return to normalcy and to start working on mindful solutions.

There are a few things that immediately strike me when my mind turns towards healing and solutions.

The obvious is strict gun control.  Not stricter.  Strict.  There have been about 4,000 articles written on this subject over the past two days so I won’t delve into the bullshit laws (or lack thereof) on gun control.  I don’t understand why young children are encouraged by parents to shoot, even at target ranges.  Guns are cool?  Guns are fun?  I don’t know about that.  Motown is cool.  Scrabble is fun.  Parents need to encourage their kids to engage in more wholesome activities.

Another thing that comes to mind is the fact that young boys spend hours with their faces in a computer playing graphic, violent video games.  Think about the way we feel after watching hours of horrific news coverage.   We become deeply, emotionally affected.  Children and teens, especially boys, wrap themselves in gaming for endless hours.  They are absolutely internalizing, or at the very least normalizing, the act of pumping bodies full of bullets in bloody battle scenes.  While playing, they are isolated from real people and focused intently on viciously blowing virtual people up for hours on end.  Desensitization.  Fine for military training, not fine for 15 year old boys.  Look what happens to our soldiers when they come back from war:  PTSD, suicide, alcoholism, abuse.  Real war is not fun.  Real battle is not cool.  Why attempt to make it fun or cool through children’s games?  These video games need to be banned.  Or at least monitored.  Until that happens (which it won’t), a viable option for parents to consider may be making kids earn gaming time through compassionate community service.  Volunteer in the community center for an hour, play your sick and twisted game for an hour.  At least it’s an attempt at balance.  Sorry, boys.

Some people will agree with this next one and some people will roll their eyes, but we need to actively teach our children compassion and mindfulness.  Formally.  In schools.  Every day there is more and more scientific evidence that a regular meditation practice helps children to make better choices, feel better about themselves and perform better in school, amongst other things.  Knowing how valuable meditation is for a human’s existence, why wouldn’t we want to incorporate this practice into the school day?  I’m not talking about infusing prayer or religious practice in school (though I honestly wouldn’t mind that).  There is real science that supports the benefits of meditation.  HHDL is pushing for this actively.  Being the righteous bomb that he is, I’m all too happy to lend my support.

But, while we’re on the subject, I can’t help but notice that Sunday mornings just ain’t what they used to be.  When I was a kid, Sundays were reserved for family and church.  My parents never took us to church, but I always remember Sunday mornings as feeling  inexplicably peaceful, which from my adult perspective makes sense.  There’s a natural and palpable energy that results when large groups of people pray simultaneously.  Now parents are forced to choose between church (or whatever) and organized sports.

I was interviewing a local priest last week for a story I’m working and he said that there used to be a gentlemen’s agreement in the community regarding Sunday mornings.  Somewhere along the way that agreement disappeared and play took precedent over prayer.  While this is not necessarily the reason for this modern youthful meltdown, it’s certainly notable.  There’s plenty of time for TV, competition, bickering, playdates, video games throughout the week…  could we reinstitute Sunday mornings?

Kids can’t do this on their own.  They need our help.  They need adults in their lives who can model wholesome behavior, who can engage with them, who can offer them guidance and hope, who can encourage laughter and joy, who can answer big questions about life with openness and love.

We need to ask ourselves, “What can I do?  How can I make this community a better place?  If not me, who?  If not here, where?  If not now, when?”

From mine to yours,



There are a hundred other factors that go into these recurring American tragedies – a major one being mental illness.  These are just a few that were in my head today.  If you’d like to offer solution-based thoughts, please do so in the comments below.

wake up, sleepyhead

enlightenment is ultimately something i seek on my own, but sangha is an important part of practice.  fortunately, every day more bu-curious americans join the conversation, looking to learn and share, even if that means committing to two religions at once.  some christian critics call this religious fusion “trendy“.  (go ahead, click on the word trendy, you know you want to.)

in my neighborhood, there aren’t many  buddhists; so i’m thinking “trendy” isn’t the right word for it.  “shifty” is more like it.  this shift, as i see it, is not only a widespread shift in people’s spiritual affiliation, but also a shift in an individual’s view of his/her own human potential.  we are rubbing the sleep out of our eyes, awakening by recognizing the pure consciousness that exists in our hearts.

my step-dad reminded me of a lesson last weekend.  he said, “christ is not someone’s last name, you know.”  yep.  that’s right.  christ is not a surname, christ is consciousness.  each of us has the potential to awaken the christ consciousness within us.  in buddhism we call it buddhahood.  but it’s really the same thing.  we shed the ego, and we allow our spirit to shine.  it’s a very simple idea, but certainly no easy task.

knowing that you are responsible for your soul’s salvation, knowing that enlightenment is within your reach, knowing that your body is here for a limited time only, how does the game change?  can you see beyond the obstacles?  can you focus clearly on the goal, regardless of your circumstances?  can you break away from the pack and give this life your best effort?   just for the day, can you be the best version of yourself?

from mine to yours,


with each breath we have an opportunity to start over

I love this concept:  the idea that with each and every breath there is a fresh opportunity to propel our lives in a new direction.  Just think.  We get to start over thousands of times  a day.  I apply this breath work to my eating habits – I’m a chocoholic and struggle with my will to hold back.  I know all too well that my body is a temple; I therefore have a very important responsibility to take care of it through proper diet, exercise and meditation.  That said, I woke up this morning and had my breakfast:

It’s bad, I know.  It was left over from a Saturday night campfire, complete with s’mores, and somehow at 8am this bar of junky chocolate was completely irresistible.  But, like I said, I know that every breath is a shot at a new beginning.  So I made a healthy choice for lunch:

And then came dessert:

Yep.  Looks like I’ll be starting over again tomorrow.  Wish me luck.

From mine to yours,


“Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.” 
Meister Eckhart

BUB’s new theory: the real reason our kids are totally freaking out

i’m overwhelmed by the show of support.  as it turns out, i am not alone…  which is relieving, but also scary.  because that means all of us are living with kids who are on the brink. i spent a good hour talking to friends yesterday about what happened and three hours returning texts and emails and facebook messages to many truly amazing and loving people who reached out to me to share their own experiences. friends offered ideas and self-help strategies and stories or just a voice of support.  some of the advice was dead on.

my friend KF, who understands how my household runs and knows me all too well as a mother, told me i need to institute formal discipline and stick to it.  she helped me work out a plan and suggested how i could approach PG with it.  i did that last night and it went over very well.  oh, and she also reminded me to make sure she’s got a fully belly.

my little mamma VR looked at me after the kids left for school and said, “don’t let them see you cry.  be strong in front of your kids.  you can cry when they’re gone.”  check.  words to live by.  must work on this.

and then i spent a lot of time cleaning out my basement.  i scrubbed and purged and analyzed and came up with this:

our kids are acting like freaks because they are freaked out.  they are growing up in complex, confusing, chaotic times.  and it’s scary.

in kindergarten, one of our children’s first lessons is on the rainforest, which is quickly disappearing.  our children are obsessed with animals and sea life, which are are nearing extinction.  we send them to the safety and comfort of school each day, where there are mandatory drills to protect our kids from not only adults but other children who want to shoot them with a gun.  our children need to eat healthy food to grow strong, but vegetables are filled with pesticides and meat is filled with hormones.  the list goes on…  there are parents who can’t find jobs, there are children dehydrating to death in africa, there are terrorists who fly planes into skyscrapers.

as adults, we process this through prayer or action or mature discussion or nightmares or complete disconnection.  whatever it takes to get through the day.  but kids just absorb it.  they don’t have the emotional or intellectual tools to handle this kind of information.  so they carry it around with them.  it’s not just a one-time frantic freak out.  it’s woven into their list of daily thoughts and fears.  they bring it up at bedtime, over dinner or on a long car ride.  when their minds are quiet and focused, these questions crop up.  they are scared, they are confused, they are stressed.  it’s messing with their basic, primal need for safety.  we’re talking root chakra.  foundation.

when the foundation is not solid, the rest of the body is unstable.  and it creates a child who is off balance, a child who turns into a maniac when just one more challenge is thrown at them.  to add to the instability is the complexity that WE create in the lives of our children. we’re way past self-help books, mommies.  we can unearth tools in books and lectures that can help us harness our strong willed children, but these collective tools are only a bandaid on a bloody gusher.  the real problem isn’t them.  it’s us.

it’s modern american culture.  it’s this big, fast, flashy, plastic american childhood we offer our kids.  i’m guilty of this.  so i am not pulling a self-righteous tirade.  but i truly believe that the solutions to our child-rearing problems are not to be found through books, behaviorists or bandaids.  the solution is found in mindfulness and simplicity.

i think that children who are less stimulated will have fewer behavioral issues.  the homework, the competition, the tutoring, the television, the team sports, the social calendar, the scheduled activities, the playdates, the closet full of clothes, the parties, the toys… each on its own is manageable.  but glopped all together, it’s downright overwhelming.  we can barely handle being responsible for all these things.  and we expect our kids to be?  and what is the purpose for all this activity?  seriously, let me inquire again.  what is the purpose for all this activity?

so now what?  what do we do?  how do we pull in the reigns?  b/c growing up at the speed of life is just too much for our kids to bear.

first, we need to provide our children with a solid foundation in the intangibles.  if there is no time for discussion about spirituality in the day, what the hell we all here for?  to learn to color in the lines?  to be the best athlete on the playing field?  to get into a good school so we can make lots of money and buy shiny things?  well, those things are part of development, part of the human experience, but are they all?  i’d argue no.

i’d say that we are here to learn about love by way of these experiences.  and if our sole purpose here on earth to learn about love, shouldn’t we talk about love more?

when i say love, i don’t mean, “i love my dog,” or, “i love the smell of grass after a rainstorm.”  i mean LOVE.  the love that connects, the love that is infinite, the love that empowers and restores and awakens.  for me, love and god are interchangeable.  and there is nothing that i love to talk about more.

but i admit, for as much as i write about love and talk about love with friends, there is only a casual, sporadic mention of love throughout the week with my children.  we are very busy DOING, leaving very little time for devotion.  so let’s start talking with our kids about god, buddha, love, spirit, allah.  whatever you like to call this magnificent life force.  start with a simple question like this:  where is god?  and just see where the conversation leads.  everyday, try to ask another question about spirit.  if you need prompting, ask me.  i’m happy to provide ideas.

second, with the earthly shitstorm brewing outside our homes, we need to create a sense of hope for our children, mixed in with a dose of acceptance.  because as it stands right now, everything they love is in big fat trouble.  we need to tell them that this planet will survive, that mother earth is STRONG.  we need to present to them examples of this earth regenerating and evolving.

we also need to make sure our children understand that we each have an enormous responsibility to take care of this planet, because this is our home.  and every corner of the planet is connected, just the way each of us human beings is connected.  we need to encourage our children to actively participate in the improvement of our surroundings and show that they can not only carry hope, but also use their own personal power to create a better world.  it doesn’t take a lot to do this.  we can start by doing something as simple as picking up litter while we take a walk.  or giving them a little lesson at the grocery store about buying local and why it’s important.

and then you can instill bigger lessons.  when i visit the city, i try to remember to pack a bag of oranges and bananas.  my kids and i offer a handful of sunshine (oranges) or smiles (bananas) to homeless people that we pass.   i do this because my heart aches for those folks who are suffering.  i imagine how that juicy burst of flavor will feel in their dry mouths.  and i feel like i’m spreading joy.

i want my kids to understand this and learn small ways to help people.  i never know if these lessons stick, but a few weeks ago, PG said to me out of the blue, “remember that time we stopped and talked to the old homeless guy on the street and he didn’t have any shoes on?”  i didn’t remember so she went on.  “well, you asked what he needed and he said, ‘shoes,’ so you gave him 20 dollars and a banana.”  i asked her why she was remembering that story and she said, “because i liked it.”  i told her that it’s important that we help that man who needs shoes, but we can’t take away his suffering, because he is here on earth learning a very important lesson.  and when someday he is an angel he will remember us and thank us for helping him that day.  in retrospect, i should have continued the conversation by asking her some more questions.  but i’ll be sure to do that next time.  i hope that through these lessons i provide my children with tiny shifts that will carry them through adulthood and encourage them to use their superpowers for good, and provide them with a stronger sense of hope and acceptance.

i truly am confident that reminding my children of their own divinity and providing them with a lighter load of activity will help quell these frantic, chaotic, home-wrecking freak-out sessions.  when the world gets too much to bear, take a breath and return to source.

love you guys.

from mine to yours,


the honest pain of mothering: today i suffer so tomorrow i can heal

i think i need to just add a little preface to this post for people who are finding my writing for the first time.  below, i write about an experience that was extremely painful, one i wish never to repeat.  but, as i’ve learned, it’s an experience that a lot of us mommies share.  if you are turned off by the blunt way i present this, i get it.  i am, too.  in my own defense, this essay is not representative of my overall experience in motherhood, it is a snapshot of one really bad day.  i shared it b/c we mommies feel enormous pressure to do everything right and be perfect in every way.  so i invite you to take the pressure off of yourself and know that it’s okay to lose your shit sometimes and still be a loving, caring mother.  i also shared it b/c there are an awful lot of self-righteous, perfect parents out there in the blogosphere, and i think most of them are full of shit.  so please check out my posts on other subjects that will leave you with a warmer, fuzzier feeling.  here or on the other blog –

oh, and please remember that when you post commentary, you are communicating with a real live human being.  so if you wouldn’t say it to me in the freezer aisle at the grocery store, please hold your comment.


motherhood.  no matter what anyone says, it’s not all rainbows and sunshine.  it’s really fucking hard, as i’ve been reminded all too clearly over the past 15 hours…

it’s homework time.  my 6 year old daughter SG is in ready position with her assignment laying neatly on the kitchen table, so i choose to sit down and help her first.  meanwhile big sister PG is too busy making loud animal noises and complaining about the dinner menu to pull out her own homework and invite my help.  she’s pissed because she wants my attention.  NOW.  and she makes it known.  she spends about 10 minutes working up to a full fledged assault on me.  with one deep inhale, my daughter PG finally erupts with all her 8 year old power, “i HATE you mommy!  everything bad is YOUR FAULT!  i wish you never had me!  i wish i wasn’t here!  you’re the WORST MOTHER EVER!!!”

i send her to her room.  i don’t want to engage with or be affected by her tantrum.  she won’t leave.  i stand up, walk over to her, lift her off her stool, and carry her to the stairs.  this happens three or four times before she finally goes to her room.  she is screaming.  she won’t stop.  the clock is ticking and i’m thinking about the homework that needs to be finished, the dinner that needs to be prepped, the dishes that need to be cleaned, the baths that need to be taken before the clock strikes bedtime.

in quarantine, PG continues to breathe fire.  at first i can let it go.  i’m breathing deeply.  i let the hollers wash over me, not through me.  honestly, i’m not even sure why she’s flipping out.  i’m not sure SHE knows why either.  i know it’s an act.  this is high drama.  this is a game.  but it doesn’t end with words.  she runs back downstairs and gets right in my bubble.  she’s red in the face.  she’s channeling the devil, i swear.  she tells me one more time that she hates me, i’m the worst mother and she wishes she could have been born into another family with a better mother, “because YOU ARE A TERRIBLE MOTHER!!!”  she has a bag packed and is walking toward the door.

i snap.

i drag her back to the stairs, pick up her tote bag, containing a pillow pet and her crocheted baby blanket, and i chuck it at her.  then i pull her up the stairs.  she’s not moving.  in fact, she’s screaming.  i’m screaming, too.  but there are no reasonable words to use.  there’s just chaos.  i drag her to her room and slam the door shut.

after 20 minutes or so, when we’re both calm, i go back up there and we have a reasonable conversation.  there’s a lot of teary, “i’m sorry, mamma.  i’m so sorry.  i’m so sorry.”  but i know it’s just part of the game.  i explain to her, as i’ve explained a THOUSAND times before, that her behavior is unacceptable.  that she needs to be responsible for the way she behaves and makes other people feel.  she says she understands, that it won’t happen again.  but we both know better.  we cry and hug it out.  the rest of the night is fine.

so when it happens again this morning, i am not surprised, but i am surprisingly caught off guard.  i’m in my breathing room having a few moments to settle into my day and PG creeps in quietly.  when i finish, i open my eyes and say, “thank you for being so patient while i finished meditating.”  i give her a smile and a kiss and take her hand.  we’re all rainbows and sunshine.  we walk upstairs together and she sifts through her clothes while i wake up her sister.

a minute or two passes before PG starts freaking out from inside her closet, “it’s cold in the morning but hot in the afternoon and i never know what to waaay-errrr.”  i try to help her but she is unhelp-able.  she’s lying in the middle of her bedroom floor now, kicking her legs and saying nasty things.  i think i’m still writhing from our scuffle last night and immediately tap into my unreconciled emotions.  i’m standing in the closet door jam, pointing expectantly in the direction of her hangers, demanding that she get dressed.  she walks past me, jabbing me hard in the thigh with her elbow as she goes by.  without thinking, the sole of my foot meets her rear end and i push her solidly to the ground, “YOU DON’T HIT ME, PG!”  i scream, “GET DRESSED!!!”

i’m mommy dearest, officially.  i take two steps back and watch her while she begrudgingly picks out shorts and a t-shirt to wear.

we finally make it downstairs and i spend the entire morning bawling.  bawling.  ugly cry.  meanwhile my other two kids are angels.  they’re hugging me and being sweet.  they’re cooperating and being kind to each other.  and i can barely acknowledge the little ones because i feel like total shit.  i send PG off to school without a kiss or a hug for the first time ever.  i just can’t look at her.  i feel like an abusive, psycho failure of a mother.   and i’m mad at her for bringing that out in me.  oh, i know a psychotherapist or a judgmental mother would look at me and say, “it’s not the kid’s fault, it’s your fault.”  but right now i’m just mad at her.  and i can’t help it.

these meltdowns are nothing i’m prepared for.  i hadn’t scheduled chaos into my days.  there’s no appointment in my calendar that says: “monday, september 17, 5:30pm: knock-down-drag-out that causes extreme psychotic episodes and results in diminished feelings of self-worth in both parent and child. ”  it just doesn’t happen that way.  pain and suffering are sneaky.  they strike when we’re unprepared.  they jump out of the darkness and choke us with guilt and shame, desperation and squeezey-ness.

i wish there were some sort of smoke signal that would go up in the early morning, just to warn me that there was danger ahead.  i wish i had a chance to armor myself against the mass of headache and heartache that was waiting to ambush me.  but that’s not how motherhood goes.  motherhood is one minute tickles and giggles and the next minute flailing arms and streaming tears.  no buzzer or bell or emergency alert signal to give a heads up, it just happens.

why does this have to be so hard?  just when i think i’m getting somewhere.  i’m working so hard to create a peaceful home for my kids, to instill a sense of compassion and kindness in them, to teach them responsibility for their surroundings and gratitude for the gifts they enjoy…  all of the love that i show them is seemingly blown up in a flash.  they betray me, like traitors.  shouldn’t i have more control than this?  don’t i get more of a say?  i am their mother after all.

am i the only one going through this?  do all these other mommies in their decorator homes with their manicured lawns and their shiny happy appearances experience this?  because i can’t fake my way through this day.  i can’t get through this day pretending to have it together.  because i’m falling apart.  today, i’m falling apart.  and i’m lost.  tomorrow i might feel different, but today i am in the abyss.  and it feels very dark and lonely.

i try to turn to buddhism, looking for an answer.  but how does a monk with all his peace and devotion understand what it’s like to be trapped in a house with three small people who can turn on you like a stray cat?  what can buddha teach me today?  really, i’m dying to know.  the buddha is here, inside me.  as close as my own breath.  so i take a moment to listen for answers.  i boot up my computer, as so often i find answers in my writing.  this is the medium through which i discover my tiny shifts.  during writing meditations, my fingers race over the keyboard (no time to capitalize, sorry) and i come out on the other side with healing epiphanies.  but today, i find there’s nothing.  maybe it’s PMS throwing up a smoke screen, confusing me and keeping me from connecting with inner peace and brilliant spiritual solutions.  but maybe there is no epiphany for this mother today.

maybe there is just pain and acceptance today.  today i suffer so tomorrow i can heal.

i cannot control how my kids feel or how they act.  i can certainly encourage them to be their best selves.  i can kiss them and love them and feed them and guide them.  but they are who they are.  one minute they despise me, the next they’re snuggling in bed with me.  this is just the way it is for us mothers.  this is just the way it is.

from mine to yours,



lordy, i’m afraid to post this.  but the purge feels cathartic and it’s the realest thing i’ve written in awhile.

dying flowers = dying practice

When I first decided to make my own altar for meditating, someone told me to include some or all of the following:  a Buddha statue, a bell, a stone for stillness, a candle for insight, incense and fresh flowers.  I procured a few of these things and laid them neatly on a small silver side table in my bedroom.  I arranged a tiny vase of delicate flowers and tended to the altar with my most peaceful breathing and my quietest mind for about 3 days.  Then life got busy.

A few weeks went by.  One night I caught a glimpse of those flowers from the corner of my eye as I was dashing out the door.  They sure weren’t fresh flowers anymore.  They were brittle, crunchy spikes and twigs connected by cobwebs.  Oops.

That vase of dead flowers on my altar represented my dying practice.  Clearly, ignoring my altar was synonymous with ignoring the commit to a purposeful practice.

But I didn’t see it that way then.  I just thought, Well, I guess I just am not the type who likes to sit down formally and meditate.  So I replaced the twiggy flowers with a beautiful crystal and began to treat the altar like a decoration in the corner of my bedroom.  Instead of sitting with my Buddhist schwag, I meditated in bed, on my couch, in my parked car, in the shower.  I just found moments here and there, wedging quiet, focused breaths between errands and obligations.

Since formally committing to Buddhism, I have noticed a shift in my priorities.  I no longer squeeze mindfulness into random parts of my day.  Instead, I wake up in the morning, bow at the door to my Breathing Room, adorned with my homemade altar and a potted plant, and sit down to pay attention to the Bodhisattva in me that is longing to be discovered and released full throttle.  And before I leave the room, I make sure to water my flowers.

From mine to yours,


children’s lesson: yak brothers (video blog)

noble eightfold path: act now and first 25 readers will receive FREE thoughts on suffering!

Mr. Modern Invention, that tricky bastard, makes us believe that suffering is an easy fix.  Countless gadgets have been delivered to us so that we will never be hungry, never be bored, never be lonely, lost, dirty or without a pre-recorded fart sound (yes, there’s an app for that).  We employ all of these material and virtual inventions, wondering how we ever survived without them; and still, we suffer.

Why is that?  I mean, with all of these gadgets, shouldn’t life be perfect?  Or at least be close to it?  Life should at least be sort of easy, right?

But it’s not.

It’s not.

Life is not easy.

And no matter what the next latest-greatest promises, life will not become easier once we invest in it.  The end of suffering is not available in stores.  The end of suffering is available only deep inside ourselves.  And once we think we find the end to suffering, we must continue to practice through dedication and self discovery.  We don’t stop practicing once we find a shiny happy moment of peace.  The moment will pass and another opportunity for growth through suffering will present itself.  Because life changes at such a pace that the ways we suffer change constantly, too.

Buddhism offers a practical Eightfold Path to the end of suffering.  It doesn’t contaminate the earth, stress you out, make you fat or cause break-outs of any kind.  Oh, and it’s free.  Yah, baby.  Remember those Four Noble Truths we learned about?  Well, this is that path eluded to in the fourth truth, which is broken down into three parts:  Wisdom, Ethical Conduct and Mental Development.  Here are the eight pieces…

  1. Right View, understanding that in 300 years we’ll be dust so keep things in perspective
  2. Right Intention, controlling the way we think about ourselves and others through mindfulness
  3. Right Speech, thinking before we speak and refraining from gossip or harsh language (ouch), being truthful, kind and helpful with the words we choose
  4. Right Action, doing the right thing and living wholesomely
  5. Right Livelihood, earning an ethical living that doesn’t conflict with our values or harm the planet
  6. Right Effort, consciously directing our lives toward transformation by finding a balance between life’s activities and a disciplined meditative practice
  7. Right Mindfulness, living in the here and now through experiencing physical sensations, emotions, thoughts and attitudes
  8. Right Concentration, being absorbed by one thought, also called one-pointedness; it’s a doozy

The Buddhas dying words are these:  “Look not for refuge to anyone beside yourself.”

The machines, the services, the computers, the gurus…  they are convenient or they are distracting.  But they are not the end to suffering.  You are.  It just takes practice.

From mine to yours,


p.s.  Don’t forget to share with your Bu-curious friends!  Read more by Vanessa at Everything Old is New Age Again.