The Marriage of Total Grief and Total Joy

We are told throughout our lives to believe that our emotions have power over us. We learn that if we are, for instance, sad or depressed or grief-stricken, then this emotion is solid and real and it has the capacity to rule us for as long as we are wrapped in it. We are also led to believe that two opposing emotions cannot coexist at the same time. So, say for instance, one could not possibly feel great sadness and great happiness at the same time, as those two solid and substantial states would necessarily crowd one another out.

I now know from my own direct experience that all of this is completely untrue.

Recently I was waiting to go up to speak to about seventy lovely friends, and five minutes before that talk was to begin, I was given the unexpected news that a dear friend, a lovely young person full of kindness and compassion, had died suddenly. For a moment I simply stood there in shock with my hands clasped over my face. The grief came pouring in and I was totally absorbed by it. I felt all the deepest feelings welling up, and I was about to break into tears. But I also recognized that I would need to be at rest with this flood of emotion, because I would be momentarily addressing people who had not yet heard the news and that this was not the proper time to inform them.

I recollected myself, stood quietly for a minute and let everything be as it is. I then went up front to the stage, trembling with emotion as I sat down in the chair in front of a sea of wondering faces. When it was my turn to speak, I had no idea what I would say. However, all of a sudden a vivid image came into my head: the lovely lupine flowers that we have beside the roadside in summer. I spoke of how when the lupines are picked and placed in a vase, they still have the life and intelligence to move towards to sun, separating themselves from one another to give each stem enough space to grow. I described how these flowers, like all the seasonal flowers, had a time of life and then they died. The metaphorical relationship between the flowers and what had happened with our young friend was very present for me, and I was engulfed by intense grief.

But then, as I just sat there and let the emotions wash over me, I could see that grief was not the only thing present, even if it was overwhelmingly present. Simultaneous to the grief and equally at hand was an awe-inspiring joy and gratitude. I could not say that the joy and gratitude was for anything in particular, but there it was in equal measure to the crushing grief.

How could this be? I was not in a position just then to figure it out, and thank goodness for that. Instead, I was in a very auspicious instant of total clarity, watching something quite extraordinary happen: two tremendous feelings that I had never experienced at one time together were totally and completed wedded to one another in that precious moment.

We completed the talk, and I think that it is fair to say that I came off that stage a different person from the one who went up to it. I had seen, in my own direct experience, that the names for emotions don’t matter. Whatever description we give to things, it is all one incredibly beneficial energy flowing in a marvelous and miraculous way. Once this is seen, then it is also seen that there is nothing to be avoided and nothing to be afraid of. Life in all its glory is ever-present in the here and now, and it is only our descriptions that distract us from that gift.

I am reminded of an ancient teaching which I will paraphrase here: Wisdom is not difficult for those who have no preferences. When love and hate are both absent, everything becomes clear and undisguised. Make the smallest distinction, however, and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart. If we wish to see the truth, then hold no opinions for or against anything. To set up what you like against what you dislike is merely the play of the mind. When the deep meaning of things is not understood, the mind’s essential peace is disturbed to no avail. Be serene in the oneness of things, and such erroneous views will disappear by themselves. With a single stroke we are freed from bondage.

Contentment

This past weekend I was visiting with my sister and her family, and not only did I have the opportunity to spend time with beloved family members, but then I was given another—unexpected—gift…

My sister teaches a Sunday School class for young people, and as she was preparing for her next day’s lesson, she came to me with a question: “I want to speak to them about contentment, but I don’t know exactly how to explain what that means. How do you tell them about something that is probably only a vague notion for them?”

I was intrigued by this question, and I went off on my own to consider it for a while. I thought, “Well, “contentment” is quite a profound concept, and maybe a lot of adults don’t fully understand what it means. How does one put it into plain language so that even a child could comprehend it?”

I could see the possible context for dealing with this issue: these young people live in a materialistic culture with pressure from all sides to acquire more and more stuff, and reminders of contentment are few and far between. I also knew that deep discussions about contentment would probably not be going on in most households, and that it is the tendency of people—of all ages—to be more focused on what they don’t have as opposed to what they innately possess.

Normally when we hear the word “contentment,” we turn our attention to the things that are meant to bring contentment. These things are different for different people, but the list might start with an attractive and loving romantic partner, a beautiful home, satisfaction of desires, abundance, safety, security, material comfort, respect and acclaim. But the more I pondered my sister’s question, the more it became clear to me that there was evidence of contentment all around, but that it often went unrecognized because it did not necessarily have to do with any of those things.

I happen to know many people who have hardly any of the things that I have listed, who nevertheless have the obvious presence of contentment in their lives. What is it these people “have” that contents them, even if their contentment wasn’t in the having of anything?

What I see in these wonderful people is a vast openness to all experience, an enormous capacity for letting things be as they are. They are active, engaged, energetic, intelligent, skilled, joyous and serviceful, but at the same time they reside in a place of complete rest. The constant barrage of thoughts, emotions, sensations and experiences seems to be going on the same for them as for anyone else, but they are not carried away by the flow. Their attention is not on themselves and all of their personal concerns; rather, they maintain a profound interest in a place of great depth and peace that includes everyone and everything.

The key ingredient to this contentment seems to be the recognition of a place in themselves that has no place—an unchanging essence, a natural state, awareness, clarity, open intelligence, a place of peace—call it by whatever name. There is in them a moment by moment choice to return to that place of peace over and over, for short moments, again and again.

When distractions occur—and even if the distractions continue for a while—the choice is eventually made to return to that place of peace. They sustain themselves with reminders so that the choice is not obscured: they seek out community with this as the basis, they commit themselves to reaching out for support when needed and they refresh the commitment by reading, listening to and investigating unerring teachings that speak unwaveringly about what is true.


So, in the end, what would I want to tell those young people in the Sunday School class? I would want to stand before them and be able to say with the utmost confidence, “Dear ones, you have nothing to fear. Everything you need, you have. Naturally occurring wisdom and well-being that will never leave you come from acknowledging the truth within yourselves, for short moments, many times, until the acknowledgement becomes spontaneous and continuous.”

So, this was the gift I received: knowing that this is so for myself, knowing that it is true for others, and knowing that this simple truth can be communicated clearly and easily. This gift, this contentment, is our greatest possession.