I recently guided a meditation retreat in Colombia, and during the retreat, a question from one of the participants deeply resonated with me. It’s a question that has stayed with me and sparked reflections that I’ve been sharing lately.

Slow and steady is often far more sustainable than quick and intense. I call this understanding how we work with sustainability in our meditation practice, and how intensity can often work against us.

There are many reasons we can lose confidence in ourselves or our practice over time. Some of this happens when we lose consistency, and some happens because we think we should be "getting somewhere" that we imagine is the place to get—and when we're not getting there, we feel we're not good at it or it's not going well.

The other day, I was talking with someone about issues arising in their life. With this particular friend, I've noticed a repeating pattern: they continually strive (and struggle) to achieve certain things in their life—whether it's a relationship, a job, a particular mood or way of being, or even a spiritual state.

How do we navigate challenging relationships, especially with those closest to us? Before I share some perspectives, I want to offer a disclaimer: I haven't fully figured this out. I simply try different approaches and work with what arises. Most importantly, I strive to show up fully to the process.

In this post, I want to explore a profound teaching from one of my teachers, Mingyur Rinpoche. His teachings on meditation are usually quite pithy, helpful, and to the point. I'd like to unpack one of his quotes that I find particularly illuminating for both beginners and experienced meditators alike.

Intention or motivation in meditation practice is often explored in lineage-based or traditional Buddhism, where we investigate not only how to meditate but also why. We inquire into the purpose of meditation, its benefits, and what we truly seek to achieve.

From a Buddhist perspective, which significantly influences my work, I question the very concept of "self." Many Buddhist practitioners understand what I mean. For those new to Buddhism, you might wonder why I'd say such a thing. The core of Buddhist teachings is a questioning of self-centered interactions with the world. The idea of a fixed, independent self can lead to dissatisfaction, stress, and problems. Compassion is the opposite of solidifying or reinforcing our sense of self or ego.

The goal is to accept what's arising in the present moment, without judgment or evaluation. This includes acknowledging the discomfort or tension that may accompany certain experiences. By meeting these sensations with compassion, we can create space for alternative ways of being.

I'd like to delve into the topics of compassion and intimacy, two concepts that are currently very alive in my practice. These are both powerful and potent words, capable of multiple interpretations, so I thought we could explore them together.

Often, when people ask how or if they should forgive someone after a particular incident, I recommend focusing on compassion-based practices rather than forgiveness itself. Forgiveness is undoubtedly essential for healthy human relationships. I view it as a softening of the heart, an opening to others, and a release of resentment, aggression, or anger towards a specific person or situation. However, based on my personal experience and the experiences of others I've guided, I've found compassion practices to be more effective than forgiveness.

Personally, the feeling, idea, or longing for home has been a struggle for as long as I can remember, probably starting around 12 or 13 years old. While I couldn't articulate it back then, looking back at my memories, there was a constant push and pull with this concept of home, a sense of unease. Can our sense of temporary homes – physical, emotional, even spiritual ever truly satisfy that deep craving for peace? Because let's be honest, that's what this is all about, isn't it? A yearning for some kind of lasting peace and contentment.

Just as control doesn't work in our relationships, it also fails us in our relationship with our own thoughts and emotions. In meditation, if we try to control our thinking, I've found it to be not only dysfunctional but also completely ineffective. There's a well-known quote from a Tibetan Buddhist teacher, Nyoshul Khen Rinpoche, that perfectly captures this: "Trying to stop our thoughts in meditation is like trying to stop a waterfall.”

As we begin meditating, we often encounter the whirlwind of our minds – our pleasant and unpleasant thoughts and emotions. This isn't a sign of something wrong with us or our meditation. It's simply that we're finally looking – a positive step in the long run. However, in the short term, it can be disconcerting, even stressful.

Interdependence, which naturally leads us to the concept of shunyata, or Buddhist nonduality is a vast subject, arguably the most central theme in Buddhism. Depending on the Sutra, nonduality is explored from various angles, but understanding it is crucial for liberation from suffering and dissatisfaction at all levels.

Impermanence often gets a bad rap. Sometimes, it's associated solely with death, which we'll discuss a bit later. But more generally, people, myself included, can sometimes interpret impermanence on the Buddhist path as a rather bleak and depressing concept.

Many of us encounter roadblocks on our spiritual journey, be it in meditation, relationships, or daily life. These challenges can feel discouraging. But what if I told you these struggles, rather than roadblocks, can be stepping stones on the path itself?

I'd like to delve into a topic I often contemplate, one that I believe many meditators encounter, particularly those seeking a deeper understanding and practice within a traditional Buddhist lineage. My thoughts revolve around a question, perhaps even an assumption we sometimes make: Is meditation the most crucial aspect of Dharma practice?

I've personally struggled with perfectionism throughout my life. I know this can be very prevalent these days, so I’d like to share some reflections on it. We'll discuss some different ideas on how to address perfectionism and maybe even rethink the word "perfect" from a Dharmic perspective.

Often, the practice of recollecting or remembering the Buddha gets relegated to a purely religious practice. But when we really look at the meaning and driving force behind it, it's not religious. It's simply a way to get used to a potential we all have. I wanted to start with that to welcome anyone from any walk of life. You don't have to be Buddhist to practice what I'm going to discuss.