I was browsing through my quotations files this week in search of some inspiration. In this part of the country, winter can seem to be hanging around way too long by the time we get to the middle of February. On the whole, we’re done with it. We suffer from miserable cases of cabin fever, where all we want is to go out and play without having to deal with snow and slush and ice and cold.
That ground hog came along and said we still had six more weeks of this to slog through. And even if Valentine’s Day brings some of us hugs and flowers and trinkets of joy, it’s still winter when it’s done.
Besides, these days the whole world seems to be upside down and getting messier and more confusing every day.
The bottom line is many of us are downright grumpy. And we plan to stay that way until the crocuses pop up waving their glorious petals. Or at least until we hear a robin sing.
So I was going through these quotations and I happened on a folder labeled “Compassion Quotes.” Its title grabbed me immediately and I opened it to find some lines by Sharon Salzberg, one of my favorite teachers of loving-kindness practices.
She was offering a meditation for caregivers who were feeling frustration over having their ministrations met by unexpected anger, accusations or tears. As I read through it, I felt my own frustration easing, then melting away. I thought I’d share the last few phrases of the meditation with you, in case you need a bit of soothing, too. Here’s what Sharon said:
- May I offer love, knowing that I cannot control the course of life, suffering, or death.
- May I remain in peace, and let go of expectations.
- May I see my limits compassionately, just as I view the suffering of others.
I especially found comfort in that last line, although all three hold true wisdom.
Sometimes you just have to view yourself as you’d view a tired, miserable little child and give yourself a hug. Accept that you can’t have all you want or be all you want, and that those constraints make us sad and mad. And that’s okay. It’s part of the human package. We all want to see our personal visions of perfection unfold in our lives. We all want to live free of suffering in a world that’s full of comfort, and peace, and happiness for all.
But that’s not how things work here. February happens. And sometimes it seems to stretch on and on and on, until we think we can’t bear it for another single day. That’s when we need to turn to ourselves in compassion, to recognize that our patience and endurance have their limits and that we have arrived at them. We’re in pain. This is anguish. And it’s something that is common to us all. As Tara Brach says, “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.”
Indeed. May we be kind. First of all, may we be kind to ourselves, wrapping ourselves in the same healing tenderness we would offer a wounded child. Then may we offer our kindnesses to our fellow beings, for they suffer, too.
In the end, Springtime will come. The darkest of nights is met by sunrise. And the crocuses will burst up through the soil and unfurl their glad petals.
Hold on.
Warmly,
Susan