No Mud, No Lotus

This is the title of a book written by the Vietnamese monk and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh. What I like about this is that he has summed up one of the central tenets of life in one four-word phrase. And it’s true, it often takes an experience of hardship to force us into new growth and flowering.

I have had this basic truth delivered home to me at different times in my life and in many different ways, however none were as poignant and powerfully intense as two surgeries I went through in my early twenties to remove a benign brain tumour, and its recurrence five years later. This experience left me in grave doubt as to my chances of surviving into middle-life. I’ve had mobility problems since then that helped me understand a little better the suffering of the elderly. It felt strange to lose a lot of my athletic abilities young as I was. My body and its strength had been something I very much took for granted. At first, I was frustrated pointlessly asking “why me?” But, in time, I gradually came to see that that question was useless to ask. Eventually, a more useful question took its place which was, ‘What now?”

The change in perspective from ‘why me’, to ‘what now’ saved me mentally and emotionally. I started getting interested in and curious about the life I had, rather than endlessly bemoaning the misfortune I’d suffered. I became increasingly optimistic and intrigued when I realized I could still create a very interesting and edifying life, one that I never would’ve considered previously had I not been pushed in this direction by life forces beyond my own control. What set in as time progressed, was an unexpected sense of gratitude at this turn of events, that I’ve been grateful for ever since.

I want to be clear that I would never wish this kind, or any kind, of suffering on myself or anyone else. But the discovery, with the support of my family and time healing at my mother’s farm, has led to a life of considerably deeper peace and what I call quiet joy––an everyday undercurrent of joy.

Part of my interest in meditation, and other contemplative arts, is motivated by not wanting to forget hard lessons learned. It’s all too easy to become distracted, complacent; and in that mental-emotional haze not remember what a beautiful thing life really deeply is.

What I’ve learned, is that staying close to the beauty of life happens in direct proportion to my willingness and ability to be with the muck and the mire of my inner life, patiently cultivating intimacy with myself, which then eventually blossoms into the world as presence.

Love and courage.