Sweets in a Kyoto marketplace.  Taken last month.

Between brutal jet lag and an entire day without power, last week
felt slightly surreal.  It is all too true that any journey has the
potential to create change within ourselves, but I returned from Japan
with a stronger feeling of awkwardness than I had anticipated.  As if,
while I was away, all the furniture in my house had been re-arranged,
but no one told me and it took a few days to realize that is why
everything felt slightly cock-eyed.  Once I saw things had moved from
their original place, it took some time to get used to the new
arrangement, and I am still figuring out how to maneuver in the new
scheme of things.

Over the weekend there was an event that, for various reasons, was
something I had very mixed feelings about.  A joyous occasion on the
surface, but beneath the glimmer a lot of deep emotions and wounds were
swirling around wildly.  On the day of this event, I took a strenuous,
hilly training walk and then went to a friend’s house for her
daughter’s 2nd birthday.  It was then time for me to face the next
chapter in the day with as smiley a face as I could muster, and I
wasn’t sure I could pull it off.  I listened to Buddhist lectures on my
ipod all morning, visualized letting go of all the negative thoughts
and feelings festering in my mind and gave myself a tough workout to
try to exhaust the negativity out of me, but there was a part of me
that, admittedly, was still clinging to the idea of being stubborn and,
quite frankly, too self-involved to set my feelings aside for the sake
of others around me.  I wanted to hold on to at least a tiny bit of my
pain, as if by this strange, interior act of defiance I would assure a
certain twisted sense of integrity.  Something along the lines of, "If
I’m not 100% authentic in my openness and generosity in this situation,
then I’m honoring the pain I’ve experienced and acknowledging my most
wounded self."

It sounds so silly now, but it made perfect sense just yesterday.

When I got back home, someone initiated a conversation with me that
I was not expecting, a conversation in which this person acknowledged -
out loud and with a completely open and compassionate heart – how
difficult the next many hours would most likely be for me, how on so
many levels and for so many reasons my emotions would be tugged in this
direction and that direction, all reminding me of some of the darkest
places in my past.  In a nutshell, what this person said to me was, "I see you," and
while I had not realized it until that moment, it was exactly what I
needed to hear.  It was one of the sweetest moments of life, I tell
you, one of those instances where the relief of feeling understood and
acknowledged is so palpable as to almost have its own aroma.  A moment
where you realize that sometimes the most profound gift you can give to
those you love is the willingness to walk through your own emotional
fires.  Quietly.  Without fanfare.  Without any expectation that anyone
will ever really appreciate how much courage you had to muster to open
your very own heart.  Because the truth is that if anyone else around
you has any compassion whatsoever, they most assuredly understand the
gift you are offering.

The ultimate effect of this recognition has taken me quite by
surprise, and has occurred so quickly that I am almost tempted to be
skeptical of it, but deep down I know it is genuine.  You see, for a
long while now I have kept a tiny bubble within myself reserved
especially for a certain agonizing, infuriating experience, and there
were all kinds of very rational, yes-that-makes-sense reasons while I
felt justified in doing so.  But the instant this conversation
occurred, it was as if the person who initiated it put a pin to my
little bubble, in the most delicate way, and ever since it happened
that bubble of anger has simply…melted.  What now seems painfully
obvious is that I don’t need that bubble, it serves no purpose, and it
is an unbelievable relief not to have to carry it around with me
anymore.  That bubble is from the past.  It has no place here in the
present, so I can let it dissipate quietly.  Without fanfare.  Without
any expectation that anyone will ever understand how surprising and
beautiful this release really is.

As much as I preach about living in the present, it is sometimes a
herculean task to do so, for it often involves our willingness to
FORGIVE in blazing neon letters and take a sledgehammer to our fears
and heartaches.  While fear, heartache and negativity might not be
"fun", in some ways they can be quite comfortable; they can feel safe,
familiar and oddly enough, rather soothing.  But the truth is that this
type of safety is a mirage, and the more we cling to these little
bubbles of anger and resentment, the more roadblocks we face in our
attempts at becoming whole and as deeply compassionate as possible.  I
still have bubbles to burst and jungles to conquer, but I will carry
this experience with me now and pull it out when I need to – a poison
arrow for the next resentful snake that slithers into my consciousness,
a silver dagger for whatever emodiment of rage tries to stand in my way.

"If it is love you are looking for, take a knife and cut off the head of fear."  Rumi