The other day, around mid-morning, four people emerged from a room where a man had died an hour earlier. I walked over to offer my condolences; not with those words but to bear witness, to be with them at
their moment of loss. We embraced in turns, saying little. Simply holding each other, gently, looking into tear-filled eyes, conveying a silent understanding that You have lost someone you love; I too have lost; it’s part of our human condition to love and have to let go.
Trailing the group of three women was a tall man, the deceased’s brother, carrying a potted plant to take away. We had seen each other in the hallway during the last two days, but said little beyond nods and smiles. He looked stunned. I fell into step with him as the group moved towards the elevator. His eyes found mine through a stream of tears, a bear of a man. Without hesitation my left had found a place on his chest, my right on his back, embracing his heart space. Two bodies inches apart: two men in their sixties who barely knew each other, in a moment of intimacy. Your brother has died, I whispered, naming the cause of his distress. I love him, he sobbed, balancing the potted plant.
Love is absolutely vital to our human life, writes John O’Donohue. For love alone can awaken what is divine in you. In love, you grow and come home to your self. When you love and let your self be loved, you come home to the hearth of your own spirit. You are warm and sheltered. You are completely at one in the house of your own longing and belonging. … Love begins with paying attention to others, with an act of gracious self-forgetting. This is the condition in which we grow.
source: O’Donohue, J. (1997). Anam cara: a book of Celtic wisdom. Harper Perennial, p. 7.

your return comments and look forward to more.
A few words of clarification on C.G. Jung’s concepts referred to in yesterday’s post. When speaking of feminine and masc
This continues yesterday’s post on re-uniting the inner masculine and the feminine – beyond male and female, beyond sexual attraction, beyond longing for birth mother. Towards the end of his life
Ten years ago, nearing the end of basic training at a Zen monastery, I asked a senior monk about women teachers. Till then, my authority figures in the secular and teachers in the spiritual realm had been men. The monastery itself had a distinct masculine air about it (although women trained there as well). Unexplained rules, impersonal instructions, long hours of work and meditation, being shouted at, obscure replies to simple questions, emphasis on detachment and submission, sleep deprivation, primitive living quarters, formal meals eaten in a hurry, the absence of physical touch and expressions of human kindness … in short, an authority-driven, shut-up-and-do-what-you’re-told atmosphere that went against everything I valued
Two years later, while living at a Zen monastery headed
Digging a little deeper, I meet that old nemesis, the Inner Critic. They say that it’s merely a voice, but a powerful one! It informs me in its uppity ways of my shortcomings, ineptitude, lack of grace, etc. I rarely question its opinions. And certainly don’t stand up to, instead taking its pronouncements as fact. Take for instance the change in my body shape. Over the last ten years I’ve gained weight and added inches to my waist line. Looking at myself in a mirror (or a passing store window) is no longer a pleasant experience. Aarrgghhh! says the Critic, you’re overweight, old, unattractive. I roll over and agree–even suck in my belly when meeting someone female, but not when seeing a male. What’s with that?
The interesting things is that when I think of people I admire, the last thing I’m concerned with is their body shape. If, for instance, you’d ask me to describe
In short: I tend to judge my own worth on appearance and that of others on their humanity. Digging deeper yet, I confess that I don’t “care” for myself the way I aim to care for others. Others deserve my caring attention “as they are,” while I’m flawed and “need work” to fix what’s wrong.
CBC News:
wear when sliding from room to room at work. The martial arts outfitter I used to go to was closed and so I fell in with the stream of tourists until I found a shop crammed with bamboo back scratchers and other Made-in-China trinkets. Once we were done fussing with sizes and proper fit, the shopkeeper pressed a foreign-looking coin in my hand ”for good luck,” then reached across the cash register to hug me. Not something one expects in Chinatown.
A little later, walking past a low-cost housing complex with its restaurant and second-hand store, I read about free activities on the bulletin board. On the spur of the moment I entered the building to see how I might offer a weekly meditation class.


Anyone can make and live by vows. You don’t have to be a monk or work in a hospice. Norman Fischer writes: