Stepping Up

This post is inspired by the news of beloved Buddhist Teacher and Peace Activist Thich Nhat Hanh's ill health.

I got on the subway one night this week to start my journey home after a long day. I sat down and didn't take out my phone. I didn't have my headphones on or something to read in my hands. I just sat there and looked at the face across from me. The man on the other side had dark skin, high, chiseled cheek bones, and deeply set eyes that seemed profoundly worn with experience. There was something gentle, melancholy, and humbly knowing about his manner. We looked in each other's eyes in a way that we rarely do in New York City. It is as if we broke an unspoken rule about how long you can make eye contact with a stranger. His face had too much depth to ignore. Realizing I couldn't go on staring, I took my chances and offered a small smile. He returned it. I then looked at all the faces across from me and I heard myself saying to my ailing meditation teacher, "this moment, and this moment, and this moment," as I shifted my gaze from face to face. Sitting there, tired from the day, I felt my own hands. Though they were fatigued from touching other people all day, my right hand held my left and felt its softness as if caressing someone else. I felt my own tenderness. I knew in that moment that Thich Nhat Hanh would always be with me even when he passes on. His teachings have left their imprint. I am not someone who has a guru. I don't declare any one person "my teacher." But, as his precious life lies in limbo these days, I recognize how much of his life touched mine, of how much he taught me. Sitting on the subway, I see and feel differently because of him. 

The night I learned of Thich Nhat Hanh's condition, I laid in bed and surprised myself as I watched fear arise. It was not as though I knew him personally or that I had more than a handful of opportunities to be in his presence, but suddenly, I was feeling the possibility of a significant loss. Losing a parent feels like this. It is the fear of being cut off and disconnected from some source. The image arises of floating out into space, unattached, just drifting. As I get older and as each elder passes on, I am increasingly aware of a stepping up that needs to happen, a shifting role that I must play. It is true for all of us if we are aware and can muster enough courage to acknowledge the shift. As older family members, teachers, mentors move on, there is a growing up, a responsibility, an ownership that we are silently being given. The controls are being handed over and we face the often scary realization that we do, in fact, have the skills to handle them. 

As I get increasingly separated from those who have been my guides, I am being asked to trust myself, to humbly lean into my own groundedness, strength, and experience. It is as though the universe is asking me to stay calm as a step suddenly appears at my feet. I must take it. The step requires a willingness to accept the place that needs to be filled, whether it is for our children, our students, our clients, our siblings, our co-workers, our community. We start to truly embody the life these teachers showed us we can have. They are no longer teachings separate from us. We embody these teachings when we choose to pause before we lash out, when we choose to be generous, when we recognize that we don't have to win the point, when we stop blaming. It happens when we make conscious decisions about what we do and what we refrain from doing, what we say, how we listen, and what we consume. We embody the teachings when we catch ourselves putting ourselves down in all kinds of small and large ways and choose to treat ourselves with compassion and kindness instead.

Though I have much more life to experience, I see that it would be easy for me to believe that I am still the young one with things to learn and therefore never own what I know and the position I am increasingly being given. The "promotion" is unspoken. There is no award given, no congratulations to receive, no outward recognition. No one says you are ready to be here. I will keep going forward with the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh ingrained in me, and those of my parents, and all the teachers that have come in so many forms. They can't be taken from me. And, I will keep learning. This week, I gained the understanding that I am not getting cut off. If I look deeply, I can see that I am getting more connected. Instead of me holding on though, I am ready to hold, even when my doubts arise and I start to tremble.

With these words, I send my strength, my smile, my presence to Thich Nhat Hanh as he works to recover and to all the elders who have taught us how to live well. I can also offer a smile and a bow of support to myself and all of those around me as we take the next steps of embodying, in an even greater way, what we have learned.