36. Suffering
Photo courtesy of my wonderful brother Kai-Rey Lee
In the past week, I’ve been reading No Mud, No Lotus: The Art of Transforming Suffering by Thich Nhat Han.
This beautiful little book has been a fitting companion for the persistent heaviness on my chest—an embodiment of personal, national, and global suffering. Here’s one of the many passages that resonates with me:
If we take care of the suffering inside us, we have more clarity, energy, and strength to help address the suffering violence, poverty, and inequity of our loved ones as well as the suffering in our community and the world. If, however, we are preoccupied with the fear and despair in us, we can’t help remove the suffering of others. There is an art to suffering well. If we know how to take care of our suffering, we not only suffer much, much less, we also create more happiness around us and in the world (p.18).
Essentially, caring for ourselves by “suffering well” allows us to better care for others.
How do we take care of our suffering?
We accept that we are suffering and breathe into the present moment. Later in the book, Thich Nhat Han writes about the medicine of mindfulness—the capacity to dwell in the here and now. He includes a short breathing exercise. Give it a go:
Breathing in, I know suffering is there.
Breathing out, I say hello to my suffering.
Maybe you and your suffering aren’t on speaking terms quite yet. That’s okay. You are where you are. Maybe instead you can be open to greeting your suffering one day.
This week, I’ve learned that welcoming instead of ignoring my suffering has helped me move its energy along. Like all feelings, suffering doesn’t stay forever. But when it pops for a visit, it longs for me to be a caring, attentive host who makes a nice cup of tea.
In other words, embracing discomfort, grief, and pain rather than suppressing this heaviness has expanded my capacity for presence, love, and gratitude.