By Hera Barrameda
It’s easy to pray for change, but I learned a good amount of clarity can go a long way. A few years ago I learned to pray to learn from a place of joy than learn from a place of pain. This learning I got reminded me of when I recently took a course in Mindvalley and encountered the concept of Kensho and Satori. As humans, we can choose to learn from pain or insight.
Kensho is growth from pain: sudden business failures that make life difficult, a painful divorce, a falling out at work, or an unexpected betrayal from people we hold close to our hearts. These events tend to wound us so deeply and compel us to make major life changes. Growth here is slow and gradual that it sometimes feels there’s no end in sight. When you look back, however, you smile realizing you have indeed grown, and that growth would never otherwise have had a chance to blossom if not for the pain that preceded it.
A few years ago I was in a very difficult place. My body gave up on me and I, in turn, gave up on the world. I thought I will never return to the way I was before and have been most content with just being with family. Back then I thought I was not going anywhere, but every single day I ask God to never let me forget what I fought so hard for. Months went by both too fast that I often self-flagellate for wasting my precious time. But as I write this now I reflect on the many signs I have grown. Looking back, the past four years is a subtle death and rebirth.
So subtle it’s hard to identify the exact point I died and awakened. At this point, the biggest lessons are in the most subtle.
I learned I should honor the times I fought for my life and the subtle miracles that kept me going: giant rainbows after a prayer whispered, windchimes serenading a quiet breakfast, comforting smiles from unknown faces, and little pockets of light in dark places. Compound them together and we’ll see they were not small momentary reminders but rather intricately woven threads of a journey still being written.
Then there’s Satori, a sudden jolt of euphoria because of a random epiphany. A random quote with that glorious punch in the heart, a revelation from a conversation with a teacher, insight from your morning prayer.
My Satori moments mostly happen in the middle of travel, meditation, or brushing my teeth. And most of the time they come in pairs.
I was in Arizona climbing a mountain when a revelation hit me: As I ascend to the summit, sensitive to every sign of exhaustion, I started to remember why I began that climb, why I began living, why I began trying. That little voice reminded me to honor my “why”. Most importantly reminded me to honor the climb because the summit will almost always be worthwhile.
I was in the middle of refusing an invitation when I realized I wouldn’t have understood the value of a no until I recognized the many times saying yes didn’t serve me. Growing up programmed to be nice, to be friendly, to try my best, I was made to think saying no means being weak. But the real question is, why is it wrong to be weak? Why is it wrong to fail? Why is it wrong to slow down and be tired? I learned we are not only the sum of the things we did, but the things we didn’t, things we like and didn’t like, things we are most attracted to and most scared of, and just as we are a culmination of all the many sides of us, that part of us who want to say no, is as good as that part of us who always says yes.
I was in Venice exploring the sunset two years when I realized how sunsets often leave a smile on my face. It usually involves an elegant flashback of all the days that led to that sunset. Somehow, every single mind movie led to me sitting in front of the majestic sun temporarily bidding me farewell. And I smile, happy.
But not all sunsets are pretty. They usually bring me to a state of introspection and I tend to ask myself: Who am I? Where am I headed? What if I fail? For a while, I worried more than all the times I worried in recent decades. Back then I thought I only wanted to bring sunshine and not rain and thus hated that part of me I thought can only bring hardship. I used to be in so much hurry, chasing one milestone after another, so in the absence of something to “chase”, I found some slack and discovered all the silenced whispers of anxiety, confusion, sadness, and anger.
While this break gave me ample time to slow down and relax, it also gave me ample time to listen to a part of me I’ve never liked. While sunsets can shine a spotlight on things worth celebrating, it can also provide contrast, and where there is contrast, there is a desire for balance.
Sunsets often leave a smile on my face. And when they don’t, I stare into the night knowing it’s only gonna take a few hours for morning to come.
COVID challenged our minds and hearts’ capacity to grow. But my Satori moment happened when I realized I can choose to see what’s possible. We can look out of our windows and see as many stars in the sky as other people do, as many colors of the sunset as other people do and as many faces staring back at us telling us the best is yet to come. We only need to make a choice.
We have made it a habit to look up when we pray like children asking our Father for something. But these difficult times made me realize that when we’re tired of looking up, we can always look within, and God will always be there waiting.
