"Integrity is non-situational; you're the same person 24 hours a day, 7 days a week."
Denis Waitley
***********************************************
The Practice of Rejoicing
The next time you're feeling down or withdrawn, see what happens when you turn your attention to the good fortunes of others.
By Pema Chodron
Over twelve centuries ago, the Indian sage Shantideva composed "The Way of the Bodhisattva." This classic text gives surprisingly up-to-date instructions for people like you and me to live sanely and open-heartedly, even in a very troubled world. It is the essential guidebook for fledgling bodhisattvas, those spiritual warriors who long to alleviate suffering—their own and that of others.
In "The Way of the Bodhisattva," Shantideva explains how we can connect with the very best of ourselves and help others to do the same. One powerful method he describes is rejoicing. Rejoicing in the good fortune of others is a practice that can help us when we feel emotionally shut down and unable to connect with others. Rejoicing generates good will. The next time you go out in the world, you might try this practice: directing your attention to people—in their cars, on the sidewalk, talking on their cell phones—just wish for them all to be happy and well. Without knowing anything about them, they can become very real, by regarding each of them personally and rejoicing in the comforts and pleasures that come their way. Each of us has this soft spot: a capacity for love and tenderness. But if we don't encourage it, we can get pretty stubborn about remaining sour.
I have a friend who, when he begins getting depressed and withdrawn, goes to a nearby park and does this practice for everyone who walks by. He finds this pulls him out of the slump before it’s too late. The tricky part is getting out of the house, instead of giving in to the seduction of gloom.
When you begin the practice of rejoicing in others' good fortune, you can expect to encounter your soft spot—as well as your competitiveness and envy. Sitting on a park bench feeling warmth for strangers is relatively easy to do; but when good fortune comes to those we know better, especially those we dislike, it can give us an up-close look at our jealousy.
This has certainly been the case for me. Until I began to practice rejoicing, I wasn't aware of how much envy I had. I remember hearing that a colleague's book was rapidly becoming a best seller, and being pained that my first reaction was resentment. Likewise, when I practice generosity, I see my holding back more vividly than ever before. By practicing patience my anger is harder to deny. For someone on the spiritual path, seeing this can be embarrassing.
Who would have thought that the practice of rejoicing would be a setup for seeing our neurosis? Our usual response would be to feel that we’ve blown it; but for aspiring bodhisattvas this isn’t the case. Because our intention is to wake up so we can help others do the same, we rejoice as much in seeing where we’re stuck as we rejoice in our loving kindness.
This is the only way for true compassion to emerge: this is our opportunity to understand what others are up against. Like us, they aspire to open up, only to see themselves close down; like us, they have the capacity for joy, and out of ignorance they block it. For their sake and ours, we can let the story lines go and stay present with an open heart—and rejoice that we're even interested in such a fresh alternative.
***********************************************
"The most important persuasion tool you have in your entire arsenal is integrity."
Zig Ziglar
**************************************************
Grandma's Soup Night
By Joan Cinelli
It had been a busier than usual week, and trying to cope with a stiff neck had made it worse. By Thursday afternoon I had used up my supply of energy and patience. All I wanted to do was to get home, put on a comfortable robe, fix a bowl of good hot soup and collapse with my feet up.
So when I pulled into the driveway and saw my daughter-in-law Wanda's car, I groaned in despair. I had forgotten it was Bryan's night.
Since his parents' separation, I had tried to have my six-year-old grandson spend a few hours with me at least once a week. I always tried to make it a special time for him. We cooked his favorite meal - chicken and cranberry sauce - or went to his favorite hamburger place. Then either a movie or a walk through the park, and home for some fun together. We'd get down on the floor and have car races. Sometimes we'd make candy, or maybe read some silly or scary book. Bryan delighted in all these activities, and so did I. Usually.
Tonight there was no way I could handle it. I was going to have to postpone our evening together until next week. I hugged them both and then explained how badly I was feeling.
"Bryan, honey, I'm sorry," I said. "Tonight your Grandma Joan isn't up to any fun and games. Just a nice hot bowl of soup, a lazy hour of TV and then early to bed. We'll have our night together some other time."
Bryan's smile faded, and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. "Dear Lord, forgive me," I prayed, "but I'm really not up to it tonight. I need this night to relax and renew myself."
Bryan was looking up at me solemnly. "I like soup, Grandma."
My grandmother's heart knew what he was really saying. In his own way, he was saying, "Please don't send me away. Please let me stay."
I heard Wanda say, "No, Bryan. Grandma Joan's too tired tonight. Maybe next week."
But in Bryan's eyes, I saw the shadow, the uncertainty. Something else was changing. Maybe Grandma Joan wouldn't want to have him come anymore. Not tonight, not next week, not ever.
I hesitated and then tried again. "Just soup and TV, Bryan. No car games on the floor for me tonight, no baking cookies, no books. I probably won't be awake very long."
"I like soup," he repeated.
With a sigh of resignation, I gave in and placed my hand on his shoulder. "Then you are cordially invited to dine at my castle. The meal will be small, but the company will be delightful. Escort the Queen Mother in, please, Sir Bryan."
It was worth it to see his eyes light up and hear him giggle as he made a mock bow and replied, "Okay, your Royal Highness."
While I put the soup on the stove and changed into my robe, Bryan set up trays and turned on the television set.
I must have dozed off after the first few sips of soup. When I woke up, there was an afghan over my legs, the bowls and trays were gone. Bryan was sprawled on the floor, dividing his attention between a coloring book and a television show. I looked at my watch. Nine o'clock. Wanda would be coming to get Bryan soon. Poor boy, what a dull time he must have had.
Bryan looked up with a smile. Then, to my surprise, he ran over and gave me a big hug. "I love you, Grandma," he said, his arms still around my neck. "Haven't we had a nice time together?"
His big smile and happy eyes told me that this time he meant exactly what he was saying. And, to my surprise, I knew he was right. We really had had a nice time together.
That was the key word - together. We had done nothing exciting or special. I had slept in the chair. Bryan had colored and watched TV. But we were together.
That night I realized something important. Bryan's visits don't have to be a marathon of activity. The important thing is that he knows I love him and want him. He knows he has a place in my life, which is reserved particularly for him. A time that is just for us to be together.
Bryan still comes once a week. We still bake chicken or eat out, make cookies or go for a walk in the park. But every now and then we enjoy our favorite together time, our special feast of love - soup night.
***************************************************
"A "NO" uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a "YES" merely uttered to please, or what is worse, to avoid trouble."
Mahatma Gandhi
Denis Waitley
***********************************************
The Practice of Rejoicing
The next time you're feeling down or withdrawn, see what happens when you turn your attention to the good fortunes of others.
By Pema Chodron
Over twelve centuries ago, the Indian sage Shantideva composed "The Way of the Bodhisattva." This classic text gives surprisingly up-to-date instructions for people like you and me to live sanely and open-heartedly, even in a very troubled world. It is the essential guidebook for fledgling bodhisattvas, those spiritual warriors who long to alleviate suffering—their own and that of others.
In "The Way of the Bodhisattva," Shantideva explains how we can connect with the very best of ourselves and help others to do the same. One powerful method he describes is rejoicing. Rejoicing in the good fortune of others is a practice that can help us when we feel emotionally shut down and unable to connect with others. Rejoicing generates good will. The next time you go out in the world, you might try this practice: directing your attention to people—in their cars, on the sidewalk, talking on their cell phones—just wish for them all to be happy and well. Without knowing anything about them, they can become very real, by regarding each of them personally and rejoicing in the comforts and pleasures that come their way. Each of us has this soft spot: a capacity for love and tenderness. But if we don't encourage it, we can get pretty stubborn about remaining sour.
I have a friend who, when he begins getting depressed and withdrawn, goes to a nearby park and does this practice for everyone who walks by. He finds this pulls him out of the slump before it’s too late. The tricky part is getting out of the house, instead of giving in to the seduction of gloom.
When you begin the practice of rejoicing in others' good fortune, you can expect to encounter your soft spot—as well as your competitiveness and envy. Sitting on a park bench feeling warmth for strangers is relatively easy to do; but when good fortune comes to those we know better, especially those we dislike, it can give us an up-close look at our jealousy.
This has certainly been the case for me. Until I began to practice rejoicing, I wasn't aware of how much envy I had. I remember hearing that a colleague's book was rapidly becoming a best seller, and being pained that my first reaction was resentment. Likewise, when I practice generosity, I see my holding back more vividly than ever before. By practicing patience my anger is harder to deny. For someone on the spiritual path, seeing this can be embarrassing.
Who would have thought that the practice of rejoicing would be a setup for seeing our neurosis? Our usual response would be to feel that we’ve blown it; but for aspiring bodhisattvas this isn’t the case. Because our intention is to wake up so we can help others do the same, we rejoice as much in seeing where we’re stuck as we rejoice in our loving kindness.
This is the only way for true compassion to emerge: this is our opportunity to understand what others are up against. Like us, they aspire to open up, only to see themselves close down; like us, they have the capacity for joy, and out of ignorance they block it. For their sake and ours, we can let the story lines go and stay present with an open heart—and rejoice that we're even interested in such a fresh alternative.
***********************************************
"The most important persuasion tool you have in your entire arsenal is integrity."
Zig Ziglar
**************************************************
Grandma's Soup Night
By Joan Cinelli
It had been a busier than usual week, and trying to cope with a stiff neck had made it worse. By Thursday afternoon I had used up my supply of energy and patience. All I wanted to do was to get home, put on a comfortable robe, fix a bowl of good hot soup and collapse with my feet up.
So when I pulled into the driveway and saw my daughter-in-law Wanda's car, I groaned in despair. I had forgotten it was Bryan's night.
Since his parents' separation, I had tried to have my six-year-old grandson spend a few hours with me at least once a week. I always tried to make it a special time for him. We cooked his favorite meal - chicken and cranberry sauce - or went to his favorite hamburger place. Then either a movie or a walk through the park, and home for some fun together. We'd get down on the floor and have car races. Sometimes we'd make candy, or maybe read some silly or scary book. Bryan delighted in all these activities, and so did I. Usually.
Tonight there was no way I could handle it. I was going to have to postpone our evening together until next week. I hugged them both and then explained how badly I was feeling.
"Bryan, honey, I'm sorry," I said. "Tonight your Grandma Joan isn't up to any fun and games. Just a nice hot bowl of soup, a lazy hour of TV and then early to bed. We'll have our night together some other time."
Bryan's smile faded, and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. "Dear Lord, forgive me," I prayed, "but I'm really not up to it tonight. I need this night to relax and renew myself."
Bryan was looking up at me solemnly. "I like soup, Grandma."
My grandmother's heart knew what he was really saying. In his own way, he was saying, "Please don't send me away. Please let me stay."
I heard Wanda say, "No, Bryan. Grandma Joan's too tired tonight. Maybe next week."
But in Bryan's eyes, I saw the shadow, the uncertainty. Something else was changing. Maybe Grandma Joan wouldn't want to have him come anymore. Not tonight, not next week, not ever.
I hesitated and then tried again. "Just soup and TV, Bryan. No car games on the floor for me tonight, no baking cookies, no books. I probably won't be awake very long."
"I like soup," he repeated.
With a sigh of resignation, I gave in and placed my hand on his shoulder. "Then you are cordially invited to dine at my castle. The meal will be small, but the company will be delightful. Escort the Queen Mother in, please, Sir Bryan."
It was worth it to see his eyes light up and hear him giggle as he made a mock bow and replied, "Okay, your Royal Highness."
While I put the soup on the stove and changed into my robe, Bryan set up trays and turned on the television set.
I must have dozed off after the first few sips of soup. When I woke up, there was an afghan over my legs, the bowls and trays were gone. Bryan was sprawled on the floor, dividing his attention between a coloring book and a television show. I looked at my watch. Nine o'clock. Wanda would be coming to get Bryan soon. Poor boy, what a dull time he must have had.
Bryan looked up with a smile. Then, to my surprise, he ran over and gave me a big hug. "I love you, Grandma," he said, his arms still around my neck. "Haven't we had a nice time together?"
His big smile and happy eyes told me that this time he meant exactly what he was saying. And, to my surprise, I knew he was right. We really had had a nice time together.
That was the key word - together. We had done nothing exciting or special. I had slept in the chair. Bryan had colored and watched TV. But we were together.
That night I realized something important. Bryan's visits don't have to be a marathon of activity. The important thing is that he knows I love him and want him. He knows he has a place in my life, which is reserved particularly for him. A time that is just for us to be together.
Bryan still comes once a week. We still bake chicken or eat out, make cookies or go for a walk in the park. But every now and then we enjoy our favorite together time, our special feast of love - soup night.
***************************************************
"A "NO" uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a "YES" merely uttered to please, or what is worse, to avoid trouble."
Mahatma Gandhi
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