Beneath It All

I was having an intense experience. After decades of meditation, countless hours on my cushion following my breath, all those annual silent retreats, you’d think I’d have some skill at calming my mind. But on this particular day, my thoughts were bombarding me like a full-on military assault. Jack Kornfield, one of my teachers, describes this as a “waterfall of thoughts.” Well, if this was a waterfall, I was drowning under it. I could barely come up for air.

The Buddha is quoted as saying that life is suffering, The First Noble Truth. (And honestly, I always take ancient quotations with a grain of salt. The guy never wrote anything down. Same with Jesus. It’s hard not to wonder what’s been lost or added or mistranslated over the centuries, but I digress.)
My mind would not let go of this idea. It just kept circling: It’s all suffering. Even the “good” stuff is just suffering with sparkles on. The Buddha was right. It’s an endless cycle of suffering, not just for me but for all humans and all beings. The trees, the bats, the dingos, the ocean, every living thing struggling. And there’s no getting out of it.

For the first time in my life, I felt an intense fear of dying. Me, the woman who leads Death Cafés and Write Your Own Obituary workshops. I’m usually pretty comfortable with the topic. But suddenly it felt terrifying, like death might just be another doorway into more suffering.

I reached out to two friends, but each was in their own struggle. Well-intentioned, but not available. I kept throwing up flares: I called a dear mentor, an 88-year-old woman I’ve studied with for years...voicemail. I texted my naturopath, the doctor who once shepherded me out of scurvy (yes, scurvy...turns out too much kale can block vitamin C absorption). No reply. It was Saturday; everyone deserves a day off.
Finally, I texted my therapist. She called almost immediately.

I told her I was stuck in this loop, convinced that the First Noble Truth was the whole truth, and if that was the case, I didn’t know how to live with it. It felt like everything was for naught, like the best we can do is try to make the suffering suck a little less. Like we’re all just holding hands and trudging through mud because there’s nowhere else to go.

It was dark. I was dark. And my therapist didn’t bat an eye. She stayed with me, asked good questions, and then offered a guided visualization.

She said:
Get comfortable, lying down if that works. Adjust your clothes, support your knees, nestle your head, do whatever you need to feel held. Take several slow, deep breaths. Let your exhale be a little longer than your inhale. Drop your weight a bit more into whatever’s supporting you.

Now imagine there’s a colander, strainer, sieve, or net resting at the soles of your feet. This net begins to rise slowly, steadily. As it moves up your body, it collects everything you’ve carried, pain, suffering, trauma, disappointments, injustices, old stories, inherited wounds. Let this sieve pass gently through each part of you, gathering every scrap of hurt, every heavy thing your body, mind, and spirit have endured.

When it reaches the crown of your head, imagine it lifting above you, heavy with all that debris. And then ask yourself:
What remains when all of that is removed? When the pain, trauma, illness, oppression, grief, and fear are sifted out completely...what is left at your core?

I started laughing and crying at the same time. What was left was love. Undeniably, unmistakably...love. I could feel it in my bones.

I couldn’t believe no one had taken me through this visualization before. Sure, countless teachers, yoga instructors, clergy, influencers, and more books than I’d like to admit have told me “there is only love,” that “all is one,” that “we return to love.” And I’d always rolled my eyes. It didn’t match what I saw in the news or the world. It felt thin, like a spiritual bumper sticker.

But here, in this moment, stripped of everything else, love was what remained. At the core. Underneath it all.

My therapist then reminded me of the story of the Golden Buddha. Many of you know it: In Thailand there was an old clay Buddha, ancient and revered. One day a crack appeared, and something shiny glimmered beneath it. When the monks shined a light in the crack they were stunned, the statue was made of solid gold. Centuries earlier, during wartime, it had been covered in clay to protect it from invaders, and the secret was lost.

The story is used often, and for good reason:
We humans do the same thing. We cover our innate goodness, our creativity, our worthiness, our kindness with layers of mud, fear, shame, comparison, judgment, self-hatred, “not-enoughness,” and a lifetime of inherited beliefs that obscure our brightness. Most of it isn’t true. But it prevents us from seeing our own gold and from allowing others to see and bask in it.

As we move toward Winter Solstice, our longest night, let’s remember that the light is returning, a little more each day. And our own inner light is always present too, beneath the stress, the chaos, the busyness, the comparison, the grief, the pain, and everything else that this wild human life brings. Under all of it lives a deep, abiding benevolence.

Beneath it all, there is love. Acceptance. Calm. Kindness. Connection. Support.
May we remember our inner gold and trust that all beings are made of this same luminous material. We just have to see through the mud.

Happy Holy Daze!

Love, Maggie Mae