I was raised a Christian. My dad was a non-practicing Catholic, though. I don’t remember him ever going to church. Mom, on the other hand, was Anglican and never missed Sunday’s service.

Mom worshipped for the entire family, but then again, if you spent even one night at my maternal grandmother’s, you’d understand my Mom’s Sunday habits. At grandma’s, everyone in the household, even us kids, woke up, knelt, covered the head with a scarf, and joined in prayer. Bright and early in the morning! Everyday! We all had a blanket prohibition not to commence the day’s activities before morning devotion.

As a child, if I refused or resisted going to church, I got a sermon from my mother. She played on my conscience that way and it worked. Growing up, I played along and endured weekly Sunday Anglican service until age ten, when I was enrolled in boarding school – the best decision my parents could have made on my behalf!

On Sundays in boarding school, students of protestant faith were required to worship at the Methodist church on campus. The Catholics were given an exit pass to worship at a Catholic church near campus. So, for five years, during the academic year as a boarding student, I was Methodist, except on the Sundays when it suited my needs to be Catholic. Then I obtained an exit pass.

Student movements were monitored and reported to parents by the headmistress, so my parents were aware of my frequent exit passes. Mom did not mind as long as it was church that I attended. Dad didn’t mind which church I attended either, but I really had no business leaving campus. My argument was that I was doing my best to be impartial to both denominations.

When it was time for confirmation, only the Baptist church two miles away from campus had the facilities to accommodate a large student body confirmation. So, at age thirteen, I was confirmed a Baptist. I don’t know what that meant to my parents and, of course, after I moved to the U.S., I chose to affiliate with Presbyterianism. My parents were not dismayed.

I give you this much background simply to say that I’ve been affiliated with, and I’ve spent a great deal of time around, many Christian traditions. One of many religious pontifications I thought I understood and believed in was that to have faith meant having complete trust in God.

Now, with the search for Truth and the experience of awakening, as I began to trust my own experiences rather than rely on anyone or any organization to preach borrowed beliefs, I’ve had to re-examine everything I believed and everything I thought I knew. High on the list of unresolved questions was, “Is faith synonymous with belief?” and if not, “What is the relationship between faith and belief?”

For me, in a spiritual context, to believe is to accept something you don’t know as true. On the contrary, faith is an unwavering trust in the unknown without the need to give the unknown a name. In faith, you know that you do not know and you are perfectly alright with not knowing. To sum it up, I’ll borrow a quote from one of my teachers, Adya, that I think expresses it best, “Belief is an utter lack of faith!”

And you? Do you have faith or do you continue to relegate your understanding and your perspective to some higher power or a set of doctrines?

First and foremost, let’s decouple pain from suffering. Our bodies may experience pain due to an injury or simply from the passage of time (age). We must distinguish such physiological pain from suffering – that is, the anguish that comes from our psychological storyline super imposed on any stimuli or sensation with or without the experience of pain.

Suffering is fundamentally self-created and sustained by our attachments to mental constructs. This is not a novel idea. Hundreds of sages and gurus and philosophers and theologians and teachers have proclaimed this same conclusion for centuries. Some from the mountain top; others in hidden caves, yet others in our nation’s venues. The Indian spiritual teacher, Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, captured the essence of suffering in his classic literature, “I Am That” with a beautiful quote:

The human mind is an amazingly beautiful tool. Look around you. Except for nature’s formation, everything we can see and touch on the planet today is an outflow from a human mind. Our minds are useful for dissection, logical analysis, categorization, discrimination, and judgement. Hence, it is indispensable to express certain limited aspects of our Being. But our minds have gradually and consistently become the single greatest source of our suffering. Collectively, we suffer from devasting diseases of the mind known as fixation and projection.

In The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis’ satirical Christian novel, Screwtape, the senior demon advises Wormwood, his novice nephew demon, that the greatest demonic weapon and strategy is not outright evil, but rather a gradual distractive road to Hell. And this involves small sins like keeping humans distracted with their own ego and mundane everyday concerns, making them obsessively anxious about the future or bitterly fixated on the past, which prevents them from being present with God.

Well, human ignorance lives in full force and hence, human suffering has not diminished at all. We, distracted and captivated by our minds, continue to suffer. We dwell on the past and project future scenarios. So, we not only suffer things that happened years ago, but we especially suffer things that we imagine will happen – the very same things that end up not happening or, when they do happen, they often happen in ways we could never have imagined. Basically, we suffer the things that only exist in our individual minds – with its limited and biased inferences.

What about you? How does your mind ail you? How has it led you astray? Have you kept count as to how often? I mean, how often do you suffer because you’ve let your mind become a dictator and you’ve come to believe it’s version of made-up reality?

If you recognize that your mind is the primary architect of your distress, then you are already ahead of the game!

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Being happy for no reason. Happiness that lasts at least a lifetime. I mean, being happy notwithstanding any unfortunate events; despite all external chaos. What could that possibly feel like? Can you even imagine it?

We all want to be happy. But we keep looking for happiness in places where we can only find its temporary, limited edition, at best. We search outwards, chasing after pleasure and comfort and convenience, wasting an entire lifetime on matters of basic survival.

Long ago, I sought a career in the legal profession. You see, with a title, I imagined that I would be looked upon with admiration and I worked hard to attain my goals. So, for many years as a practicing attorney, I had a career that conferred some dignity and a means to delight myself with the desirable things in life. I was financially independent and, on the outside, I dressed well, very much looked the part of a well-paid international tax attorney, and I kept up appearances. But inside, foiled with dissatisfaction, was on the precipice of decay.

There is nothing wrong with professional aspirations; nothing wrong with desiring and acquiring material possession. This letter is not to discourage your desires and preferences. Those are topics for future letters. The message here is: whether you prefer a whiter ceramic toilet or a gold gilded toilet, it is still a toilet! So, desire and prefer and acquire to your heart’s content. But let’s be clear: pouring time and resources on matters of preferences may appear as the pursuit of happiness when, in truth, all we are doing is channeling all our life’s energy into baseline living requirements – life’s fundamental necessities.

Besides, if you waved a magic wand and manifested everything you’ve ever dreamed of and all of it showed up for you right now, then what? Will your manifested treasures provide you with lasting happiness, do you think? Those objects we chase, the ones we aim for and bank our happiness on, are moving targets. They look different each time we blink. Now, it’s a Ferrari; a moment later, we turn the corner and a Lamborghini suddenly looks more appealing. Pause here for a moment: Does this not accurately reflect your own experience?

Are you happy right now? Yes? Why? I mean, what is(are) the reason(s) for your happiness? Ask yourself the question, “What happens to my happiness if my reason(s) for happiness change(s) or disappear(s)? Because that is guaranteed. It(they) will or you will.

Are you not happy? Why not? What’s keeping you from lasting happiness? Are you stuck playing the game of survival – immersing your life’s energy into matters of basic living requirements; waiting for that one person to show up or the one thing to happen; chasing the constantly changing objective; the forever-moving finish line? Ants are also playing survival games; so are viruses and bacteria – they mutate to survive. Ask yourself another question, “If all there is to life is to simply survive, what is the point of having a human body – the most dynamic and efficient mechanism with the capacity for conscious evolution?

If you are content to run on that wearisome treadmill, continuously in motion but never getting anywhere; content to ride the undulating alternate waves between happiness and sadness, joy and despair, bliss and misery, not knowing which side of the shore you’ll end up at any given moment, then carry on as usual! But, if it is lasting happiness you desire, then you must summon the courage and discipline to embark on an inward journey to uncover and retrieve pure happiness buried beneath a pile of rubbish. Venture a return journey home! Eternal happiness is here and always available; waiting to be reclaimed!

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The spiritual maxim, “There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice,” has long been attributed to John Calvin, French theologian and protestant reformer. This maxim has been revamped and restated many times and in numerous ways. One my favorite renditions is that of Adyashanti, “There is more truth and sacredness in a blade of grass than in all of the shrines, scriptures and stories created to honor an idea of God. All of these are labels. All of them are fine. There is nothing wrong with any one of them, until you actually believe they are true.”

The maxim’s numerous renditions for ages, bearing witness across multiple generations, are a testament to the endurance of its sentiments – a timeless principle and universal truth: The divine is in all things, big and small. And to recognize the smallest, most mundane aspects of creation as sacred, not just miraculous experiences, is a true understanding of the divine.

As a teenager, I had a favorite hymn, often song on Sundays during “Sing Song” (A one-hour weekly hymn rehearsal), in Boarding School. It was a hymn from an Ancient & Modern Hymnal written by Cecil Frances Alexander, published in 1848 in her Hymns for Little Children, and sung to the hymn tune composed by William Henry Monk in 1887. In its most simplistic way, the hymn conveys these same sentiments: There’s sacredness in all things.

All things bright and beautiful
All creatures great and small
All things wise and wonderful
The Lord, God made them all

Refrain

Each little flower that opens
Each little bird that sings
He made their glowing colours
He made their tiny wings

The purple-headed mountain
The river running by
The sunset and the morning
That brightens up the sky

The cold wind in the winter
The pleasant summer sun
The ripe fruits in the garden
He made them every one

The tall trees in the greenwood
The meadows where we play
The rushes by the water
We gather every day

He gave us eyes to see them
And lips that we might tell
How great is God almighty
Who has made all things well

This is not about religion or belief systems or affiliations. It is a basic affirmation of our universal interconnectedness. All things, big or small, are sacred. Be curious and experience this for yourself!

I marvel at natural phenomena: The change of seasons, raindrops, ocean waves, plant foliage, flower stigma, and so forth. 1n 2016, I was fortunate to spend an entire morning at Arashiyama Bamboo Grove in the western outskirts of Kyoto. Looking up at the soaring, wide stalks of green moso bamboo, I did not need an explanation of the physical laws of aerodynamics or the spiritual maxims of emptiness to be captivated. I particularly find sacredness in quiet moments; in the animated perfect cycle of inhale and exhale. I don’t need thoughts to recognize the sacredness of breadth.

The bamboo will grow tall and remain flexible. On occasion, cold white balls of ice will hail from the sky. Be awed! It’s ok. You don’t need a scientist to illicit your fascination or curiosity. You need not understand any laws of nature for reverence. And, if you wake up tomorrow and find that all of it has changed; that everything you revered is questionable, it’s all good. Existence is a mystery! Life is a gift!! And you are alive!!!

What things in your life command deep and solemn respect and reverence? What parts of your daily life feel the most meaningful? When, in your daily routine, do you feel most connected to life? When last were you simply enchanted by the sacredness and magic of life?

“I don’t want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there,” is a famous quip attributed to Oscar Wilde, the 19^th century poet and playwright. For me, at age 10, heaven was wherever my friends were.

I attended an all-girls boarding school for five years from age 10 to 15. On my first day of school, I suspect that I may have been the youngest student in all five attending grade levels.

Boarding school was operated under strict rules. This was normal for the culture and time. Each student was assigned to one of four school dormitories – Jasmine, Lavender, Marigold or Carnation. Each dorm had its own colors, matching those of the flowers from which it derived its name. And there was an unspoken expectation that each student would return to her assigned dorm at the beginning of each school year.

A bell preceded and initiated every school activity. We woke up at 5:00 a.m. to “the rising” bell, had breakfast to “the breakfast” bell, and went to morning prep study when that bell rang. We knew when to report for our class periods, take breaks, have lunch, observe siesta, and go to afternoon prep study with a bell’s signal. And we had better recognize the bell mandating dorm lights to be turned off for bedtime.

Inter-House Competitions (inter-dormitory contests in sports, debate, and drama activities) were fierce. Peer pressure demanded loyalty to one’s dorm colors and dorm participants.

I don’t remember how my classmates handled school rules. Whether the Bell Prefects simply perfected their sense of time or had the privilege of owning a wristwatch, I don’t recall. I observed the ringing bells and really tried to keep up with the rules to avoid punishment. But I did not adhere to many rules, particularly those that were implied – that much I know.

I proudly cheered for my friends during dorm competitions (whether or not we lived in the same dorms) and, after the first year, each new school year, I moved into a new dorm – wherever my friends were staying. Yes, perhaps there was something less emotionally demanding about waking up to a 5:00 a.m. rising bell with a pal but, I really did not mind the cultivation of discipline at school. In fact, Boarding school remains one of my fondest memories. However, informal sorority aside, I found the rigid restrictions to be limiting.

What my school mistresses or principal deemed as a lack of respect for established social patterns; and my classmates may have viewed as frivolous disruption of school rules, was, in hindsight, nothing more than a display of the need to be free from constraints; the yearning to escape perceived restraints.

I felt it very strongly then. Although, on the occasions my parents were summoned to the principal’s office, I could not formulate the correct words to explain my propensity for brazenness. But I felt it – that longing not to be confined, an undeniable inner movement toward limitless expansion, was very much awake in me even at a young age.

Is life pulsating in you? Do you feel it tugging for expansion? Where in your life do you feel an innate impulse to expand beyond the limitations of your mind? Where do you feel a ravenous hunger to explore beyond the constraints of societal expectations? To feel alive and to live boldly despite physical boundaries?

Have you given this your attention or do you push the impulse down; suppress it… hoping it would go away? Has it disappeared or does it keep calling you forth?

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Language has limitations. This becomes apparent once one tries to convey matters of the heart or matters for the heart. Even with our expansive collection of vocabulary, words are subjective – meaning different things to different people.

Take the word “love” as an example. It’s a welcoming word. It is sought after. We love to love and to be loved. Growing up in my small African village, my parents never, not once, said, “I love you” to me or to any one of my siblings. Yet, there was never a doubt, not one, that they would gladly lay down their lives for our sake. Differences in cultural expression aside, I began asking myself, “What is love, then? What does it mean to love? How do I define it?”

Can I love someone whom I’ve never met?

Can I love someone without their ever knowing?

Does my love for someone change based on their feelings for someone else?

Can I have love for someone whom I know dislikes me deeply?

In past relationships when I said, “I love you” What was my motivation? Was I seeking something in return? Reciprocity, perhaps?

After much introspection, my answers, based on my experiences, were simple.

When I am contracted at the heart center, love becomes an emotional storyline for my mind. I can crawl back to memory lane and retrieve past instances when a romantic or intimate relationship did not turn out or end in the way my mind had imagined it, anticipated it, and projected a grande finale. Ironically, the process of formulating logical reasons for a storyline strives to negate love, the very building block or foundation for logic.

But, when my heart space is open, uncontracted, I find love…always unfailingly present. My experience informs me that love is not an emotional state. I cannot give it and take it away because fundamentally, love is what I am. It is what you are. And the wonderful thing about our fundamental nature is that it is always present. Always! No matter our psychological state or emotional condition; no matter the disappointments claimed by our minds, in our hearts, love is always available and always accessible.

So, the next time you use the word “love”, pause for a moment … go to the heart…feel into it… pour your heart in…… and ask yourself the question, “What do I really want to express?”

When I was a child, the elders in my native African village did not make sense. They used proverbs, idioms, and adages as a way of communicating with each other and with the young. They often gathered at the village square, their heads joined together as if in an initiation of sorts, smiling and nodding in agreement and taking turns impressing one another with nonsensical jargon—was how I considered it then. They would say to us, “Children, cut your coat according to your size,” and to reinforce the point, they said, “A sheep that is eager to grow horn should ask the ram how its neck feels,” as if layering on another adage clarified the first one. Even when explanations followed, we, the young, were left to figure out the gist of the intended message.

Where they fell short, the grownups in my family picked up the slack. My grandparents, aunts, and uncles all spoke in tongues. It was a village conspiracy, and my mother was the ringleader. Mom was a walking encyclopedia of idioms and adages. As a schoolteacher, they were her go-to tools for encouragements, reprimands, and congratulations. Mom did cast many, many adages my way and all with good intentions, I was sure—to compel me to think, to reinforce my confidence, or to reel me in so that I would comport myself.

Years have since passed and, fortunately, the village conspiracy was instrumental in nurturing an approach for probing introspection. Hence, on this platform, as we contemplate the nature of love and reflect deeply on the experience of beauty, I am returning to the use of familiar proverbs and adages in the form of notes —sometimes as an aid for a deeper examination; sometimes to illustrate an unsettling insight; and other times as a coarse filament to be spun, stretched, and wound around my letters to absorb their perspective.

Thank you for being here.