Ok, you guys. In a state of emotional anguish while in
college, I consulted a friend on how she continually projected love and
kindness outwards towards those she encountered. This friend replied (in a radiant
state of beatitude that could have irritated even the most devout believers in
this truth) that love and kindness came naturally to her. She held goodwill
towards others and was unfailingly compassionate, simply because there was no
other way for her to be. Of course, for this particular person, whom the
majority of my friends and I worshipped as a minor goddess, this claim just so happened
to be exasperatingly true. At this point in our conversation, of course, for no
other purpose that I could see than to rub my nose in her enlightenment,
this friend dreamily floated into the kitchen to make me a cup of herbal tea
and bring me an organic, homemade baked good.
For me, loving and being kind has never come quite this
easily. Not to say that it isn’t my intuition and general intention, simply
that there are often more complex emotions which get in the way before love and
kindness have a chance to manifest. Just to name a few: suspicion, pride,
jealousy, obsession, and the real kicker: judgment. Not my proudest qualities,
but there you have them. When left to its own devices, my mind will opt for one
of these eight times out of ten, with love and kindness waiting patiently and
regrettably on the backburner.
This is why, for me, experiencing true emotions of love and kindness takes work. I have to make a
conscientious effort to remember that people are generally good and worthy of
my trust, and not so separate from me as my mind tends to suspect. At times I’m
very good at practicing love and kindness—both towards myself and others— and
then of course at other times my priorities get jumbled and I’m forced to face
the harsh reality from some illuminating encounter or conversation.
For me to get over these ruts, it helps to remind myself
that everyone, everyone, is working
through their own issues and problems. No one’s suffering is any better or
worse than anyone else’s. Actually, what’s helped me a lot recently has been
sitting. That’s right: sitting. Here’s what I do (it’s really complicated so
you might want to take notes): I sit at my kitchen table facing the street, at any and all hours
of the day, and watch what’s going on around me. I watch the traffic pass:
women on motos going to the market to buy food for the day; kids on their bikes
going to and from school, tired or bored or bobbing their heads singing their
favorite Khmer pop song to entertain themselves on the ride; a leathery-skinned
Khmer man with a kroma, or scarf,
wrapped around his waist, smoking and leading his oxen to water during the
hottest part of the day; a chicken at my feet pecking at leftover fruit peels,
eyeing me warily until my host dad issues a resounding “SHOO!” from inside the
house that sends him clucking, scattering feathers as he goes.
I see how everyone around me is going about their business, always
with lively eyes and a ready smile, working with the unfolding of the day, even
in a place that can be as harsh and unforgiving as Cambodia with its relentless
heat and demanding realities: taking the kids to school, going to the market
for the day’s shopping, washing the families clothes by hand, cleaning the
house, watching the colicky baby, making lunch, drying rice, preparing fish, chopping
wood, sifting rice, making dinner… Only to release a small wary yawn before going
to bed and doing it all over again the next day. Needless to say, contemplating
the reality of what this must be like puts my problems into a much clearer
perspective. It’s a quiet reminder that though we are all suffering in our own
very personal, equally aching ways, we each have the capacity to bring each
other out of it with the love and kindness we choose to share with each other on a daily basis. Nothing is so powerful a motivator for a personal commitment to being loving and kind as that.
