“Your joy is not a betrayal” has stayed in my heart from the moment it passed your lips. Such a powerful, liberating mantra. It reminded me deeply of Thay’s writing in The Heart of the Buddha’s Teachings where he explained that so many people believe the Buddha’s teachings are solely about the cessation of suffering, but they are in equal parts about the cultivation of joy. Thank you for that essential reminder in these deeply challenging times.
The snapshot is of this moment. Or moments ago. I finish reading your piece and sit in a quiet corner in my living room next to an open window with my coffee. The temperature outside is getting warmer by the minute and I delay closing the windows and turning on the AC as I nudge closer to the window to feel an 80 degree breeze.
I’m alone right now, which is rare in the home. My mind wanders to next year when I’ll be taking two daughters to college and my heart both sinks and expands. I’ll only have one kid left in the home. My mind wanders to the future and I’m forever pulling it back.
My joy is not a betrayal. Neither is my peace. I’m at peace now and more often than ever before. Thank you, sobriety. In the news, all i see is war and fighting of some sort. What is real? My home, my environment, my community; peaceful. This is my experience and how can my honest experience be a betrayal? At the same time, I am aware this is not everyone’s experience so I sit in gratitude and sip my coffee, stare at the bees on the tree, write these words and pray peace finds all of us and not just some of us.
And I think of you, Elena. Your words, your art, your teaching and your very person showing the way to peace by becoming more and more yourself. And I see the impact of our spiritual practice on the collective and I am inspired and excited. Because joy begets joy. Peace begets peace. And that’s everything.
That’s my morning snapshot. Thank you for inviting me and us to become more aware of it and share it with the group. So much love for you and all.
This phrase strikes a chord with me-perhaps something I needed to hear (and still need to hear) during the most turbulent moments of caretaking my elderly father and recoiling from the sudden yet unsurprising dismantling of my family. On one hand sitting in the sadness-allowing it to marinate my entire being felt like the thing I was supposed to do. How could I be joyful when there was so much pain and loss? How could I partake in simple pleasures and celebrations with my husband and children when my own mother, father, brother and sister-everyone I once lived with under one roof-now refused to even be in the same room altogether anymore?
Something I once knew with such certainty now completely nonexistent. I scrambled to pick up any of the pieces I could-only to finally face complete failure and acceptance of this great loss.
And what about the outside world-every time I pick up my phone there’s another shooting-another tragedy-another innocent life lost and hate rhetoric smeared across the screen.
How can I carry on with my little luxuries and modest amusements when others are starving or have been met with unimaginable loss?
It’s overwhelming.
So I put down my phone.
I scroll less. Read more. Write more. Listen more.
I create boundaries and find ways to serve.
Find ways to connect and despite it all, open my heart instead of letting it harden.
The duality of this world, I have learned, can break you.
I choose to cling to the things that bring me hope.
I choose to feel joy because we must drink as we pour.
Beautiful Elena. My snapshot: floating and splashing and laughing in the Mediterranean Sea with my two half-Swedish daughters, beautiful young women of 30 and 32, with their adoring men, one Chilean & the other Moroccan. And here I am, their American mom, having made my home in Barcelona, to be closer to them and my future (soon perhaps 😀) as an abuela. I am where I have worked so hard to be and where I see so many possibilities, having traversed the territory of divorce and caregiving for mom, my grief when she died. The themes of letting go and becoming are so resonant for me, and I look forward to your book. What I desire is a loving partner, in this last third, my final chapter. The bath scene between you & your partner, I love that you shared but feel such longing too. Much love to you 💗
I was going to send a snapshot but i don’t see an option in the comment field. It’s of a July North Carolina blue sky umbrella over the mountains with Wild Rhododendron and Mountain Laurel-particularly lush after the hurricane.
There’s a bench in the center of the meadow dedicated to the dogs who passed on the mountain.
This is the place we gathered daily for two weeks after Helene created landslides, cutting us off from the rest of the world. It’s the place where we kept track of our supply chains on white boards, it’s the place the helicopters landed to deliver water, canned food and medicine. They left with many of the elderly, the pregnant woman, and the frightened autumn renters.
It is the meadow where i went to cry when i heard about Texas.
Spring growth covers the wounds but i wonder when we will ration our consumption, at least until we figure out how to be kin with all kin.🌱🌿🫶🏼
“Your joy is not a betrayal” has stayed in my heart from the moment it passed your lips. Such a powerful, liberating mantra. It reminded me deeply of Thay’s writing in The Heart of the Buddha’s Teachings where he explained that so many people believe the Buddha’s teachings are solely about the cessation of suffering, but they are in equal parts about the cultivation of joy. Thank you for that essential reminder in these deeply challenging times.
When I asked what is the ONE book to read, Roshi Joan told me to read THAT book. Whoa. Thank you for reading, T. x
With each reading I find deeper truths. May his peaceful heart, and yours, continue to inform our path forward. 🙏🏻
“Your joy is of actual benefit to all beings.”
Gah, how easily I lose sight of that amidst the mini calamities of my day. When witnessing the enormous tragedies of the world.
I read your words and I think, ah - empathy and joy are companions, holding hands. Settledness.
Thank you, Elena 🙏🏼
yes, dear Allison. thank YOU. x
The snapshot is of this moment. Or moments ago. I finish reading your piece and sit in a quiet corner in my living room next to an open window with my coffee. The temperature outside is getting warmer by the minute and I delay closing the windows and turning on the AC as I nudge closer to the window to feel an 80 degree breeze.
I’m alone right now, which is rare in the home. My mind wanders to next year when I’ll be taking two daughters to college and my heart both sinks and expands. I’ll only have one kid left in the home. My mind wanders to the future and I’m forever pulling it back.
My joy is not a betrayal. Neither is my peace. I’m at peace now and more often than ever before. Thank you, sobriety. In the news, all i see is war and fighting of some sort. What is real? My home, my environment, my community; peaceful. This is my experience and how can my honest experience be a betrayal? At the same time, I am aware this is not everyone’s experience so I sit in gratitude and sip my coffee, stare at the bees on the tree, write these words and pray peace finds all of us and not just some of us.
And I think of you, Elena. Your words, your art, your teaching and your very person showing the way to peace by becoming more and more yourself. And I see the impact of our spiritual practice on the collective and I am inspired and excited. Because joy begets joy. Peace begets peace. And that’s everything.
That’s my morning snapshot. Thank you for inviting me and us to become more aware of it and share it with the group. So much love for you and all.
your peace matters to me. as i read this i felt more calm, steady. thank you, A. x
“how can my honest experience be a betrayal?” Yes. 🤍
🙏🏼😍
Your writing came to life in my mind-the bees in the trees🐝thank you for sharing🩵
God I could not love you more, you earnest little dweeb muffin.
yup. wasn't sure if i should/could go there, so i just did it, i wrote it. for your eyes on it... thank you my sister. we love you over here.
Dweeb muffin♥️♥️
“Your joy is not a betrayal”
This phrase strikes a chord with me-perhaps something I needed to hear (and still need to hear) during the most turbulent moments of caretaking my elderly father and recoiling from the sudden yet unsurprising dismantling of my family. On one hand sitting in the sadness-allowing it to marinate my entire being felt like the thing I was supposed to do. How could I be joyful when there was so much pain and loss? How could I partake in simple pleasures and celebrations with my husband and children when my own mother, father, brother and sister-everyone I once lived with under one roof-now refused to even be in the same room altogether anymore?
Something I once knew with such certainty now completely nonexistent. I scrambled to pick up any of the pieces I could-only to finally face complete failure and acceptance of this great loss.
And what about the outside world-every time I pick up my phone there’s another shooting-another tragedy-another innocent life lost and hate rhetoric smeared across the screen.
How can I carry on with my little luxuries and modest amusements when others are starving or have been met with unimaginable loss?
It’s overwhelming.
So I put down my phone.
I scroll less. Read more. Write more. Listen more.
I create boundaries and find ways to serve.
Find ways to connect and despite it all, open my heart instead of letting it harden.
The duality of this world, I have learned, can break you.
I choose to cling to the things that bring me hope.
I choose to feel joy because we must drink as we pour.
Oh dear Erin.
"I put down my phone.
I scroll less. Read more. Write more. Listen more.
I create boundaries and find ways to serve.
Find ways to connect and despite it all, open my heart instead of letting it harden."
Thank you from all of us.
🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾
Beautiful Elena. My snapshot: floating and splashing and laughing in the Mediterranean Sea with my two half-Swedish daughters, beautiful young women of 30 and 32, with their adoring men, one Chilean & the other Moroccan. And here I am, their American mom, having made my home in Barcelona, to be closer to them and my future (soon perhaps 😀) as an abuela. I am where I have worked so hard to be and where I see so many possibilities, having traversed the territory of divorce and caregiving for mom, my grief when she died. The themes of letting go and becoming are so resonant for me, and I look forward to your book. What I desire is a loving partner, in this last third, my final chapter. The bath scene between you & your partner, I love that you shared but feel such longing too. Much love to you 💗
love love this scene, Amy. might be coming to Barcelona next spring to share the book with Spain... stay tuned. thank you for your thoughtfulness.
Thank you E, Love C
thank you, C. truly appreciate you. x
Love all of this.
I was going to send a snapshot but i don’t see an option in the comment field. It’s of a July North Carolina blue sky umbrella over the mountains with Wild Rhododendron and Mountain Laurel-particularly lush after the hurricane.
There’s a bench in the center of the meadow dedicated to the dogs who passed on the mountain.
This is the place we gathered daily for two weeks after Helene created landslides, cutting us off from the rest of the world. It’s the place where we kept track of our supply chains on white boards, it’s the place the helicopters landed to deliver water, canned food and medicine. They left with many of the elderly, the pregnant woman, and the frightened autumn renters.
It is the meadow where i went to cry when i heard about Texas.
Spring growth covers the wounds but i wonder when we will ration our consumption, at least until we figure out how to be kin with all kin.🌱🌿🫶🏼
After weeks away, I find myself back on Substack — and this is the first piece I read.
Your words, dearest Elena, touch me so deeply. As they almost always do.
I can feel myself again. I can feel US — connected across the globe,
scattered and yet ONE.
Thank you for your open and authentic words.
Doesn’t the Bible say, “You are the salt of the earth”?
That’s exactly how it feels when I’m HERE.
The past few weeks have been turbulent on one hand —
but also deeply connecting, raw, and profoundly meaningful.
I’ve “found” a deep connection to God —
or rather, I’ve remembered Him —
and this remembering has stirred something inside me
that feels like a tsunami on the outside.
It’s frightening to open up to the UNKNOWN —
and yet, this is life: to truly LIVE.
To let go of control and to TRUST.
More than that: to KNOW that all is well.
Even the tragedies unfolding across the earth —
whether at our doorstep or thousands of miles away —
they affect us.
Aren’t those, in a way, our children who lost their lives?
We are all on this journey together.
Empathy knows no bloodline, no nationality.
Thank you, from my heart, for these words.
Sending love and trust to you — and to all of us. 🤍
Oh how I adore each of these little vignettes! “Your joy is not a betrayal.” Thank you for this. Miss you xo