Monthly Archives: May 2014

The Ripple Effect

The impact of our words and actions cause a ripple effect beyond our immediate circle of family, friends, neighbors, associates and brief encounters with strangers. Each impact affects them and in turn everyone in their circles, rippling out further and further until no being is untouched. This is true for each one of us. We are all powerful. Our words and actions truly matter.


This ripple effect has no time boundaries. My parents died over twenty years ago, my grandparents over forty years ago, yet their words are alive in me, still affecting my idea of self and my interpretation of situations. Their words or actions are still sending ripples reverberating down the generations to my children, their children and beyond; to nieces, nephews; to friends and casual acquaintances and their progeny. There truly is no end to it, especially to harsh statements with echoes that keep wounding again and again. The self-doubt that sabotages me so often comes in the form of ‘Who am I to do…?’ My aunt says this is the question the women in my family have lived with for generations. No need to keep us barefoot and pregnant! It seems we have a built in self-stifling mechanism. I doubt this is something exclusive to my family. Does it sound familiar to you? Recognition of the power of our actions and words might make us afraid to say or do anything for fear of causing harm. We could become very self-conscious and tentative. Or it could inspire us to be fully conscious, to be present in this moment and to generate universal loving-kindness. (Which sounds kinda sappy until you do it.) To be present in the moment takes practice. (See basic instructions.) Transmitting lovingkindness is also a practice that begins with ourselves first (May I be well. May I be happy. May I be at peace.) because otherwise we are saying we don’t deserve it. In this way we belittle ourselves and think our words and actions don’t matter. When we think we are of little consequence in the world, the consequences to ourselves and those around us can be painful, sometimes even catastrophic. As you know all too well, the news is filled with the horror stories of some person’s destructive actions. Notice how that someone is always reported to have felt powerless. We are each of us powerful. We don’t acquire it or earn it. This is not a pep-talk. Power is a pre-existing condition of life. It is just the nature of our interconnection, the ripple effect of our actions and words. Through meditation we develop the skill to be fully in the moment, awake and connected. We can sense the ripple effect that we and all beings have in the world. If this seems like an overwhelming responsibility, relax. Remember that at the same time this is true, it is also true that our whole galaxy is only a speck in the cosmos and we are one of seven billion people on this little planet. So it is not all up to us to save the world or to solve every problem.
We can look at history and see that one person can make a difference in the world. Look at Jesus, Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. to name just a few. They weren’t born any more powerful than any other person on the planet. They just used their power as skillfully as they were able for the benefit of all beings. Of course, we don’t need to be high-profile to make a difference. We are all powerful in our own ways, using the skills we inherit and the ones we develop as the natural expressions of the life force that we are. But even more important than believing that we each CAN make a difference is understanding that we each ARE making an impact on the world already. If we are stuck in fear, feeling powerless, our words, actions and non-actions are causing pain. If we are present, if we can let go of the need to prove anything to anyone, then we send out powerful waves of loving-kindness that benefit all beings for generations to come. Now that is power!

The power we have and the power we give away

We each of us have incredible power to impact the world. Every thought that is spoken or acted upon sets into motion a chain of reactions — a ripple effect. Given this nature of things, we can see how important it is to be present, mindful and compassionate.

Even the expression on our face at any given moment can set something into motion, perhaps something we never intended. This was driven home to me when, after the absence of many weeks, a fellow Toastmaster showed up at a meeting. I was happy to see her and mentioned how much I enjoyed her last speech. ‘You did?’ she replied, clearly amazed.

‘Oh yes, very much so!’ I assured her. She then told me that she had been taking time out to lick her wounds after feeling she had given a terrible speech, and one of the indicators to her that it hadn’t been good was the expression of concern she saw on my face while she was speaking.

Oh dear! I don’t remember being concerned. Maybe my mind had wandered for a moment? Maybe I had gas? Who knows? It was so long ago. It never crossed my mind that I could have that much impact just in the way the muscles of my face configure themselves.

She had given me too much power and I had been oblivious to the power I had. It seems that many women in particular do both these things quite readily. We seek approval from outside ourselves, and doubt that anything we say or do could really make an impact on someone else. But it turns out that the people we vest with power are unreliable resources; and conversely, without even knowing it we have encouraged and discouraged those around us at a time when they were unsure of their course and looking for external cues.

Think of a time when you gave up on something you wanted to do because you got discouraged. What discouraged you? What disheartened you? What caused you to lose your enthusiasm for what you were doing?

Was it something someone said, or didn’t say? Was it a look on someone’s face when you talked about it? Or the way they changed the subject or looked away, as if to avoid saying what they thought about it? Or was it your own assumption about what they would say, based on your past observations? It is so very easy to be turned away from a course we were enthusiastic about just the day before. I know this all too well!

At those moments it pays to notice whose opinion we are hearing in our head. What are the words we are hearing? And then to follow the source, question the source and be aware of how we are giving away so much power to a source that perhaps isn’t giving that message at all.

In this kind of inner exploration, the more particular we can get the more effective the process will be. The more clearly we can expose the exact time and place and people in these crystallized message-memories, by describing them in detail, even write them down, the better we will be able to recognize them when they rise up again to sabotage our efforts. Here’s an example from my life:

Circa 1959, in our family home in San Francisco; over after-work cocktails, my parents are having their daily sharings of their days. I was the innocuous eavesdropper sitting in their midst, always amazed at their ability to remember what people said and did with such exactitude. Yet more than 50 years later I perfectly remember their words as that particular evening they belittled a neighbor woman who ‘sits at her typewriter all day long writing a “novel” (air quotes), for God’s sake. Who does she think she is?’

Apparently it doesn’t matter to our tender vulnerable psyches whether we are the subject of the disparaging remarks. I was twelve years old and already writing stories, though not sharing them. Their scoffing laughter at this neighbor made the world feel like an unsafe place for creative pursuits. People would talk behind my back if I dared to think I could write. (I still imagine they do, come to think of it.) My enthusiasm for writing dried up a bit that evening. Being a writer was clearly a foolish activity.

So that’s a very specific memory from my life. Now think of a powerful message-memory from your own life that gives you pause when you think of undertaking something for which you have some enthusiasm. The one that rises up to shoot you down. Flush it out with details, and see yourself and the person or persons in that long ago moment very clearly from this present vantage point of being an adult. This will give you a clearer and more compassionate view.

The purpose of this exercise is not to place blame. Were my parents alive today there would be no benefit in confronting them with it. Their words inadvertently may have set something in motion, but I am the one who keeps those words alive. I am the one who uses the memory as a tool of sabotage, albeit unconsciously.
So I have the power of awareness to see how I use that memory to suck the joy out of a moment of enthusiasm.
I have the power of compassion for my parents in their own fear-based unskillfulness, probably not even registering I was witness to this conversation or that it would matter to me.
I have the power of compassion for my child self who made their words into a monument of memory.
I have the power to understand that as an adult I have many other resources and experiences to draw from to help balance out the effects of that moment.
And I have the power to see that no one in the world is so all-knowing that their opinion on my life should prevail.
This sense of empowerment builds resilience that aids me when I feel under attack. I used to be so defensive. Ask my brother! Ask my husband! I might sulk or I might lash out at the ‘attacker’. Fortunately, through mindfulness practice, I have mellowed. I am not impervious to the pain, but I see more clearly how the process unfolds, how the slight may not have been intended, and if it was intended, the person is lashing out in response to feeling attacked by someone else and is probably projecting it on me. There’s a lot more room for questioning and a lot less need to be right.
I remind myself that ‘I have nothing to prove. I have nothing to defend. I have nothing to hide. I have something to give.’ This phrase that came to me while on a silent retreat years ago supports me still.
The process of recognizing an embedded memory that sabotages or deflates us in order to bring it into the light of our awareness is a most valuable one. As we come upon thought-memories traveling through our field of awareness, we don’t have to shy away from them, feel shame and determine blame. We can hold them in an open loving embrace and let their presence remind us that we are each of us powerful beyond our wildest imagining.
So we see that we are more powerful than we realize and when we discount our power we can inadvertently cause harm. A mild comment might be transformed within a person’s head, amplified, transmogrified into something much more toxic, by the pre-existing condition of childhood taunts, criticisms of self or even of others.
At the same time we may give away our power to others and make life choices based on what we hear from others, even many decades ago.
If we have that much power, can handle our words and even our body language more effectively? If we think praise, can we speak the praise, and say it directly to the person we are praising not to someone else, and can we do so in a timely fashion?
If we rely on others for cues, are we assuming something not in evidence? If so, can we get clarification as quickly as possible? For old wounding words that continue to rankle and deter us from our course, can we do a little investigation to find out whose voices we are listening to, what assumptions we are making? Can we bring them to light, question them, have compassion for the speakers who were dealing with their own struggles, speaking what was said to them when they were young, etc.?
And can we send metta, loving-kindness to them, after we have given it to ourselves? May I be well. May I be at ease. May I be at peace. May I be happy……May you be well, etc.
This is the practice.

The Buddha’s Eight Worldly Winds

It’s been really windy lately. I notice that I get anxious in high wind, imagining how it is sucking the moisture out of the already dry landscape. I notice worry that the wind will topple a tree. Indeed the oak across the street just fell so my worry finds reason and grows stronger. I see how my mind gets caught up in imagining how if there were a fire right now, this wind would turn it into a fire storm. My thoughts travel into the past remembering all the times the wind has beaten against the house like this, causing any present discomfort to be compounded. My thoughts travel into the future, wondering whether with global warming, this hard wind will become stronger. Images from newscasts of the devastation caused by tornadoes in the midsection of the US rise up to remind me of the impermanent nature of these structures we call home.

I notice too how with the wind blowing so hard, everything else going on in my thoughts and emotions is tinged with my distressed reaction. Something that wouldn’t normally bother me now causes aggravation because I am already a little on edge. 


This clear noticing of what is really happening in my experience is not to whine about the wind, or to judge myself for making a mountain out of a molehill, but to compassionately notice how the mind takes me on an unskillful journey away from this moment, how it spreads misery in its wake and compounds the potential for suffering. The noticing and compassion are skillful, and as I focus I feel the tension in my body releasing. This is the practice of mindfulness.


The Buddha created a whole set of teachings based on the changeable nature of wind. The Eight Worldly Winds* is a set of eight paired experiences — pleasure & pain; gain & loss; praise & blame;  fame & disgrace. Like the wind they arise and fall away, then arise again and fall away again. All of life experience is like this.
Here is a drawing I did of the Eight Worldly Winds.

8 worldly winds.jpg

Now let’s look at them one by one.

We seek out pleasure, and don’t want it to end so we cling to it. Why would we not?
Here’s one reason: When we are afraid it will end, we are not really in a state of enjoyment. Instead we are caught up in the suffering of grasping and clinging. The only way we can truly enjoy pleasure is to let go of the fear of losing it. If we allow it to come and allow it to go, the way we might enjoy spending time with a butterfly who has alighted on our extended palm, we savor the moment. We know it is fleeting.  
We recognize that while we may have the power to capture the butterfly and keep it, if we did so the butterfly would no longer be what it is, would no longer be able to give us the pleasure of seeing it flit and fly from flower to flower. To keep it, we would have to kill it. If we did so, we could still admire the colors, shapes and details of the wings, but the essence of what makes it a butterfly is gone. 
In this same way we can notice how pleasure disappears if we hold on too tight, wishing it would go on and on.


We dread pain. Why would we not?
Here’s one reason: When we have a pain and get caught up in how much we don’t want to be in pain, we compound it with self-inflicted suffering. When we are able to fully be present with pain, we can see how it becomes a series of physical sensations that change constantly, diminish over time and eventually pass away.
One of my granddaughters who is an adult now was terrified of bees when she was little. She wasn’t allergic to them but she was still afraid of being stung, so she refused to go out in our garden. I sat with her and asked her, ‘What are you afraid will happen?’

‘I’m afraid a bee will sting me.’  

‘And if a bee did sting you, then what would happen?’ 

‘It would hurt.’ 

‘Have you ever been hurt before?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘And what happened when you were hurt?’ 

‘I  cried.’ 

‘And then what happened?’ 

‘The hurt stopped after a little bit and I stop crying.’

‘And then what did you do?’

‘I went and played.’

And with that statement she smiled at me with the light of recognition. Then she hopped off my lap and went straight outside to run around the garden with great joy and abandon.
We can do this for ourselves as well. We can come into skillful relationship with the Worldly Wind of pain, and not let the fear of it rule us. We use common sense, but we don’t stop living just to avoid pain, because that state of avoidance is ongoing pain.
It’s one of the ways we create dukkha, the chronic suffering that comes from our grasping at, clinging to and pushing away these Worldly Winds.

We like to gain a new friend, strength, ability, knowledge, health and wealth, and we are determined to hold on to what we’ve got. Why would we not?
Here’s one reason: While opening to the wealth of the world is a delight and there is maintenance required, when we cling to a it we strangle it, whether it’s a friendship or strength, ability, knowledge, health or wealth. When we experience the naturally occurring changes of life, we suffer much worse than simple disappointment. We fall into a sense of diminishment that sucks the joy out of every moment spent with the gains we have made.
We fear loss of loved ones, of health, wealth, strength, ability and anything else we value. Why would we not?
Here’s one reason: We create an ongoing state of suffering that precedes the loss. When the loss occurs, as it will, we can’t be present for the experience because we are still struggling, trapped under all the layers of fear we have created. If we can’t bring ourselves to be present with the loss, then how will we ever recover from it?
As women of a certain age, my students and I have all lost some of the people who mattered most to us in the world. So we know about loss. This knowing informs us. We would never wish for it or wish it on anyone, and yet when we are present with the loss itself, when we feel the physical and emotional impact of loss in each moment, we notice how it shifts and changes, arises and falls away. This noticing makes us wiser and more resilient. It carves within us the capacity to hold more love and deeper compassion.


We enjoy praise so we do things to earn it. Why would we not?
Here’s one reason: Chasing praise from another person throws us out of balance. We can’t be grounded or authentic if we are second-guessing what someone else would like us to be. Ironically, we can’t hear the praise when if it comes because we are caught up in our hopes, fears and expectations.
As women we may be more prone to make choices in order to get praise. Our feelings may be hurt if our mate doesn’t compliment a meal we cooked. And heads up to husbands: silence is often interpreted as criticism.
Of course we want whoever eats what we cook to enjoy it. But can we live enough in the present moment to arrive at the dinner table having so thoroughly enjoyed the process of cooking that we are not hankering after praise? Can we be so present with the experience of eating the meal, and with the pleasure of the company, that we are not waiting to hear ‘Wow, you are the greatest cook on the planet!’? Expectation sours our own enjoyment. We can’t taste a thing.


We so dread blame that we’re careful to do everything we should and nothing we shouldn’t. Why would we not?
Here’s one reason: While it is wise to lead a blameless life by living with integrity, honesty and kindness, sometimes we fail. In a moment of oblivion or distress, we do something that causes harm.
If we are tied up in knots of fear of being blamed, we will be more likely to do something unskillful, since our intention is not aligned with being present and being compassionate, but with some future scolding we might receive.
When blame falls on us can we be skillful in how we deal with it? Can we acknowledge our error or misjudgment? And if the blame is unjustified, can we see it as simply an error and not an indictment of us?


We crave recognition, maybe even fame. Why would we not?
Here’s one reason: Because the longing for recognition drags us out of the present moment. We live in our minds in some future moment when we will receive the recognition we so deserve. If that moment ever comes, we won’t have the practiced skill of being present in order to notice it. We will be craving greater and greater recognition.
Even if we don’t relate to the word ‘fame’, we each have our reputation. Among our family, friends and work associates we become known for certain qualities, traits and behaviors. While praise is a one-time thing, reputation is cumulative, and colors how we are perceived for years to come.
We want to avoid disgrace. Why wouldn’t we?
Well here’s one reason. Disgrace can become such a terrifying outcome that people in certain cultures would rather die than be disgraced. But even if that is not the case, allowing the shadow of potential disgrace to loom over us can really throw us out of balance, blind us to the rest of what is going on in the present moment.  
If we live mindfully, aware of our connection with all life, aware of the impact our choices have on ourselves, those around us and the world, while we will not be impervious to failure or error, we will be more likely to have the wisdom to know how to make amends and assure we don’t make that particular mistake again. We can recognize the universal nature of this and all the Eight Worldly Winds.
Our feelings around reputation can extend beyond ourselves. One student pointed out that if we identify with groups — a favorite team, a political party, a country — we feel connected and affected by their triumphs and stardom as well as their failures and disgrace.
With our previous exploration we can see how we might, through awareness, temper the effect of these Eight Worldly Winds. If notice them, we notice that they pass.
If we note ‘pleasant’ or ‘unpleasant’ for any experience, we strengthen our ability to see clearly the strong lure to get caught up in a story about the pleasant or unpleasant experience, and the emotions that are ready to rise up to further entangle us in associated memories, planning, worry, regret, daydreaming, etc.
At any moment during this entanglement of the mind, we can recognize it, and reset our intention to be present rather than lost in the past or future. When we do this, we begin to see the nature of what is. If we see in this moment one of the Eight Worldly Winds arising, and we stay present to observe it, we will see that it is insubstantial. Under observation it breaks down into component parts. We can see the desire or the fear underlying it. Recognizing the underlying longing or fear, we can be compassionate with ourselves, and that quality of kindness offers a release from the attachment to the Worldly Wind. As we stay present, we see that the worldly wind changes over time. It is impermanent. It arises and falls away.  We can simply be aware of this big wind passing through our field of experience.
If we can open our view wide enough to see the nature of how they arise and fall away again and again, we can find ease in simply being alive and present to experience it all.
Remember the story of the farmer who lost his horse? It applies very well here, so I’ll tell it again.

A farmer’s horse got loose from the corral and disappeared. The farmer’s neighbor said, ‘What a calamity! How will you plow your fields without your horse?’ A few days later the horse returned with six wild horses in tow. Wow! Now the neighbor said, ‘That’s fantastic! What great luck!’Then the farmer’s son fell off the horse while trying to tame it, and he broke his leg. ‘How terrible!’ the neighbor sympathized. The next week the army came and took all able-bodied young men, but not the son hobbling around on crutches. The neighbor could not believe the farmer’s good fortune. At every turn the neighbor reacted as if tossed around on the winds of fortune. But each time, whether the neighbor commiserated or congratulated, the farmer simply said he didn’t know whether this was good or bad fortune. Maybe yes, maybe no. He couldn’t say.

 The farmer was wise. He recognized that none of us know the outcome of any given event, that all things and all experiences are insubstantial, impermanent, and beyond our control. He recognized the nature of the Eight Worldly Winds.

In moments of clarity, when we are fully present, we recognize this as well. We can simply be present with the experience as it arises and falls away. Arises and falls away…

*  ‘Eight Worldly Winds’ is one translation. Others are ‘Eight Worldly Dharmas’, and ‘The Failings of the World’. This is from the Lokavipatti Sutta of the Pali Canon, the earliest scriptures of the Buddha’s teachings, which had been passed down orally from generation to generation of monks for 500 years until in 1 BCE, they were committed to writing.

When this moment pales by comparison

Recently we went on an outing to a narrow peninsula that juts out into the Pacific, cupping Drakes Bay, called Chimney Rock. A beautiful place any time by any standards, but there is a certain time in the Spring when this narrow stretch of land with its steep cliffs on either side is thick with fields of wildflowers, seals birth their young on the beach below, and migrating whales pass by on their way north.

How could we not go every year to such a spectacular place? Well it is a long drive, but the real reason we don’t is that one visit many years ago was so special, so magical that for at least a few years after that I didn’t want to go again, lest I dilute that perfect memory of that previous experience.

Have you ever had the fear of losing an experience by trying to repeat it? My students did. One said she feels like she can never go back to Venice, because it was so exquisite. I totally understand this. We don’t want to mess with that perfect memory, diminish it by imposing new memories on the same place.

But are we then just collectors of memories? What does this say about who we believe ourselves to be?

Remember when we explored the Five Aggregates. One of the Aggregates was cognition, how our thinking brain perceives the world and the knowledge base we accumulate. We enjoy adding a new lovely memory, like a jewel to add to the crown of remembered experience we hold to be an important part of who we are. What a Deluxe Dukkha* Delivery System that is!

Even if we are able to retain memories our whole life, if we enshrine them, they lure us into the past, away from this moment. We pull them out and admire them when we don’t want to face what is. But life is not enriched by living elsewhere in our minds, in other times or places. We cause suffering for ourselves and for those around us, who may feel they are not enough to hold our attention, or whose concerns cannot be met because we are in a state of avoidance. (This is not to diminish the richness of sharing stories with loved ones who ask to hear them. But if the need is strong to live in the past, then it becomes clear this is an escape from something in the present.)

Beyond the fear of polluting a perfect memory, there are other reasons a repeated experience pales by comparison with the first time. Any brand new experience tends to get our full attention, doesn’t it? We are more likely to be present with whatever is going on, to notice the light, the texture and other sensory details of that moment.

The next time we go to the same place or eat the same meal, it’s just harder to pay the same level of attention. What was new before is no longer new, just a part of our ongoing experience of being in the world. Not memorable. Give us a daily dose, like a commute, and most of us will stop noticing large portions of our experience altogether. We might remember something noticeably different from usual, but the rest is just wallpaper to our day. To create that sense of aliveness, we feel we must keep traveling to different places we’ve never been, try new restaurants, new dishes, new forms of entertainment, new adventures, new outfits, or new decor.

The body of precious memory we carry — That magical carpet of wildflowers! That gondola ride! — acts as a powerful obscuring filter through which we see (or don’t see!) the current moment. We cannot recreate the first time we encountered something new. It is gone. But we hold it tight and get caught up in comparing mind.

Between not paying attention to what is and looking through the filter of what was, how is it possible to engage in this second experience with the same rapt attention?

The other day when we got out to Chimney Rock, there was a perfectly horizontal stripe of light mist in Drake’s Bay that made it appear to be a modernist landscape. As we headed down the path toward the point we encountered a female tule elk that kept running around and squatting. Given her bulky middle section she might have been giving birth.

We saw a little mole peeking out of his hole — exciting in the wild, less so in the garden. And then the wildflowers started revealing themselves, plenty of variety, lots of beauty. Okay, maybe it’s not a solid carpet of flowers like that one magical time, but this would not be a bust.

Then we saw our first whale. Phew! Comparing mind was beginning to relax. But then it became a comparing numbers game. How many whales would we see? That one magical time we saw a pod of whales, mothers and babies, and we followed them all around the point. It had been such a still day we could even hear their calls.

This time while out at the point having a picnic, we met two retired women from the East Bay who said they come every year to Chimney Rock. We enjoyed watching the whales with them, five all together, and there was a peregrine falcon sitting nearby on the cliff’s edge for an exhilarating few seconds before he flew off. Okay! This was it’s very own quite spectacular day.

But what if this trip was a bust? If nothing had met our expectations? One time
we went on a hike up in the mountains around Carson Pass in the Sierra. The trail from Woods Lake up to Lake Winnemucca in an El Nino year had a wildflower display that was unbelievably gorgeous. Two years later we returned in hopes of replicating our first experience, but all we got was a muddy trail and an occasional flower here and there. We turned back and found another trail we hadn’t tried before.

How much of this disappointment is the environment and how much is our minds? Being relieved that the environment supplied sufficient beauty and diversity is not the same as coming to ‘beginner’s mind’ where whatever the experience, we are at home in our breath, present in the moment, alive.

When we meditate we might compare this meditation to one we did before. Perhaps we had experienced a state of bliss. Had we only known we would turn around and use this exquisite experience as an instrument of torture in every subsequent meditation, it would not have been so blissful!

So what can we do?

First we can notice our comparing mind and smile at its capacity to get itself caught up in a tangle, like a little kitten in a ball of yarn. “Oh sweetheart, look at you, caught up in the tangle again,” and then we can bring our attention back to the present.

When we are present there isn’t much room for comparing mind. And when it crops up we recognize it for what it is — the desire to replicate joy. That’s not such a bad motivation, but as we see it in action we see that it causes us, and sometimes those around us, to suffer. Oh it’s not a terrible suffering, but it tends to suck the joy right out of our experience, and often out of the experience of those around us. It becomes a habit of mind, a chronic state that does a disservice to the moment we are in, the only moment that exists, the only moment we have to savor.

What makes a magical moment anyway?  if we are truly present, fully anchored in awareness of physical sensation, of the sights, sounds, aromas, tastes and texture of this moment, we discover our full capacity to be alive, and that is joyful, whatever is going on.

Exercise

Spend a few minutes right now, wherever you are, just noticing what’s going on in this moment. 
For example, as I write this: The last light is on the trees waving in the breeze (pleasant), which is also rustling some paper by the open window (mildly unpleasant). There are bird sounds (pleasant twittering and mildly unpleasant squawks) and a distant hum of commute traffic. The air, so hot all day, is cooling. My stomach is feeling the urge to get some dinner cooking. I notice both the desire to finish this writing and the urge to get up. (At odds, but not totally unpleasant while just observing it.) 
I could go on, but tell me, what is this precious moment like for you?

*Dukkha is the Sanskrit word for suffering.