There is Oil in the Sesame

Twice this week I read a discourse by my spiritual teacher called, “There is Oil in the Sesame.” Not necessarily because the discourse is profound, but rather because I couldn't be bothered to pick a different reading for our special gathering on Thanksgiving. But as I've written about before, there are no coincidences so. . .

The passage quotes sages of yesteryear who said, “God lies hidden in everything, like oil in sesame seeds, like ghee in curd, like water in stream beds, like fire in wood. Only those who adhere strictly to benevolent truthfulness, and perform spiritual practices, can churn the mind and realize the Supreme entity out of it.”

Even the smallest thing may be transformed. Photo by Percy Pham on Unsplash.

The quote stuck with me because I'm reminded through force and friction, something new may emerge. We often say through pressure coal becomes a diamond, but that's a myth. Diamonds are related to coal, but they're like the more pure cousin so no, if I squeeze coal really, really hard, it will not become diamond. The metaphor still holds, but with a more mundane example, such as extracting oil from sesame, or fire from wood. From looking at a little sesame seed, you wouldn't know it contains oil. From looking at a piece of wood, you wouldn't know rubbing it together creates fire. In both cases though, it's true.

The context of the sesame quote is a spiritual one – my teacher uses it to goad us to practice meditation, to remind us intense spiritual effort is what allows us to realize the divinity within us, but for this blogpost, and my life, I'm thinking about the quote more in the terms of personal hardship.

I want life to be easy. I want to glide through everything without any effort. If I could be comfortable all the time, that would be great. This quote about sesame seeds reminds me I'm not experiencing difficulties for kicks. It's not because some dude in the sky said, “I need a laugh today. Let's make life miserable for Rebekah.” No, it's happening for my transformation.

I don't know many things, but one thing I know for sure, without a doubt, is life is synonymous with transformation. Even if I had the easiest life, if someone hand-fed me everyday and carried me from place to place so as to never sully my feet, I would still age. My body would still degenerate and eventually I would die. That is inevitable. Nothing stays the same. Nothing. And if life is about transformation, if it will happen regardless of my input, I'm again wondering if every trial I endure is in service of making me into something greater. Of transforming me into someone I otherwise would not have been. Sesame seeds do not secrete oil without pressure, wood wouldn't burn without friction, and maybe I wouldn't be who I am without hardship. Maybe every difficult experience I endure, maybe every hurdle in my path, is an opportunity to change me into someone better. Magic and divinity lie latent within me and it seems pressure is the way to force it out.

Do I like it? Of course not, but these days I'm holding the belief these things happen for my transformation, even if I don't get to see the consequences immediately. And I'd like to believe that's true for everyone.

I dream of a world where we realize there is more to us than we likely know. A world where we understand difficulties transform us, often into someone greater than we would have expected. A world where we realize everything that happens to us is in service of transformation. A world where we remember we are like sesame seeds and we have the capacity to become oil.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

Allowing Anger in Spirituality

I've burned with anger this week, both from occurrences in my personal world and in our society. Anger shows up to say, “This is not OK,” and there are many things I'm not OK with. I know every spiritual teacher, including mine, says it's important to cultivate non-anger, that we shouldn't allow anger to overtake us, and on one level I agree. On another, I don't.

I am a human being, not a robot, and that means every feeling under the sun I've felt, including anger. For me to not feel angry would be an act of suppression and repression. It wouldn't be real. If I pretended anger never coursed through me, I'd become a passive doormat OK with anything and everything that happened to me. Anger gives me agency. It demonstrates in a visceral way what's important to me. Anger, like all emotions, acts as a messenger.

Fiery anger is also allowed. Photo by raquel raclette on Unsplash.

I also think about how my spiritual teacher behaved, not only what he said. In practice, he became angry when someone lied, cheated, stole, or disregarded a directive. At the same time, someone else could lie, cheat, steal, or disobey, and he would smile and laugh. Spiritual teachers are complicated and obviously understand every person and situation is different and requires a different response. However, his behavior demonstrates to me he wasn't attached to anger. Anger could flare up but it could also dissipate easily. One minute he could rage against someone and as soon as they showed contrition, he would soften and shower the person with love. He wasn't attached to anger, but it still showed up. I mention all this because it's clear to me anger is a tool that everyone uses.

When I think of my spiritual teacher, I see he used anger with finesse, which is also something I'm learning. If I keep anger locked away in a drawer somewhere, when it comes time to use it, I may hurt myself or those around me because I'm clumsy and inexperienced. I wouldn't let a toddler handle a knife until they developed more dexterity, and that's what I think is happening with me right now. I'm becoming more dexterous with anger so I may wield it appropriately as the situation allows.

I also want to express I have a theory as to why spiritual teachers talk about cultivating peace instead of anger. It's easy to get stuck in a rageful place, to hold a grudge. People become angry, spiteful, and bitter all the time. By not fanning the flames of anger on a macro level, spiritual teachers are pointing us toward subtler emotions, such as love. I'm reminded though, you can be angry at someone you love. That love is big enough to hold anger as well. And expressing anger is sometimes the most loving thing a person can do.

I dream of a world where we allow the expression of anger in a healthy way, even in spiritual circles. A world where we understand anger is a tool in our toolbox and it's important for us to learn how to use it. A world where we express anger to the degree a situation calls for, and then let it go when it's time.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

There Are (Still) No Coincidences

It's been a busy and stressful week. Lots of traveling, lots of activity. The only thing on my mind is synchronicity. I'm resharing this post on the topic from more than a year ago. Enjoy. 



The other week, I ended early with my writing coaching client (which never happens) and conducted my usual grocery shopping. As I walked out of the grocery store, I ran into someone I literally haven't seen or talked to in close to five years. It turns out, a few days prior he mentioned me to his girlfriend and voila, we ran into each other.

Even better, during the course of our conversation I said some things it seemed he needed to hear so in many ways I felt like a messenger. I walked away from our encounter on a high, marveling at the magic and the mystery of the universe.

There are no coincidences.

Some people would say that interaction was a coincidence, a happy accident. I don't view it that way at all. My spiritual teacher says everything is incidental. “For each and every incident there is some cause,” he says. We may or may not know the cause, but that doesn't mean there isn't one.

He gives the example of an earthquake saying perhaps a huge stone took 10 million years to move from one place to another, but when it fell, the action took only a few seconds and caused the earth to shake. The cause took 10 million years to come to fruition but there was a cause for the earthquake, it didn't just “happen.”

When I look at the synchronistic turn of events from the other week, I am reminded there is a divine intelligence in place. There is some force at work that configured things just so, allowing me to meet this friend. If I hadn't left my coaching session early, if my friend walked into the grocery store five minutes later, etc. our meeting wouldn't have occurred. I am truly in awe of all the moving parts that needed to align in order for us to run into each other.

This story comforts me because at the moment there are a few areas of my life where I feel stuck and hopeless. Where I don't see how they can or will change. I am convinced they will stay in their current state for the rest of my days. But then I think about this “chance” encounter with my friend and am reminded things can and do change unexpectedly. And not only that, there is also a guiding presence in my life, overseeing everything.

If I can run into a friend out of the blue, is there also a chance these areas of life can also change? That things won't stay the same? That something else unexpected will show up in my life to shake things up? Like the stone that took 10 million years to fall, maybe there are events slowly, slowly unfolding and when they drop will shake the ground beneath my feet. I find that both terrifying and exciting. I cling to the notion though the universe is working for my benefit, that it ultimately wants to see me succeed.

I dream of a world where we realize everything is incidental. A world where we realize we may not know the initial cause but that doesn't mean there isn't one. A world were we remember there is a guiding force in our life that arranges circumstances and events for our benefit.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

Internal Spaciousness

In the more than nine years since I started this blog, I've written about impatience approximately a million times. Just kidding, but it does come up a lot. In fact, I wrote about impatience a month ago. What's interesting is I'm noticing how I'm impatient not only about external factors like my career, but also with my internal states. When I'm sad, I want to be over the sadness as quickly as possible. When I'm afraid, I want to skip to serene as soon as I can.

This week my therapist told me, “You can feel sad as long as you need to feel sad. Take as much time as you need.” In that moment I realized even though I've recently starting allowing myself to feel all my feelings, I've still added in a time element. I want to move through them as quickly as possible, and that often means I don't feel them fully because it's a rush job. If you're painting a house and slap on some paint as quick as can be, it's bound to happen that you miss a few spots. A thorough job takes time and that's precisely what I haven't been giving myself. Instead, I've been giving myself a whole lot of judgment.

We can give ourselves space internally and externally. Photo by Todd Quackenbush on Unsplash.

I watched a television sitcom the other day that had a funeral scene, and I started crying because it reminded me of my co-worker. My first response was, “Really? It's been four months. You're still sad? You didn't even know him all that well.” And my next response was, “OK, go ahead and cry,” but it held a tinge of someone standing next to me, tapping her foot, waiting for me to finish. So much of my life is like that right now, tapping my foot, waiting for the next thing on a small scale as well as a large one. I'm counting down the hours until I have to take my next pill, or have to leave to catch the bus, or when my health will improve, or when my dreams will come true.

I could easily veer into the beauty of staying present, of being where my feet are, but while related, instead I'm valuing spaciousness and ease. I'm starting to give myself permission to take all the time I need. To not rush my internal process. To stop giving myself self-imposed deadlines of when I should feel better or my life should look different than it does. Deadlines are helpful for some things, but in others they're detrimental.

My spiritual teacher says, “Suppose, immediately after planting some saplings and seeds, someone digs them up to find out if they have taken root or sprouted. That would not be considered wise.” I always thought he meant literal saplings and seeds, and he likely did, but now I'm understanding we have internal saplings and seeds too. And for those as well, I have to wait for them to take root and sprout.

I dream of a world where we give ourselves the time and space we need. A world where we no longer rush our internal processes or judge ourselves harshly about where we think we're supposed to be or how we're supposed to feel. A world where we recognize the value of internal spaciousness.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.