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The 2nd Noble Truth in Buddhism points to the causes of suffering (the tendency to add extra stuff on top of existence). I would like to suggest you inquire into this truth for yourself. What is truth? In this moment what is here now and what is the extra stuff added to experience. Who are you?

I went to the InsightLA speaker series a couple of weeks ago and Robert Thurman said, “The 2nd Noble Truth is you against the universe, the universe wins.” As I sit with this statement, I begin to wonder exactly what he meant by you. And of course if a huge tornado comes through your backyard, the universe will naturally win. At some point, I must turn my attention inward to question the internal process of the mind.

As I look closely, it becomes apparent that there is a tendency of identification that happens. We become engrossed in our experiences, sensations, stories, ideas, and beliefs of who we are. We are born into the world of form. We become someone each minute with each breath. And at the same time, the more we recognize this pattern we can begin to drop away from all this. We can stand back and realize that with each breath we also die. The gap in between is there all the time.

This process is natural. It is simple. We cloud it up with our expectations and with the grasping motion of the mind. We want keep the pleasant and get rid of the unpleasant. This is natural. Who wants pain? When we relax into death and birth we can sit with the joy and pain in the moment. We can begin to recognize where we stumble and where we get sucked into thinking this is really who we are. We can wake up to knowing the deep truth of being alive and even if there is loss or grief, there is no need for anything extra.

I am. I am a wife, student, teacher, etc. One place I am one way and another place I am another way. When the process of identity is fluid we can flex and flow in the moment without forcing it to be a certain way. It is what the mind does. It is part of who we are. We are children of the divine and with that we individualize. We separate out to realize that the child is still part of its mother. It will always have part of its mother and father. We just get lost in misunderstanding. We take our body, mind, and spirit to be ours. And they are and they aren’t. We can see all of this arising, being, and passing away. Who we are is both solid and flexible. We can change in the moment and at the same time we can rest between form and emptiness. We can be suspended in midair.

Today is earth day. It is also one of my best friend’s 30th birthday. And the day that one year ago this website came into form. The day is about all of us, me, and the earth. Without all of it there would be none of it.

I wonder where we will be in one hundred years when our human culture is moving soooo fast. Of course, there are many ideas about where we are headed. I feel overwhelmed when I look into all the different theories and perspectives. We all have our own. Sometimes we adapt them from others and sometimes we think we are unique. Both are true.

Deep within us is a vast amount of knowledge. We each have access and can consume as much as we desire. We can study about how the earth is melting, heating, being consumed by us and we can study the millions of ways that we can stop this, prevent this, or fix this. Our space and lives influenced by the important other players of this human life.

A year ago, I started this website. I was scared to put myself out there. I was scared to talk about my experiences. So much so that my husband wrote the entire copy for the pages. When I wrote the first blog post I was deeply concerned about others perceptions and projections. Later I grew into knowing that I have to write my own life. No one else can do this for me and if I am scared then that is the life I am writing in the moment. And that is ok. One step at a time, I will come into being who I am. This is unique and particular. It is also universal.

Our earth is our home and I also live in Santa Monica, CA. My friend who is turning 30 is in Europe this week. We travel to visit other places and learn of other cultures. Today is a day of remembrance, appreciation, and reflection. How does the earth serve us? How do we serve the earth? In a universe of a billion stars and darkness, we sit here together in our individual spaces and wonder together. Where will be in 100 years? And how can we care for ourselves enough to care about where we will be in 100 years? In one year, my many baby steps have led me into places that I never thought I would be. I have learned to care about people, places, and things that I never thought possible. I trust that we all know deep down- there is nowhere else to live, work, and play- with the human heart.

Most of the time, the people staying at the Care Center came and went quickly. Jennifer was the exception. She lived there for over a month and each day she held herself with honor. She knew her days were numbered and each one was a gift. Everyone loved being around her as her spirit continued to soar, its beauty unchanging among the ups and downs of disease. It still amazes me how she would keep going. The simple gestures of pulling her body up, fixing her hair, getting ready for the day—all took determination and courage.

One sunny day, I accompanied her outside in the courtyard. She sat in her wheelchair hooked up to an oxygen tank. She was barely able to breathe and wanted to talk. She shared with me the pains and joys of her story. We talked about where she grew up, her children, her professional life and hobbies. She laughed when she remembered the last hike she took in the Rocky Mountains and cried when she thought about the horrors of dying young. These were the traces of Jennifer that she was leaving behind. Her hand shook as she thought of her daughter in college, her hopes and dreams for a future she would never see.

As we continued to sit together, fear dropped away and with a deep surrender she said, “ I am ready to go.” The moment was beautiful, heartbreaking and open—we both stopped, relaxed, and let go into the mystery. Fading into each other as we shared part of ourselves with ourselves. I would die one day and she was paving the way.

This is when I realized, I am not here to change things or save anyone. I am here to be with people, their hearts and lives–the beauty in the heartbreak. It takes practice to be open and sit still–listening to the wisdom in the pain and still seeing joy in being alive. Being able to cry and laugh together. I honestly wouldn’t have been able to sit with Jennifer if I hadn’t spent so many years practicing opening my own heart. As I have trained to be intimate with the magic of the moment, I have learned to incline the mind to beauty and light, even amidst the darkness. I was in awe of Jennifer and her ability to do the same.

As I wheeled Jennifer inside, I knew it would be the last time I saw her. When the nurse asked if she enjoyed being outside, she replied with tears in her eyes, “ Emily listened to my stories.” I knew for that brief moment, she felt heard and seen. It was beautiful– this simple act of being there for someone in the moments when most people shy away. My heart was breaking, the sun was shining, and the birds were singing. These are the bittersweet moments of death arriving along with birth of something new—never before seen. The heart can hold it all if one is open to being touched deeply. Jennifer may be gone, but she left traces with me. I feel honored to have shared in some of her final moments in this life—touching my life—now perhaps touching yours.