The light touch of compassion
Dear friends,
‘The circle of ecological compassion we feel is enlarged by direct experience of the living world, and shrunken by its lack.’
These words from Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book Braiding Sweetgrass have been on my mind. I feel that compassion, like anything, is a living practice. One can act with compassion in one moment or circumstance, but that never makes you a ‘compassionate person’ full stop. In my experience, life doesn’t really do full stops. You declare something to be just so, only to find that the next day it has become something quite different.
The practice of compassion is ongoing. I think of it as a flame that I tend inside of myself. Sometimes that flame burns brightly, and sometimes it wavers and flickers out. It can be dismaying to acknowledge how often the latter happens. In a moment of impatience, insensitivity or unawareness, the noisy crush of judgments and opinions rush forward to trample, rather than sensitively meet, the other.
The Dalai Lama writes:
‘In simple terms, compassion and love can be defined as positive thoughts and feelings that give rise to such essential things in life as hope, courage, determination and inner strength. In the Buddhist tradition, compassion and love are seen as two aspects of same thing: compassion is the wish for another being to be free from suffering; love is wanting them to have happiness.
In storytelling and life, I am always reminded that living things are whole but never complete - all of us have our own integrity, and our own process. I believe that our happiness is bound up with this innate integrity. We are always journeying toward some inner destination, often imperceptible to the outside world, sometimes even to ourselves. Without foregrounding the awareness of that continuous, living process that is always unfolding in each of us, we can so easily impose too much of our own limited perspective on another’s trajectory, without even realising it.
I think of all the times that I have taken the well-intentioned advice of another, only to later on wonder why I didn’t rather listen to the quiet whispering of my own inner voice. And I wonder how many times I, with the best of intentions, may have out of sheer ignorance and insensibility diverted someone else from their own true and right path, because I somehow thought I knew better.
Taken to the realm of the living world, the idea of ecological compassion evokes the possibility of planetary healing through kindness. In an interview on their book Ecological Reciprocity: A Treatise on Kindness, authors Michael Charles Tobias and Jane Gray Morrison draw on the evolutionary history of cooperative structures in the natural world to argue that kindness is omnipresent — ‘a biochemical reality of earth.’ Human intelligence is but one of boundless natural forms through which kindness is practiced. The authors say:
Our species has 330,000 years of kindness in its past evolutionary, (hologenomic) co-habitation with tens of millions of other species. Ancient Greek philosophers, including Pythagoras and Aristotle, were quite fond of the word kindness, or καλοσύνη (kalosýni) because of its multiple meanings, which include goodness, humaneness, and benevolence.
I love the idea of kindness, or compassion, if you will, as an evolutionary trait, through which life’s creations —mycelial networks, forests, communities of bacteria and wolves — have all learnt diverse and symbiotic ways of weaving together the generative possibilities of life, through a common sort of altruistic trait that we humans might refer to as ‘kindness’.
My own life process is underpinned by the same generative life force as any other being, whether tree or armadillo. But its particular qualities and expression are unique. This is the stuff of stories. We change and grow through our experiences and encounters, remaining essentially the same person even as we move, develop and transform. I do the work, continuously, and yet like everyone else I am fallible.
Stuck in my own thinking, I tread heavily through a tangled world of thick, rich, deep life, ancient and rooted as the milkwood forests.
Somehow, in this magnificent place, my footfalls are heavy with frustration. Immersed in my own dramas, my feet strike the ground with a dull, rhythmic tread. I am insensible.
Then suddenly, I perceive a tiny little twitch of movement in the grass. I crouch down and see to my delight a tiny little frog. Perhaps about the size of a bee or wasp. Truly the tiniest one I have ever seen. Its dark body shape clambering through the shaggy and contoured grass. No sooner do I spot the one little frog, I glimpse another one not far off - a tiny dark shape struggling and lumbering in the grass. And then another one. And another one. Suddenly I am awake to all the life and movement surrounding me that I had been blind to just a moment before.
I am enchanted by these tiny creatures hopping, clambering, struggling through the grass. Weaving in and out of view as they go about their business. Navigating their way, clinging to the blades for a pause, launching themselves forward with muscular froggy legs, gripping with their tiny webbed feet, disappearing into tiny dark tunnels within the thick matting of the grass. I am overcome with tenderness, and curiosity.
In the turn of a moment, I am aware of being wholly present with and attuned to these frogs. I observe them closely, filled with attention and care. I marvel at how little I know of their lives. When had they hatched, and from where exactly? How far had they travelled? Were they hunting for ants and insects in the grass, or merely crossing to another place? Are they always on the move like this, or are they all travelling toward some particular destination at this time of day. Or this time of year. Where do they sleep? How do they navigate? How do they avoid predators?
Ignorant as I may be about the lifeways of frogs, I do however know that many species of frogs around the world are critically endangered as their habitats are razed and the fresh waters where they live are increasingly polluted. Awareness of these tiny frogs disrupted my angry course and imbued it with more sensibility. Being with these frogs brought me back into the circle of ecological compassion.
The Dalai Lama writes:
I believe that at every level of society—familial, national and international—the key to a happier and more successful world is the growth of compassion. We do not need to become religious, nor do we need to believe in a particular ideology. All that is necessary is for each of us to develop our good human qualities…
Compassion, loving-kindness, altruism, and a sense of brotherhood and sisterhood are the keys not only to human development, but to planetary survival.
My encounter with these frogs reminded me of all the sensitivity and mindfulness and care that is required of us humans if we seek to be compassionate. If we seek to walk through landscapes with a lighter tread, seeing new worlds into their thriving as we quest to thrive ourselves. Treading carefully. Expanding the capacities of seeing. Stretching lightly to meet the other, with kindness.
Sitting there with these frogs, I was also feeling my own growth, the stretching of my own capacities to be part in this fabric of life, living in the world with responsibility and care. With compassion.
This week, I am practicing holding compassion for all living beings. I am wondering how I can live with a lighter touch, making room for others to thrive. What are your own thoughts about compassion? What does it mean to you, and how do you practice it?
With love,
Megan
P.S. I will be away for the next few weeks, so my next dispatch will be sent out on the 15th of April. Until then, stay well and may your life be filled with compassion… and juicy stories!