We give lip service to compassion. It is a lofty ideal that, more often than not, we use to calm ourselves when we are pissed off at someone else. For example when someone cuts us off in traffic or the check out chick is rude to us we talk ourselves back from a rage by being ‘compassionate’.
Compassion is more than cutting someone slack. Compassion is deeper than considering someones feelings. Compassion goes beyond pity.
I didn’t realise until I got the responses from my 150th blog post (the ask a friend challenge) how integral compassion is to who I am as a person in the world. I meditate on compassion. When someone wrongs me my response is, after the requisite clearing of the angry emotions (I’ll post on this process soon), to find genuine compassion. Finding that place of genuine compassion recongises that we all in this together. Compassion effortlessly forgives.
Compassion means – to be deeply aware of the suffering of another. AND to have the desire to alleviate that suffering.
I actively cultivate compassion. I focus on the suffering on untold millions and try to take it into my heart. It hurts. It is supposed to. I try to breathe out compassion. For myself. For untold millions. It is hard.
Harder still. Hearing that my oldest friend lost his mother today. A graceful, impossibly strong woman with wicked sense of humour is lost to this earth. I don’t know what to say. Compassion is all I’ve got. Suddenly compassion doesn’t feel like enough.