by Elly van Laar | Oct 2, 2015 | Compassion, Compassionate Communication, Mindfulness, Nonviolent Communication
Repulsed. Shocked. Disturbed. Terrified.
I watched the trailer to the documentary “The Act of Killing”. It starts with one of the killings Anwar Congo and his death squad committed during the Suharto extermination of alleged communists in the sixties. You see and hear the terror of those who are about to be burned alive. I felt no less repulsed and horrified when I realized that these are not actual killings, but enactments in a studio with actors who survive, staged by the killers.
I felt most shocked that the killers seem quite satisfied and pleased with themselves and their acts. No shred of remorse, guilt, or shame. They don’t see themselves as war criminals. “That term is defined by the winners. And we won,” as one of the killers says.
I feel appalled. How is it possible that these killers walk around happily and at peace after killing thousands of men, women, children and elderly? How don’t they have a troubled conscience? They cannot be human, they must be psychopaths without feelings, and we have nothing in common.
When Joshua Oppenheimer, the director, started filming he pledged to approach his subjects without judgments, even though he judged their killings. He was committed to approach the killers with kindness, and an openness to connect. It was a challenge for him. Many times he had to retreat from the project to self-connect and self-care, before he was able to engage them with at least some kind of basic kindness. He had many moments where he wanted reassurance he isn’t like them.
Till he realizes the difference is only relative, not absolute. That he -fortunately- had never been in a situation where he would find out that he could commit the same horrendous acts. That he always had enough support and creativity to meet his needs in more wholesome ways.
What if Oppenheimer is right? That I have -deep down- the same seeds that could bring me to commit the most sadistic acts, maybe even with joy and delight? Seeds that haven’t been watered yet, that are still held in a container of mindfulness and compassion, that lay dormant in my subconscious, and yet… the same seeds that triggered the killers to commit those crimes?
I pray it isn’t true.
And I know it is.
If I want to contribute to a world with respect for life, I need to look into both the wholesome and unwholesome seeds in my subconscious. So that I can take good care of the unwholesome ones, transform them into wholesome ones, and hopefully never act with sadism.
You want to embrace your unwholesome seeds with mindfulness and compassion? Contact me 512-589-0482 for a free discovery session to see how I can help.
This is the second blog around “us-versus-them”. Next week I intend to write about protective use of force.
by Elly van Laar | Sep 25, 2015 | Compassion, Compassionate Communication, Empathy, Mindfulness
Where is the We in Me?
Probably not in my thought that he abuses his power to exclude others. Nor in the thought that she should listen before she speaks. And certainly not in the thought that they should change their minds at minimum, if not their hearts.
I recognize all those thoughts as us-versus-them thinking. Right-wrong. Better-worse. More compassionate versus less compassionate (ouch, how can I think that as a student of Thich Nhat Hanh?).
And yet, my life would be so much simpler if I see myself as the protector of the underdog, and “THEM” as the bullies. What can I say? I fight for all that is good and pure, for inclusion and compassion, for mindfulness and loving speech. And they? They want more power. They want to exclude anyone they don’t like. They want to operate in secrecy. It makes all my anxiety, anger, and self-righteous indignation acceptable. Who wouldn’t be upset in the face of such ill-intent?
I am pretty sure that, since I have such an abundance of compassion, mindfulness and empathy, I should teach them to open their hearts, listen, and include everyone. I should show them how to transform our community in a delightful place of peace, harmony and joyful connection. I, me, Elly van Laar, the compassionate one, has the wisdom and they should listen.
Hum…
So in my quest to make sure that everyone is heard, even those that speak in pretty unpleasant terms, I shut others up? In this mission to see us all as one, I am actually seeing us as the “we” party and them as the “them” party? In my care for the underdog (at least, in my view) I forget to care for the perceived bullies?
What if they are not the enemy? What if there are no underdogs and no bullies? What if I drop the compassion competition? What if there are just people who do their best within the limitations they have? Who sometimes act and speak in ways I don’t like, and who always deserve a chance for understanding, support, acceptance, love, and belonging? What if I try to expand my inclusion to those I see as the bullies?
Gosh, I imagine I start listening to the “bullies”. I imagine I move over to their side and try to get what it’s like to see the world through their eyes. I imagine I see the beautiful, universal needs behind their feelings of frustration, exhaustion, and exasperation. I imagine I understand the values behind their unwillingness to enter into yet another dialog.
Yep, that’s where I should start. With listening.
Listening to understand. Not to reply. Just listening.
That is where I find the we in me
You want to learn to see the we in you? Contact me 512-589-0482 for a free discovery session to see how I can help.
by Elly van Laar | Sep 11, 2015 | Compassion, Compassionate Communication, Empathy, Fear, Personal Growth, Self-compassion
She hears a soft crying. She can hardly hear it with Anger yelling in her ears. He is trashing the place down. She probably should pay attention to him, but something is drawing her to this crying. She can’t quite determine where it’s coming from, somewhere in the corner over there.
As she walks over, she sees there is a door she has never noticed before. She feels her heart pounding as she turns the knob. The crying gets louder. Not that much, just a bit. It is dark inside, pitch dark. Coming from the brightly lit room, her eyes need to adjust. As she gets used to the dark, she sees a child. Maybe eight years old. Exhausted. Almost starved to death. She probably hasn’t been bathed for years. She can smell the urine and feces she has been drenched in.
The child turns her face to her. Startled, she recognizes this is her child. This is Fear whom she locked away years ago, hoping she would never see her again, hoping she would never feel afraid again.
As she looks at her child, a wave of compassion, love and care well up in her. A kindness for the child, a grief for the harm she contributed to. She strokes Fear’s hair. She sits with her for a long time. Finally she gets up to bring her some food, some water. As she walks to the fountain, she notices Anger sits in the corner, reading a book on compassionate communication. He looks quite satisfied and content.
She understands how Anger tried to cover up Fear, so she would not feel the anguish of being afraid. She has some appreciation for his efforts to empower her to overcome her fear and stand up for herself, even though they were somewhat unskillful. And she is grateful for having found Fear. For getting a second chance to connect with her child, and understand her. Collaborating to find ways to support her. Listening to how Anger can trust that she works on getting her needs for respect, safety, inclusion, and kindness met.
You want to learn to connect to your own anger and fear? Contact me 512-589-0482 for a free discovery session to see how I can help.
by Elly van Laar | Aug 7, 2015 | Compassion, Mindfulness, Personal Growth, Self-compassion
I am absolutely sure. It is idiotic to sit on a meditation cushion, bring my awareness to my breath, while I should do something to stop IS from abducting Yezidi women and selling them as sex slaves or using them as cannon flesh. Or at least spend my meditation time to increase my income. Or if not that, to clean the house.
Sitting on a cushion doesn’t help anyway. I still have moments of overwhelming doubt, fear, loneliness, jealousy, anger, even rage. I yell and lose my temper maybe even more than before.
How mindful is that?
I pause.
I breathe in. All the self-doubt and self-criticism. I breathe out. Love, light, and relief. “May I be peaceful, happy, and light in body and spirit.”
I think of all the other men and women who doubt whether their path makes sense. If they’re making a difference. I breathe in all their self-doubt and self-criticism. I breathe out to them love, light, and relief.
I feel calmer now.
Mindfulness is not about achieving a goal. Mindfulness is not about changing what you feel, what you think. Mindfulness is about being present with all that arises within you. Mindfulness is strengthening the compassion muscle, and accepting your experience with a little bit more acceptance each time you breathe in. Mindfulness is the willingness to engage all aspects of yourself, even those you don’t like. Mindfulness is the practice to open up to yourself more fully, and by doing so to embrace life more fully.
And as any practice, there are setbacks, plateaus, disillusions, frustrations. That’s fine. Because, as with any practice, the practice itself is the goal and the goal is to practice. No achieving, no changing. Just practicing. And no one can fail at that.
Maybe mindfulness isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Do you want help to practice mindfulness? Contact me 512-589-0482 for a free discovery session to see if and how I can help you.
by Elly van Laar | Jul 31, 2015 | Compassion, Marshall Rosenberg, Mindfulness, Nonviolent Communication
I really don’t know. I’ve seen a dead one in our house, and I didn’t notice any negative impact on me, my husband, my health, my sense of well-being.
Image courtesy Fiep Westendorp: Zaza in “Pluk van de Petteflet” by Annie M.G. Schmidt
Yet, I do want to exterminate them immediately. I want to call pest control, and make sure they never, ever walk around in our house again.
How’s that?
I have an enemy image of cockroaches. I have a fixed set of negative ideas about them. I believe there is something inherently wrong with them. I fail to distinguish between their behavior and the beautiful living being, worthy of having their needs for safety, autonomy, appreciation met.
I know so little about the species in general, and this unique individual in specific, that my disgust easily leads me to think I have the right, maybe even the obligation, to exterminate them.
Disgust easily leads to enemy images. Disgust leads to disconnection, to withdrawal, to turning away. No one likes the feeling of disgust. Rather than turning toward the object that triggers this feeling, we try to make sure the object itself gets annihilated.
Who feels delighted when you smell the stench of puke? Who feels excited to clean up a floor flooded with poop and pee with their bare hands?
I guess no one. I certainly don’t.
That’s why I practice Phadhampa Sangye’s invitation to “approach what you find repulsive”. So that I can open up to all that life has to offer, and accept every little piece within myself, even the ones I find disgusting.
How so?
To prevent I cause harm out of my enemy image. I never forget that Paul Ekman and the Dalai Lama write about disgust as the main feeling that fueled the nazis to destroy the Jews. Had the feeling been fear or anger, some Jews might have survived. Because you can make amends for fear and anger. Iran can dismantle their nuclear installations and allow inspections of their sites. The policeman who shot an innocent victim can acknowledge the harm he contributed to and apologize.
There are hardly amendments for disgust.
At best, we can try to approach and embrace it, so we can transform any enemy image that arises from our disgust.
Do you want help to approach what you find repulsive? Contact me 512-589-0482 for a free discovery session to see if and how I can help you.
by Elly van Laar | Jun 23, 2015 | Compassion, Compassionate Communication, Empathy, Nonviolent Communication, Self-compassion
We celebrated Father’s Day at our Sangha last Sunday. We received a heart upon entrance. A red one if our father had passed away. A white one if he was still alive. I got a white one. When we started our mindful walking, we were asked to pause at the altar, wait for the mindfulness bell to ring, and put our heart on the altar, while saying the name of our father aloud.
Papa Four Days Marches, 2011
I felt so touched, that my tears needed almost a minute, before I felt calm enough to pronounce my dad’s name loud and clear.
It was a sudden awakening to the deep appreciation, gratitude, and love I feel for my father.
I am well aware how lucky I am with my dad. He is 81, in vibrant health, he has a keen interest in people, he easily walks long distances, sometimes 25 miles a day, he loves to learn new things and skills, he offers compassion and support to those in less fortunate circumstances, he laughs, listens, and shares his insights.
Not all of us are that lucky. Some of us had dads who drank too much. Some of us had dads who lost interest in connection and life. Some of us had dads who needed more support than they could give.
If your dad was like that, it might be hard to celebrate Father’s Day. You might have sadness, grief, sorrow, anger that your dad didn’t show up in a way that worked for you.
It might help you if you see all behavior as an attempt to meet beautiful, universal, human needs and painful behavior as a tragic expression of unmet needs. To see the little boy in the adult. A child who needed as much acceptance, love, belonging, understanding, and support as you do and who might have received as little as you did. Your dad probably just tried to support his needs, and maybe even yours, in circumstances that were not his choosing. That doesn’t make him a shitty person, it makes him a human being with painful behavior.
When you see behavior as a tragic expression of unmet needs, you might be able to hold your own unmet needs with care, and his behavior with more compassion. And if you receive enough empathy and compassion for your pain, you might even open up to some appreciation for something he did for you, however small.
You want help to practice seeing painful behavior as a tragic expression of unmet needs? CONTACT ME 512-589-0482 for a free discovery session to see if I can help you.
I watched the trailer to the documentary “The Act of Killing”. It starts with one of the killings Anwar Congo and his death squad committed during the Suharto extermination of alleged communists in the sixties. You see and hear the terror of those who are about to be burned alive. I felt no less repulsed and horrified when I realized that these are not actual killings, but enactments in a studio with actors who survive, staged by the killers.
