“Why Is Not a Spiritual Question” is something my dear friend Jane loved to say, generally in response to my frequent whining, “whyyyyyyyyy is this happening to me?” I thought it sounded really profound until Jane confessed she read it in a crime novel. We had a good laugh over that.
To further illustrate her point, she was a lawyer after all, Jane enjoyed telling a Buddhist story about an elderly farmer and his only son. When the son falls from his horse and breaks his leg, everyone worries as he is vital in running the farm. But the old farmer says, “Could be good, could be bad, we’ll see.”
Later, when the army takes away all the able-bodied young men for war, leaving the lame son behind, everyone praises this twist of fate. Still, the old farmer still says, “Could be good, could be bad, we’ll see.” And so the story goes on…
It’s a tale of the unpredictable nature of life and the not knowing – are these bad times or good times? We’ll see. What seems like bad fortune might hold unforseen blessings. Only time will tell. In many ways the outcome is not the important thing, because life is always in flux, what matters more is how we deal with this constant uncertainty.
We are uncomfortable because everything in our life keeps changing – our inner moods, our bodies, our work, the people we love, the world we live in. Tara Brach
These were the kinds of random thoughts caroming around my mind as I waited in the Emergency Room, blood trickling from my eye. I felt like a manic mix of wise elder and terrified human.
Isn’t that just life? It’s never one thing or the other.
Emergency rooms are characterised by waiting. It always seems fast-paced and dramatic on TV, but in reality, it’s a parade of medical professionals popping in for brief moments—testing, medicating, scanning, consulting—and then long stretches of solitude. Thankfully, Tara Brach’s audio meditations kept me in good company. I listened to her wise, calming voice for about five hours straight, right until they anaesthetised me for surgery.
The hospital staff remarked on how calm I was. One nurse even asked if I was an athlete. Ha! Hardly. But my heart rate remained steady and low. Even though my mind was far from Zen, every time panic threatened to engulf me, Tara’s dulcet tones guided me back…
Tara: Feel the brow, softening the eyes and receiving sensations. Let a smile spread through the eyes, softening again…
Me: Oh my god! My eye! What if I go blind? What if I can’t read for work? What if I can’t teach? What if I’m maimed? Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!…
Tara: Let there be openness in the chest. Allow the smile’s felt experience to spread through the chest and heart. Make room for life. How does the heart feel from the inside?
One moment, I was dashing between my day job and a client, and the next, as I bent down to pick up the garden hose, a sharp agave leaf pierced straight through my eyeball. Even as I stood up, holding my eye, reassuring myself that “I’m okay, I’m okay,” it’s simply my eye watering, a lot. Then I saw my blood-filled hands.
The peak-hour rush to the hospital, doctor, nurses, undergoing tests — endless waiting, and uncertainty. Sitting in solitude, with only my earphones and Tara’s gentle reassurance for company, as my vision gradually worsened with the collapse of my eyeball. Finally, the relief of being wheeled into surgery and the welcome oblivion of anesthesia…
The boundary to what we can accept is the boundary to our freedom. Tara Brach
In one small moment, my life, like my eyeball, was completely altered. I couldn’t do anything about it. My plans, my routines, everything I had worked towards, all gone in a moment. Life was emptied out of all its busyness, all those seemingly so-very-important things, like shimmering mirages dissolving into sand.
Returning home, still dazed from anaesthesia and pain medication, I followed the strict instructions to rest—no lying down flat, no bending, no straining. I retreated into meditation, finding moments of calm amidst bouts of panic and tears.
Me: How could this happen? Why? Why? Why?
Tara: Let the next breath be received in a soft belly. This breath. And now this one, and again…
Do you ever find yourself caught in a spiral of self-blame, questioning why life dealt you these particular cards? Why does it seem that when something goes wrong, our minds leap to find fault within? It’s as if we’re suddenly under a spotlight of blame, dissecting every action, every decision, searching for where we went wrong. Isn’t it exhausting, this relentless pursuit of self-criticism?
Alongside waves of fear, there’s that nagging worry about what the future holds. Will this setback lead to the unraveling of everything I’ve built? The mind races, checking and rechecking, seeking reassurance in a world of uncertainty.
Awakened mind exists in our surroundings, but how often are we actually touching in with it? Pema Chödrön
The problem with constantly asking “why” is that it doesn’t stop with that one question. “Why” leads to a cascade of questions about the past. Why did that happen? Why did I do that? Why did they do that? It dredges up old regrets and mistakes, overwhelming and painful, like being tackled in a football game and everyone piling on. Blaming ourselves or others for bad things may provide a false sense of control. But life isn’t always manageable, no matter how hard we try.
This critical narrative doesn’t vibe with my belief in a universe that’s inherently life-affirming and supportive, not punitive. Things happen that are beyond my comprehension, but it’s never a simple equation of “I did this, so this happened.” Life is far more complex, more interdependent, far more nuanced than that.
And still I keep ruminating on how I could have avoided this situation. Even though all spiritual teachings remind me that there’s value in every experience. It’s about how I handle it, how I keep my heart open. These lessons help me connect with the suffering of others.
The wound is the origin of wonder is a beautiful book by poet Maya C. Popa. It explores the deep relationship between pain and awe. Etymologically, “wound” and “wonder” share a Proto-Germanic root “wen,” which signifies desire or striving. Our desire for wonder leads us out of safety and into the world where there is potential suffering. Our wounds often result from this striving, but they can also open us towards greater curiosity and awe for life.
Life can hurt at times. And adversity does seem to make fertile ground for growth. It can awaken us from living on auto-pilot. I feel this recent experience has stopped me, shook me, emptied and rearranged me, changed my focus, literally.
Just pause. Let it be a contrast to being all caught up. Let it be like popping a bubble. Pema Chödrön
Or popping an eyeball? Eeeeeep!
Spiritual traditions give us a compass for difficult times. The Buddha taught that life is suffering and challenged a grieving mother to bring him a mustard seed from one person who had not felt loss. She couldn’t find one.
In the revered yogic scripture on karma yoga and righteous conduct, the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna implores Arjuna to focus on right action. Amidst the daunting prospect of facing his own friends and family on the battlefield, Krishna advises detachment from the outcomes. He teaches the importance of acting in the present moment, aware that the seeds of our actions are sown in the present and will bear fruit in accordance with the cosmic order, not our own plans and designs.
The non-dual spiritual teacher Gangaji guides people through a process of self-enquiry to face their most challenging emotions—fear, anger, jealousy, contempt—until they experience that these feelings aren’t the powerful entities they seem. She extends an invitation to shift identification from the ceaseless activity of the mind to the timeless presence of being.
In the yoga-tantra tradition, in our prayers to the Divine Mother, we acknowledge her presence in every aspect of life, even the difficult ones. She’s there in the pain, confusion and darkness. Her grace shines in everything, even when times seem tough.
These spiritual traditions all point to the true essence of being which resides in the unchanging self, which exists beneath the ever-shifting flux of existence. So how do we access this state of being?
What would it be like if I could accept life – accept this moment – exactly as it is? Tara Brach
Meditation is simply being with what is, including but not limited to or dominated by, the fluctuating chatter of the mind. Using the breath, body awareness and sensations as anchors, meditation allows a settling into and abiding in, and as, a state of awareness which underlies our experience of life.
If the noise of life is the foreground, this state is the ever-present silent background, the sky unchanged by the weather. The ocean encompassing the waves. For me it feels like like this vast, deep calm that I can drop into, always still regardless of the disturbance at the surface.
All truth is a paradox. Life is both a precious, unfathomably beautiful gift, and it’s impossible here, on the incarnational side of things. It’s been a very bad match for those of us who were born extremely sensitive. It’s so hard and weird that we sometimes wonder if we’re being punked. Anne Lamott
Sometimes, in the middle of this mental chaos, I walk. Writer Sarah Wilson says walking occurs at the pace of rational thought. Bathed in the warmth of the sun and the dappled tree light. Even in my blurred vision, there’s a strange beauty, a nostalgic film-like quality to the world around me. And in those moments, my mind quiets, and I remember to breathe.
As I breathe I remember that the disaster my mind conjures is not the reality, it’s as Tara Brach would say a “trance” or “virtual reality.” My mind is a movie maker of epic proportions. In returning to the breath, to the sensations of the body and senses, I become one of many beings in this world. Connected by our interdependence, by our shared aliveness. There’s a recognition that suffering is not unique to me; it permeates every corner of the world. It’s not some divine punishment directed solely at me.
There’s a shared humanity in our struggles, evident in the countless stories of hardship and resilience played out in the news. Our suffering makes us human.
So, as I navigate this time of uncertainty, I hold to the belief that there’s a larger tapestry at play. As I sink into the pain and fear, I let it open my heart in compassion to the suffering of the world. Compassion for those suffering in places like Gaza. This is the Buddhist practice of Tonglen. I breathe in the pain and breathe out compassion for my fellow humans.
Whatever it is you are doing, the magic, the sacredness, the expansiveness, the stillness, stays with you. Pema Chödrön
Connection. That’s what’s kept me going.
Meditation and devotion offer spiritual support, but it’s the loving kindness of my friends and family, my fellow humans, that truly sustains me.
My psychologist challenged me to accept offers of help. To let people see me messy, my house messy. It was surprisingly challenging.
Even though I know my friends love me unconditionally I was afraid of being seen in such a vulnerable state. But I accepted the experiment to say yes to this tribe of loving people who wanted to help and care for me.
When someone says to us, as Thich Nhat Hanh suggests, “Darling, I care about your suffering,” a deep healing begins. Tara Brach
Some days I was flat and tired, or emotional and crying. Other days I was able to laugh and find joy in connection. These beautiful people met me where I was in many tiny beautiful ways. One day, on the phone to a friend after my first post-op check up – the news wasn’t what I hoped for – I broke down. My son walked in from work and gently touched my shoulder as he passed. Such a sublime act of love and support.
And really what do my little problems matter in the world? There is so much suffering. How do we make sense of any of it? We really can’t. Life is too short and precious to get paralysed by analysing the why’s. I must simply be in the world, in whatever way I can. Today, that might mean simply making it through the day, refusing to be swallowed by despair when life knocks me down.
We’re all interconnected. There are no separate people. We just think we’re separate and that’s why we are suffering. Every chant is about peace. Every chant is about love. You have to let yourself feel it. If you don’t let yourself feel it, how is somebody else going to feel it? Find that peace in you and then anyone you meet will feel it. Krishna Das
Krishna Das says that for there to be peace in this world, we must find peace in our selves. The battle that is raging in our minds is what creates external battles among friends, families, and communities, and even escalates into war. It’s up to us to navigate our own life and to face our internal conflicts with awareness and as much loving acceptance as we can muster.
This is where the real power of meditation comes in, as I discovered during the Covid lockdowns. When everything else was stripped away, meditation allowed me to tap into a sense of connection and meaning despite my sense of isolation and powerlessness.
Jon Kabat Zinn says meditation is about connecting with what is deepest, best, and authentic in yourself, which can lead to moments of insight and learning.
There is almost nothing outside of you that will help in any kind of lasting way, unless you’re waiting for an organ. You can’t buy, achieve or date serenity and peace of mind. Anne Lamott
Maintaining a meditation practice all these years has proved invaluable to me. Whether during times of adversity or just the daily demands of life, I find immense refuge in this practice. In truth, it’s not always a peaceful experience — there are times when my mind runs wild during meditation. (that’s why it’s called the “monkey” mind.)
Through (mostly) consistent practice, and (attempting) a loving tolerance of my monkey mind, I’m cultivating an ability to gently guide my awareness away from thought and back to my breath, my body, and the present moment. Sometimes, many, many times during a meditation session, I catch myself in thought and gently bring my awareness back. Each time I do this, it’s like forging and strengthening new neural pathways in my mind. I’m reminding myself – over and over – that no matter how busy or turbulent my thoughts may be, I can always return to a place of calm awareness that includes my mind but isn’t controlled by it.
I can’t undo all I have done to myself, what I have let an appetite for love do to me. I have wanted all the world, its beauties and its injuries; some days, I think that is punishment enough. Maya C. Papa
So here’s to easing up and not driving ourselves mad asking why things happen. Maybe just try to meditate a little instead?
(and here is my “Emergency Meditations” Playlist)
Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts below…
ॐ
Christina is a yoga and meditation teacher, sound healer, holder of sacred space, Chakradance facilitator and writer. She is passionate about wellbeing and brings her extensive knowledge though studies in yoga wisdom teachings, sound healing and shamanism to her practice.
Seven intentions 
thank you, so good to read your authentic experience. 😊
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Thanks for reading. Glad it resonated ❤️
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