Two nights ago, doing a cursory scan of Canadian news, I stumbled across one woman’s story. A life, reduced to a sentence. A life, relayed through a UN official.
The woman was pregnant and giving birth. The woman was terrified that her newborn was hearing bombs dropping during delivery. Leaving the warmth and darkness and heartbeat of her womb. Emerging into a hell-scape.
This is Earth. You have arrived. Glad you could make it.1
I mention this story because I can’t stop thinking about it. What it’s like, to arrive that way. What it’s like, to know your child’s first sounds are explosions.
And, that this would continue. And, that this would fill their first hours and days and maybe their lifetime. A strange new world. A crash course in humanity.
I’ve been thinking too about the distance afforded us.
The distance to feel outrage. The distance to formulate and circulate opinions. The distance to centre ourselves and how we’re handling what’s happening elsewhere.
With urgency, perhaps. But not real urgency. Not urgency that feels like emergency.
There’s zero judgement in this, from me. I’m just noticing. I’m just wondering how it’d be. To be too close to feel anything but terror. To be too close to feel anything other than let it be over.
But this is a newsletter about sobriety. So, I’ll speak to that.
Because here too I wonder about distance. I wonder at the distance afforded when I check and scroll and judge and assess. What’s happening in Gaza. What’s happening anywhere.
There’s a disconnect. Addiction lives in the disconnect.
Addiction flourishes when we try to soothe a wound, fill a void, or get a need met with a shitty substitute for what’s really needed. A shitty substitute that causes harm to self and harm to others. A shitty substitute that reinforces and perpetuates a painful cycle on repeat.
Here in the distance afforded us, how am I participating? Here in the distance afforded us, how am I part of the problem?
The school motto where I studied Chinese Medicine came from the classics. Roughly translated, it means: “Through oneself, know others.”
Like many of my schoolmates, I had it tattooed on my arm. I added another from the same text. Liberally translated, it means: “Resting in authenticity.”
Together, they speak to cultivation of self-awareness, integrity, and humility. They also evoke the Taoist practice of “non-doing,” or wu wei.
Non-doing does not mean doing nothing. Rather, it invites sage movement from a place of honesty, perceptivity, and calm. It requires having enough inner knowing and capacity to pause then respond in a way that’s needed, skillful, and wise.
My words and actions have not been from that place, lately. Not all of the time. Not enough of it.
In Chinese Medicine, we also speak of each organ as having a virtue, or aspect of the divine present in a person. This is the te in the Tao Te Ching.2
The Heart’s virtue is xian, which means living and speaking from an authentic, honest place. Not in the hashtagged, overdone sense of the word. Rather, in the sense of expressing one’s truth, even if met by ridicule or haters.
The Kidneys’ virtue is han—humility arising from inner knowing, coupled with surrender to something bigger. Here, the self is a reflection and a part. Here, we merge microcosm and macrocosm.
Embodying these virtues allows us to be present, honest, and humble. Not hiding. Not performing. Not seeking truth by scanning and parroting others.
Taoist “non-doing” means coming from this place while resting in authenticity—tian dan. It means listening within and aligning with the Universe before responding and connecting without.
In this way, self unfolds from heart-sourced, divinely inspired truth rather than posturing and reaction. Action springs from the deep, pure well of integrity. Emotions, thoughts, and “doings” are aligned. Relationships with others reflect true intimacy, one heart to another.
All unfolds within the single sphere of connection, surrender, faith.
Conscious or not, everything is part of this whole and part of our inheritance—addiction, trauma, and terror included.
Every moment a cause and effect. Every moment a co-creation. Every moment a teacher. All part of our being and continuous becoming.
So, I’m sitting here. Here in the distance afforded us. Here in the distance that does not need to be fixed or filled so much as noticed.
Noticing rather than numbing. Noticing rather than reacting from rage. Noticing rather than making things worse.
And from here—from a place of authenticity and humility and as much clarity as I can muster—speaking, acting, being of service.
And from here, choosing courage and choosing to connect. Choosing love and the opposite of addiction.
Distant. Present. From afar. From my heart.
With love,
Dana
P.S., Senior Buddhist teacher Gil Fronsdal delivered an excellent series this past week on non-violence—culminating in the importance of peaceful, courageous engagement. You can find it here.
P.P.S., I know there are lots of resources floating around on how to help. The Canadian government is matching donations made here (which is where I personally donated).
P.P.P.S., I meant to include
in my recent link roundup. I’ve now updated that post, but will quote Ijeoma here as well:“I cannot shield you from that, my dear friends, even in your grief. I cannot make a silo for my words so that they only hit people who will not be hurt by them. I cannot and I should not. Because your grief and our collective fear of adding to that grief is being used to justify a silencing in the wake of a genocide.
And I, as a Black woman, as an African woman, know what genocide is. As do my Jewish friends, my Palestinian friends and family, my Cambodian friends, my Tigrayan friends, my Roma friends, my Native friends, and so many others. And because we know, we must act now, with all that we have, to prevent this from happening again. We do not have time to wait.
This is what it looks like for me to live my values. It is often messy and often heartbreaking. It has cost me a lot. It has cost me my safety, my mental and physical wellbeing. And it may cost me my valued friendship with you. And trust me, I will mourn that later, when I can.”
Thank you from my heart for being here. This newsletter is a work of time, energy, and love. Your generosity keeps it going. If you feel called, please tap the little ♡, share this post, or tell a friend:
The story, which you can find here, reports that there are 50,000 pregnant women in Gaza. This is in addition to 73,000 pregnant women in the West Bank. See also: More kids killed in Gaza in 3 weeks than all global conflict annually since 2019, Save the Children says.
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"Addiction flourishes when we try to soothe a wound, fill a void, or get a need met with a shitty substitute for what’s really needed. A shitty substitute that causes harm to self and harm to others. A shitty substitute that reinforces and perpetuates a painful cycle on repeat."
This is one of the wisest definitions/explanations of addiction I've ever read, thank you Dana 💖
Sometimes noticing is all (the best) we can do. It is not an easy thing - to pause and notice, sit with it and not react. Thank you for this reminder and for your insights on authenticity. This world needs more of that!