Due to COVID-19, I’ll be teaching my weekly drop-in mindfulness meditation class—usually at Washington, D.C.’s Lamont Dharma House—online for the foreseeable future. Here’s the info:

When: Every Tuesday, 7-8 p.m. ET
Where: Zoom virtual meeting (click to join when class begins)
What: Accessible to all levels and includes guided meditation, a brief talk about the practice, and group discussion. Teachings emphasize the benefits of meditation that go beyond individual growth, by applying mindfulness to work, relationships, and politics. No registration or equipment required. Donations encouraged but not required (Venmo: @jeremy-mohler).

I don’t consider myself a Buddhist, but I recite what are called the “three refuges” after meditating each morning. I even have them tattooed on my arm along with a fourth.

Buddha, dharma, sangha, justice.

Whispering these words reminds me of what really matters, regardless of what’s happening in my life, even a global pandemic that’s bringing the economy to its knees.

In fact, they’re helping me stay grounded more than ever—because it’s so easy right now to get caught up in every breaking news story, tweet, and ominous text from a friend about flu-like symptoms.

Here’s what they mean:

Buddha is a Sanskrit word that refers to every human’s ability to see reality absolutely clearly, just as it is.

Tragically, we rarely see things just as they are. We get caught up in stories about how they should or shouldn’t be. We get lost in worrying, planning, daydreaming, and remembering. We get triggered into overwhelming emotions that color our thinking.

Every time I do a silent meditation retreat, I’m reminded of my tendency to forget my “Buddha nature,” as it’s called. I see how I judge people without even talking to them. I judge their choice in shoes or how they enter into a room.

One time, for an entire week I hated a young, bearded man who was wearing a “Don’t Tread on Me” T-shirt. I thought, Who the hell does this libertarian bro think he is? But when we talked after the retreat ended, his voice sounded completely different than I’d imagined. He seemed like a pleasant person, despite his unfortunate political views.

Buddha also refers to our innate ability to be compassionate. Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön reminds us that even the most vicious animals love their offspring. Tibetan Buddhist master Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche once said, “Everybody loves something, even if it’s only tortillas.”

Right now, despite the craziness, we all have access to a more sane and caring way of being. People are picking up groceries for the elderly, fostering shelter animals, texting friends who might be lonely. It’s OK if you can’t be compassionate right now. But just know that one of these days you might.

Dharma refers to the way things actually are. So, Buddha is our ability to see reality clearly—Dharma is reality itself.

Reality is out of whack right now. It seems upside down and unnecessarily cruel. But it’s what we have to work with — it’s reality.

When I say Dharma each morning, I remember that reality is always changing, bringing good things and challenging things. Reality “adds wood to the fire,” so to speak. It’s what helps me grow as a human, to learn new things and develop new skills.

Dharma is the truth. And who doesn’t really want the truth, even if it’s hard to stomach? Who doesn’t really want to cut the bullshit and get to the heart of the matter?

“A pebble, a bamboo tree, the cry of a baby, anything can be the voice of the Dharma calling,” writes Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh. “We should be able to practice like that.”

Sangha is community, particularly those who you’d consider “my people.” These are your friends who share a similar aspiration to wake up, to feel alive, to connect.

And God knows we need community right now. We’re seeing a natural inclination towards Sangha in all the online hangouts, meetings, and watch parties. Despite what cutthroat capitalists say about human nature, we need each other.

Thich Nhat Hanh goes as far as saying, “The next Buddha will be a Sangha.” Meaning, we can’t see reality clearly without close friends, allies, therapists, and others to help us.

Lean on your community right now. Don’t hold back.

Justice, to me, refers to the need for balance. I throw it on the end because I think the other three alone are insufficient.

There’s a need for justice in every situation, all of the time, because there’s so much injustice in our society. We’re watching it play out in Congress right now. The Republicans want to bail out the airlines, hotels, and other big corporations. The Democrats—in a pleasant surprise—want to help everyday people too, those who need it the most.

If we repeat 2008–9, when millions of people lost their homes and the Wall Street bankers who crashed the economy walked away scot-free, justice will not have been served.

We need justice to make sure everyone has their basic needs taken care of. If people’s material needs aren’t met, all the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha in the world won’t make a difference.

Want to start meditating or meditate more often?

My ebook, How to Get Out of Your Head, will help you start or stick with a regular meditation practice. Get it for free here.

Listen to my podcast

On Meditation for the 99%, I take meditation out of faraway monasteries, expensive retreat centers, and Corporate America, and bring it to work, relationships, and, especially, politics. Listen everywhere podcasts are available.

As I’ve written, I’m housesitting for my parents in rural Maryland while they’re in Florida for the winter. When I’m not driving back into Washington, D.C., to see friends, days pass without human interaction.

But the solitude isn’t what’s getting to me. It’s the silence, particularly at night.

The house is on a farm at the end of a mile-long dirt road. It’s a 20-minute drive outside of town, “town” being La Plata, which has a population of barely over 9,000.

Living in D.C. for the past 12 years, I’ve been rocked to sleep by the sound of roommates, ambulances, and drunk people in the alley.

Out here, there’s just empty, mind-bending silence and the occasional gunshot. The other night someone fired off a few semi-automatic rounds across the field from the house. I picked up a 12-gauge shotgun and peered into the darkness for a good 15 minutes.

I’m trying to enjoy being surrounded by the forest as it prepares for spring, and during the day I do. My mother’s side of the family has owned this land since 1849. It’s not as obviously gorgeous as the mountains out West, but there’s beauty if you look for it.

Most nights, though, as soon as the sky fades to black, I imagine someone breaking into the house. Images from TV murder mysteries fill my mind. I listen into the silence, imagining the sound of glass breaking or a door being kicked in. I go up to my room, lock the door, and watch Netflix with that shotgun next to my bed.

I know the odds of someone burglarizing a house this far out in the woods are low. But when we’re triggered into intense emotions, rational thinking is beside the point.

So far, what I’ve been able to do is bring attention to the fear. I’ve noticed that my shoulders and neck tense up as if something frightening is right behind me. The last thing I want to do is get out of bed to check downstairs.

Based on my journey working with other emotions, like loneliness and grief, the next step is to accept that I’m afraid. But, so far, all I feel is ashamed. Once the stories about murders and break-ins fade away, I think things like, I’m 34 years old, I shouldn’t be afraid. Or, I should be a man like my dad who seems to never be afraid.

“Shoulds” are a dead giveaway that we’re fighting reality. When we think we should or shouldn’t be a certain way, we’re trying to deny who we really are in this moment.

The German psychoanalysis Karen Horney called this the “tyranny of the shoulds.” It really does seem like a tyrannical leader in the mind takes the steering wheel and won’t let go. There’s a rigidity to the “shoulds.” We are either this or that, good or bad, strong or weak.

But the part of me that’s afraid needs to be seen and held with compassion—just like a frightened child. If I keep denying that I’m afraid by wishing I wasn’t, that part will keep being afraid because it doesn’t trust the other parts of me. It will keep taking over and causing me to freeze up.

Thank God for my meditation practice, which has developed the muscle memory in my mind to watch out for “shoulds.”

“Meditation practice isn’t about trying to throw ourselves away and become something better,” writes the Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön. “It’s about befriending who we are already. The ground of practice is you or me or whoever we are right now, just as we are. That’s what we come to know with tremendous curiosity and interest.”

I’m curious about my fear, but befriending it sounds so lame. Who wants to be friends with someone who’s afraid of the dark like a little kid?

I’m not there yet. But at least I know where my edge is, and I’ve come to trust that when I step towards my edge rather than away from it, good things tend to happen.

Want to start meditating or meditate more often?

My ebook, How to Get Out of Your Head, will help you start or stick with a regular meditation practice. Get it for free here.

Listen to my podcast

On Meditation for the 99%, I take meditation out of faraway monasteries, expensive retreat centers, and Corporate America, and bring it to work, relationships, and, especially, politics. Listen everywhere podcasts are available.

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