Hi Reader,

It occurred to me this week that a whole bunch of the work I'm trying to do with writing and thinking and practicing is dedicated to getting clear on my perspective. On what things look like to me. Maybe if I can get clear on where I'm standing I can catch a glimpse of myself.

That's like the other side of coming home, by the way. Or, depending on how you look at it, exactly the same thing.

My challenge is that, as an intelligent, interested, openminded, emotionally sensitive human being, as I read and listen to the perspectives of others I tend to get swept away by them. I often think things like:

Oh, that's a good idea.

That makes sense!

I should be thinking that way!

This kind of thing has been a more-or-less constant experience of mine for a couple decades. And it has come with a cost. Namely, that I lose sight of what I think for myself.

You may have noticed I painted myself in quite the positive light there. Intelligent, interested, openminded, and emotionally sensitive, indeed. But there is a dark side to this, as well. In a way it's easier to try taking on someone else's perspective than to take responsibility for my own. I get to hide in my little mental cave, tending the flame of my fear.

So I tell myself I'm being openminded and inclusive, while at the same time I'm simpering and handwringing.

Well, both perspectives can be true. Or, wait—is that just more wishy-washiness? Isn't all this nondual hullaballoo just another way to avoid courageously laying claim to a perspective?

Hopefully I've painted an effective picture of my dilemma. What I want to get out of coming home is a sword to cut through the murky glop of perspectives to find, at its core, myself, home, seeing clearly. Not weak, but powerful, balanced, wise, calm, generous, and compassionate. Not ignoring the perspectives of others, but able to consider them without losing my own footing.

That's what I'm practicing (at least I think it is), with meditation, reading, this newsletter, and everything else in my life I can co-opt for the purpose.

A big part of the reason why I ask for your thoughts is because reading them provides me with more material for practice. That's the selfish reason, of course. The generous reason is that hearing your thoughts lets me write things to help you, things you're likely to be interested in. That's a hard problem, and an interesting one, and I'm not sure how to measure my success. Let me at least say that I hope that you, coming to the end of these words, have located yourself more precisely in this moment, have found a firmer footing, can find a little more energy to move forward with your day.

It's a real privilege to write to you. Thank you, and bless you.