(Originally Published on The Huffington Post on 5/18/2012)

I’m no Buddhist monk by any means, but I am always looking for ways of relating to my partner on a deeper level and am on a continued journey with him to enrich the levels of intimacy between us. When a recent interview on love and relationships between Buddhist author/teacher Thich Nhat Hanh and everyone’s favorite TV talking head and spirit animal Oprah Winfrey came across my desk, I decided to take a closer look. They were chatting about meditation and four mantras that can be used between people in love to help strengthen the bond and establish healthy ways of embracing, supporting, and reassuring each other through mindfulness. Nhat Hanh is quoted as saying these first two mantras can bring “instant happiness” to any relationship, so if you’re into that sort of thing, listen up!

Mantra 1: “Darling, I’m here for you.”

The idea behind this is to spotlight your presence in the relationship without being focused on the past or the future. Nhat Hanh teaches this practice because he believes that when you love someone, the best you can offer is your presence in the here and now. I have a hard time doing this when I’m by myself, much less in a committed relationship with someone I care deeply about. The past can be so hurtful, so sad, so present, and the future can be scary to the point that I have to look away at times. This is where the importance of staying present comes in. Much of the trouble I run into in my relationship has little to do with what is happening now between the two of us and everything to do with what has happened in days gone by with former partners, our history together, and the fears that take over when thinking about how that will all play out over our time together. Ultimately, if I could stay in the present day, in the moment with my most treasured person, this would all fade away.

Mantra 2: “Darling, I know you are there, and I am so happy.”

Thich Nhat Hanh writes, “To be loved means to be recognized as existing.” In letting your partner know you are there for them and acknowledging that they are also there for you, each of you is Read the rest of this entry »

(Originally Published on The Huffington Post on 4/6/2012)

I don’t do well with death. My coping skills are still lacking around anything related to loss in general, actually — but death, I just… can’t. It’s been this way since I was a boy. The idea that everyone I have ever loved will someday be taken from me (or I from them) terrifies me and is a concept I have largely refused to look at for as long as I can remember. Death, in my personal psychology, as in life, is the final frontier.

This week when I got the call from my broken-hearted mother that her sweet sister, who had fallen ill with a mysterious condition a few months ago, was being moved from hospital to hospice, I was overcome with sorrow. My usually manageable, small, wooden feelings about death and loss were suddenly made large, alive and uncontrollable. What I am most afraid of was here, once again, greeting me head-on in the living room. I turned back into the terrified child version of myself that lives inside me while my mother and I cried on the phone together. During the really hard parts I tried not to hear what she was saying, and instead focused on the sound of my own sobbing. It didn’t work. I took in every painful word.

My brain absorbs news like this in slow motion. It hits me in tearful waves, fades to the background, then jumps out again at the strangest times. I feel a deep connection to this planet by way of my family and the love we all share for each other, and I am sad that some of that love might be moving to another part of the universe. I’m selfish in this way. I want to keep all of you close forever. Anything else just seems too cruel to imagine and, well…This has been my reality for three days now.

A few years ago I was given a book called To Bless the Space Between Us, by John O’Donohue. I have pulled it out a few times over the years when I can’t find ways of relating to the world, and it has helped me form thoughts around some of the stuff I’m just no good at thinking about. This week was one of those times. In a passage about death from the book, O’Donohue writes:

“From the moment you were born,
Your death has walked beside you.
Though it seldom shows its face,
You still feel its empty touch,
When fear invades your life,
Or what you love is lost
Or inner damage is incurred.

That you would gather yourself
And decide carefully
How you now can live
The life you would love
To look back on
From your deathbed.” Read the rest of this entry »