Uncommon Wisdom From a Common Symbol

a picture of a sunset with a yin sign in the foreground.

More than a popular tattoo choice or mindless doodle etched into countless high school notebooks, the symbol we know as the yin-yang is rich in meaning. Represented as a perfect circle divided into two parts—one black with a spot of white, the other white with a spot of black—the yin-yang holds an important place in the Chinese philosophy and religion known as Taoism. It serves as a representation of certain vital aspects of life, and offers a valuable reminder of our own nature.

The central, foundational symbolism in the yin-yang is the fluid balance of the yin and yang energies existing within everything in nature. Yin energy, referred to as the feminine energy, is represented by the black half of the circle; it is passive, yielding, and receptive. Yang energy, referred to as the masculine energy, is represented by the white half of the circle; it is active, strong, and expansive. These dualities constitute equal halves of the circle, as they are equally vital to everything in nature. Yin cannot exist without yang, just as yang cannot exist without yin. Nothing, in essence, can exist without its opposite. We can appreciate love because we understand hate. Joy is meaningless without the existence of sorrow. Life cannot be honored without an understanding of death.

In the yin-yang symbol, each half contains a small circle in the opposite color. This serves to reminds us that everything contains the seed of its opposite. There is always a little spot of light in the darkness, a little bit of darkness in the light. Nothing within the universe, within life, or within ourselves is ever completely black or white. Nothing is ever absolute.

The line along which yin and yang connect is curved instead of straight. This demonstrates that yin and yang depend on each other. It represents the never-ending, ever-flowing cycle in which these opposing energies move. The fluidity represented by the S-shaped division within the yin-yang symbol is a reminder of the harmony inherent in our nature.

Every time I see the yin-yang symbol, I’m reminded of the beautiful design of Nature, which is the same nature of which I am made. I’m reminded that the harmonious balance alive in Nature, which I can witness with my own eyes, is also alive in me. Just as water flows effortlessly, just as day predictably turns to night, so do the rhythms of my own life unfold. When I look at the yin-yang, I’m reminded that nothing is static, nothing is permanent. I’m inspired to trust the flow of Life and let myself flow with it. Instead of getting caught up in my ego’s demands, desires, and disappointments, I yield to the wisdom of the Tao—The Way, the totality, the whole that contains everything—and I peacefully surrender.

If the rich symbolic meaning of the yin-yang inspires you as much as it does me, I invite you to keep one visible for yourself. Return to it often as a gentle reminder that everything—both yin and yang, both light and dark, both pain and pleasure, both life and death—are necessary and, therefore, perfect.

The Making of a Mind Master

a silhouette of a bird flying over a palm tree.

In his bestselling book, The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari, author Robin Sharma wisely states: “The mind is a wonderful servant, but a terrible master.” The simple wisdom of these words speaks to the heart of the human experience, for to be human is to be in constant thought. It is to live inside an endless loop of inner chitter chatter about everything that is, was, and ever could be. Without the light of our awareness and the spirit of our conscious intention, we are bound to be the servants of our minds. And most of us know what it feels like to live this way, at the mercy of our own thoughts, consumed by the contents of our minds. But through subtle shifts in attention and the implementation of simple practices, we can enter a new relationship with our minds, becoming their masters and wielding their greatest potential.

Our minds are remarkably powerful, and they’re particularly good at three specific things: storytelling, meaning making, and time traveling. As a therapist and coach, I know all too well how heavily these functions of mind can impact people’s lives. When the mind is the master, the stories it tells, the meanings it makes, and the places it goes can create tremendous suffering. But I also know that while these activities of the mind can be enslaving, they can also serve as the doorways for liberation; they present an opportunity to become the mind’s master.

As storytelling machines, our minds run an ongoing narrative of everything that happens in our lives. The stories they tell us are captivating and distracting, holding our attention and heavily influencing our experience. Our minds can keep us from connecting with the present moment, because instead of attending to what’s happening in that moment, we’re caught up in the stories they tell us—either about what’s happening, or about something else altogether. It’s easy to feel disconnected when the mind is in control; while life unfolds right in front of us, our stories keep us trapped and unable to make contact.

To move from servitude to mastery, we must heighten our awareness of the mind’s propensity for storytelling. Through the development of practices like mindfulness and meditation, we can learn to notice when the stories in our minds are pulling us away from the present moment. The quicker we notice, the quicker and more effectively we can bring our attention back to our experience in the here-and-now. Becoming the master in this way means being more grounded, connected, and present to life.

Our minds are not only great at storytelling, they’re also pretty magnificent meaning-making machines. They interpret everything, filtering information through our personal biases and beliefs, and influencing how we make sense of the world. When we are servants to our minds, the meanings they make can blind and constrict us, keeping us stuck and limiting our perspective. We hold these interpretations—the meaning our minds generate about our experiences—as truths, and we get completely caught up in them. A great example of how this operates is a former client of mine, who came to me after suffering for 30 years from a sense of unworthiness. He shared with me that when he was in the 3rd grade, a couple of boys in his class teased him about his haircut, and a few other kids within earshot laughed along with them. The meaning my client made of that experience was that he was an “unlovable reject,” and he carried that with him throughout the rest of his life, until the point that we met. This example is as common as it is painful; we all know what it’s like to believe what our minds make up about some event or experience, and we know how limiting and damaging that can be.

The shift from servitude to mastery with respect to meaning-making comes with identifying our core beliefs and recognizing the things our minds make up about what we encounter in life. Therapy and coaching are particularly effective ways to develop mind mastery in this area. The more aware we are of the interpretations our minds create—and, most importantly, the ways in which those interpretations affect us—the more we can distinguish the facts from the interpretations, and the less we suffer.

As I mentioned before, our minds are highly sophisticated time-travel machines. At any given moment, we can travel to the near or distant past, the anticipated or imagined future. And while this is, no doubt, a pretty cool thing, it can also get pretty ugly. Because the reality is, our minds let us travel to the past and future, but we have absolutely no control over either one of them. The past is gone, and the future hasn’t happened yet, so dwelling in either one can be an exercise in suffering. When the mind is the master, its time-traveling adventures can cause depression, by dwelling on what’s already happened, and anxiety, by agonizing about what could happen. And that’s not to mention the ways in which all that time-hopping robs us of our ability to be in the present, where life is happening. Many of my clients speak to me about how terrible it can feel when their minds take control and zap them back into an ugly past or zoom them forward into an uncertain future. There’s a reason the Buddha taught so much about being in the present moment; he was wise to the reality that the mind likes to travel, and when it takes us with it, we’re liable to suffer.

To become a master of the mind’s time-traveling nature is to acknowledge that there are some undeniable upsides to this capability. The past is full of rich material; it contains our memories, the lessons we’ve learned, and valuable information that can guide us through life. Thinking about the future can also be advantageous, as we can plan, get excited about upcoming events, and anticipate things on the horizon in order to prepare for them effectively. When we learn how to travel to the past and future with intention and be in the driver’s seat for the voyage, we can use this function of our minds to its greatest capacity and avoiding unnecessary suffering.

The human mind is magnificent. As John Milton so aptly put it, it can “make a heaven of hell, a heal of heaven.” To master the mind is to master life, so why not start moving toward mastery right here and now? As always, I wish you peace and love and am here to keep you company on your journey however it supports you.

The Power of Now: Learning to Live Like You’re Dying

a person's hand reaching out towards the water.

A few nights ago I had a heart opening phone conversation with a dear friend as he spent time with his family following the death of his beloved grandmother. We spoke about death, grief, and the meaning of life. We connected and reflected, each of us sharing openly and vulnerably about our understanding of death and the meaning we make of it. At one point in the conversation, my friend asked me, “If you could find out the day you’re going to die, would you want to know?” Instinctively, I answered, “No way.” When I posed the same question to him, however, he quickly answered, “Absolutely.”  The conversation that followed made a big impact on me and inspired me to write this post.

Although my friend and I didn’t share the same view about being told when we’ll die, we did agree about something: We have a serious case of death denial. Most of us—unless we have a terminal illness and know that death is imminent—go through life without giving much thought to our mortality. And though that certainly keeps us from having to dwell in morbid territory, it also has potential to keep us from living as fully as we could be.

When you get down to it, the truth is that life is always now. What I mean is that the past is gone and the future hasn’t happened yet, so the present moment is the only place we can ever be. It’s the only time that matters. When we we take the present moment for granted, assuming there’s always tomorrow, we miss out on opportunities to live fully and freely.

The reason my friend would want to know when he’s going to die is that he believes it would help remind him to make the most of life. He put it to me this way: “You know, we say we’re afraid of death; but what we really seem to be afraid of is life!” He went on to explain that perhaps knowing how much time he had left would be an antidote to fear and an encouragement to just go for it, whatever it is, because life is short and time is precious. This was a perspective I hadn’t previously considered.

When I work with clients in therapy or coaching, I’m committed to helping them access their potential and use their inherent resources and strengths to resolve whatever challenges they’re encountering. My clients often share with me that the more they get in touch with their potential and purpose, the richer their lives become. They experience more clarity, more appreciation for their lives, and a deeper understanding of what’s important to them. Essentially, our work together supports them in breaking through everything keeping them from living life to the fullest. So when my friend said what he did about using awareness of death as a means of enriching life, I understood perfectly what he was saying—and I had to agree.

Most of us won’t find out in advance exactly when we’re going to die, but that doesn’t mean we can’t live with urgency, passion, commitment, and presence. If we abandon our death denial and choose, instead, to stay fully aware of the brevity of life, we create the potential to make each moment count. Because our time here is short, tomorrow’s never promised, and life is always NOW.

So what would happen if you replaced your death denial with death awareness? What would it inspire you to do that you haven’t been doing? What would it free you up to experience or express?

We don’t like to think about it, but it’s important that we face it: We’re all dying. Every last one of us. And we don’t know when our time will run out. Instead of resisting this realization, I say we embrace it. Because life gets much more meaningful, much more beautiful when we remember that it won’t last forever.  So today and every day, I invite you to seize the power of the present moment and live like you know you’re dying. Treat each moment as a gift, and laugh in the face of fear. All we’ve got is the dash between our date of birth and date of death; let’s make it count.

 

“So, think about this long and hard. Are there things you’d like to change? For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged.”

– Linda Ellis, The Dash