Finding Safety In Your Own Heart

The morning of 6 November 2024, I, like many of us, was in a panic. The majority of those casting ballots in the United States of America looked at their options, and for the highest office in the executive branch of our government, selected a serial rapist, con artist, and fascist demagogue who intended to carry out a plan to dismantle democracy. They chose a man who promised to carry out direct attacks on my communities, people I love, and me. Not only that, but this was the second time he was elected. Somehow, the majority of ballot-casters could ignore all of the people he hurt or killed in his first term, and made him the first Republican to win the popular vote in a presidential contest in twenty years.

I felt in danger. Because I was, and I still am.

In Buddhism, we have the concept of "taking refuge." To formally become a Buddhist, you announce that you take refuge in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha: the teacher, his teachings, and the community that practices those teachings. A lot of the words used to translate Pali (the liturgical language of Theravāda, and the closest we have to what the Buddha taught in) a century ago stuck, even though they have become antiquated. This results in a jargon that can be tough for newcomers and even longtime practitioners. "Refuge" was one of those jargony words I couldn't connect with.

But that morning, after three hours of abject terror, I finally understood it: safety. Refuge means safety. It means finding safety in my practice, in the Dhamma, and in the part of my mind that nothing can ever touch. It means finding safety in my own moral integrity. It means finding safety in my values, such as generosity, love, and the commitment to helping others. As long as I can stay in touch with this, and that wisdom born from kindness and clarity, I will be in touch with that which is more important than anything else, even my own life.

Being able to trust your mind at such a fundamental level is wonderful. I know I make many bad choices, and perpetuate bad habits, but I also know that the foundation of my mind is an orientation towards good.

So what can you trust? What will remain constant, no matter what happens, that can shelter you from the hardships of life? If you can't think of anything, I encourage you to contemplate this question.

Now, those of us who are mentally ill or neurodivergent may have a great deal of mistrust for ourselves, having seen ourselves act poorly in the past so many times. It is completely understandable, given our histories. But if you are, that doesn't mean you can't build that trust. No one starts out perfect. Everyone needs to do work on themselves...even the Buddha did before his great enlightenment! Learning about yourself, what you can trust, and what you can develop to deepen that trust, is a difficult but rewarding process of self-discovery. I can assure you of that from personal experience.

One of the most important things you can do to build trust in yourself is to commit to a few fundamental ethical standards for conduct based around helping and not harming. In Buddhism we have the five sikkhāpada, a word usually translated as "precept" but more accurately "training rule": No killing, no taking what is not freely given, no hurting oneself or others through sexual activity, no lying, and no intoxication. Thich Nhat Hanh expanded these with his beautiful formulation of the Five Mindfulness Trainings. These are concrete expressions of the ways in which we can refrain from harming ourselves or others. While I certainly encourage everyone to take them on, if you're not going to do that, you might at least use them as a basis for reflection upon what kinds of behaviors you want to engage in, what kinds of actions you want to take, and what kinds of lines you want to draw to maintain and strengthen your moral integrity.

These five rules are abstentions from harmful behavior, and not positive injunctions for how to act. But when we restrain ourselves from doing harm, something new emerges: a drive towards generosity. A drive to love, assist, protect, and uplift others. These qualities grow when fertilized, and they erode those qualities that motivate actions that hurt oneself or others.

One of the best ways to fertilize these qualities is through two meditations the Buddha taught: sīlānussati and cāgānussati, recollection of virtue and recollection of generosity. We have a tendency to focus on our shortcomings. Our minds look for faults in ourselves, and when we find them, we make them the center of our attention. We berate ourselves for the times we failed to act according to our ideals. This is not what the Buddha wanted us to do. Certainly, remorse for having done harm is important, but only as far as it motivates you to apologize, remedy the harm as best you can, and commit to not repeating it. But the Buddha wanted us to have a sense of pride in our morality, a sense of dignity that would prevent us from entertaining the idea of doing wrong, so he offered these meditations. They are simple: Reflect on all the things we've done right, or all the times we've not done wrong, and feel good about that. There is some danger here, as people who feel morally superior tend to actually act less morally than those who don't, because they feel they can give themselves permission to deviate from what is best because they're such a good person. This is not the goal of the exercise, nor is it making oneself feel superior to others. Really, we shouldn't be comparing ourselves to others at all. The Buddha wanted us to recognize and celebrate our goodness without it becoming arrogance or conceit. He wanted us to use that to develop our morality as we would any other skill, until doing the right thing becomes so natural we can have absolute trust in our own hearts and minds.

Even if you lack that confidence now, I promise you that by doing these exercises, committing to doing right, not doing evil, and frequently reflecting on how well you're doing without letting it become conceit, that confidence will build. And there's no greater safety than being able to trust yourself.