Empathy is a very important element that keeps society together, it forms the glue that makes us realise that we are not alone, that there is a connection with others in general terms. The common denominator here seems to be ‘community’ and ‘collaboration’ rather than a more personal interaction with one or several people. ‘Being love’ in this context is selfless, altruistic and outward.

And then there is the other kind of ‘being love’, the kind that is more specific, often directed at one person in a very particular way that only means ‘being love’ for them but not for anyone else. This could take the shape of small acts of kindness to the benefit of that person, or maybe being intentionally present for them when you sense they need you. That love may be more generalised, too: offering your time or help to whoever needs it – irrespective of the fact that nobody might take the offer. It may just not be necessary at that time, but ‘being love’ is expressed in the sheer act of offering. No taking needed to seal the deal.

‘Being love’ could be expressed quite easily by giving each person you encounter your most brilliant smile when they pass you in the street, or waving out of the bus while you pass them by, or small compliments on something they do that strikes you as extraordinary.

Both ways of ‘being love’ can be described in a situation where you give a gift to someone. You can spend a lot of time and thought on finding the perfect gift for a loved one, and that involves a very specific intention: pleasing that person to the best of your abilities. Or you spend some time finding an appropriate gift because you feel a certain level of obligation to give one. That is not to say that the second gift is any less appreciated, but it involves a certain lack of intentionality.

Whatever you do in the name of love, make sure you have good intentions and it will be all the more meaningful.

Yes: I did see clients for work, of course. But let’s face it, mostly that was preparation, and the social element of my work is often rather unidirectional, and geared more towards emotional and practical support than it is to exchange pleasantries.

So here I find myself: stuck at home and kind of loving it. At first – like everyone else – I was panicking about money, if work will return one day, how to move forward, and what to change in order to survive this. But then, only a couple of weeks in, I realised that any further action would not really bring me any advantage – and I stopped racing forward and settled into this new situation.

There is a certain appeal to NOT having to rush and do things half as much as in normal times. Admittedly, I am attracted to this more solitary life, and I find it refreshing to just be on my own without having to find excuses why I don’t want to be dragged out to meet a group of people at once when I actually much prefer to meet them separately. That said: I do realise that I’m someone who needs people around me to engage with, I just don’t enjoy groups.

As a result of being on my own most of the time, I find myself more open to random thoughts and emotions, and to experience them to the fullest. I have laughed more in the last two months than I have for years – and I have cried more, too. I believe this to be a sign of liberation and acceptance, not having to hold in for fear of being misunderstood of judged for it. It’s a strange situation: I love being on my own, but in order to feel whole I have a need for people nearby. I guess that would be the quintessential description of monastic life: on your own within the embrace of a community.

I had more time to think and come to conclusions about ideas that have been churning in my mind for ages, and am finding myself drifting off into meditative moments throughout the day. Normally, I would be busy or call myself back to the tasks at hand, but now there simply is no reason to stop this from happening. And I like it very much.

Maybe I even like it too much: there is a gravitational pull to the idea of doing this forever. It is hugely attractive to let the world drift past me and stay away from it, and I’m not sure how I’ll feel when the time come to fully re-engage with my physical surroundings after being attuned to the metaphysical for a while. I guess this is a close as I’ll ever get to being a monk…

Hello there:
I realise this was a little different from previous blog posts. I actually hesitated before posting this as it seemed much more personal than other posts. And then I understood that others might be in a similar situation and may not yet have come to the conclusion that this is all right and, in fact, a chance to experience life in quite a different way from what passes as ‘normal’. I hope this encourages you to explore this wonderfully different path for a while as well.

And that is exactly where you may want to stay for a while: NOT making sense of it, but experiencing it for as long as you can. Stay with the fear, joy, excitement or wonder you just experienced and live with it for a while. Attempts at explaining such things are ultimately destructive: what has been given to you is a glimpse of something that ‘could’ be, something outside of your everyday experience, something ‘more’… and such things are precious.

Let’s look at something more commonplace: imagine you had a dream one night and you woke up and that one image stuck with you. It didn’t make sense until you entered a situation where it suddenly become a valuable thing to remember. Think of a peak experience in similar ways, but this time it’s not so much your subconscious that hints at something, but the universe showing itself in a way that you can ultimately learn to understand. It just takes time.

Speaking from my own experience, I had several such powerful moments and am learning to integrate whatever they have given me into what goes under the description of ‘real life’. It is not always easy, I admit, but I’m finding that my experiences have started to influence how I see the world around me in sometimes subtle, sometimes dramatically different ways.

One of the most surprising things I have come to understand is that everything is temporary. For many of you, that may sound unsettling, I know. But think about it: if everything good is temporary, so is anything bad. If you can think of bad things happening in the future, then you can also imagine good things. My personal outlook towards the future has changed through this: I can now see a positive side to most developments. There is a sense of balance that I never had before.

At the same time, I also perceive myself as part of something bigger, and it is part of me, too. Following one of my own experiences, I no longer feel like an unimportant cogwheel in a huge mechanism as I used to. I still am part in the whole image, but no less important than anything else. Lately, I feel like fading into a wall with increasing regularity during meditations, but so far I have resisted the urge to fade away in meditation. Maybe it’s time to let go and see what comes next if I allow that to happen?