Below is the transcript for a July 6, 2024 conversation with Tracy Cochran.

Richard Whittaker:   It's great to be here with you, Tracy. I think we need to say something more about your voice situation. There’s some organic loss where you can still speak, but it's difficult. Maybe you could say something about that.

Tracy Cochran:   Okay. Well, I prefer to think of it as a more interesting voice. First of all, I'm grateful to be here, and I was very excited that we'd have more spaciousness, because I really think that is a delightful invitation for all of us. Richard, I spoke to you in advance and invited you to mention my voice. It's not actually an organic loss. I have a tremor like some people have in their hands. I have it in my throat. So it doesn't hurt. It's an unusual voice. I don't think of it as difficult as much as something that invites me to be more present. And it invites other people to listen more.

But the reason I thought that it was interesting to start with this is because, as we discussed, every single person on this call has something -- something that they sometimes worry about, or a lot of the time worry about, some limitation or worry or pain or sorrow. And it's interesting right from the start to invite everything into the space and to see right from the start that it's not a limitation, but an invitation to presence. I can be with this with kindness, with presence.

Richard:   That is an absolutely lovely introduction, Tracy.

Tracy:   Thank you.

Richard:   I wonder if I could ask you to say a little about your journey to where you are now as a meditation teacher. Are you the founder of the Hudson River Sangha? [yes] So this is a long journey, but perhaps you could say a little bit about it in general.

Tracy:   Sure. Very well. I have been engaged with spiritual practice for a long, long time, as you know. We connected through the Gurdjieff work and through Parabola, and I've also been engaged in the practice of vipassana, or insight meditation, Buddhist meditation.

What the Hudson River Sangha was, literally, was a space in Tarrytown, New York, which is near the Hudson, right on the banks. I used to lead meditation for a group and we'd often hear fog horns from ships on the Hudson while meditation was happening. So it just came to me to call it the Hudson River Sangha. After the pandemic kicked in, it truly became global but we kept the name of the river.

Richard:   Thank you. I want to go right straight to your book, Presence, just published by Shambala. It's a wonderful collection of 18 or 19 of your pieces that have appeared in Parabola. And I can say that every one of them is really quite a journey.

In Chapter 1, paragraph 1, this sentence leaps out at me: "Well-being requires a deep encounter with our experience." So that's a fundamental thing. And you go on to qualify that a couple of pages later, saying, "Over the years I've come to understand that being suspended between doubt and faith, being utterly alone with your own experience and bereft of all hope of rescue from outside, is the wellspring of wellness."

That's a fascinating statement and I wonder if you’d say something more about that.

Tracy:   Yeah. First of all, as I recall that piece, I was literally stranded one time. I was stranded, and it was the age before cell phones. That marks me as a true elder. I was stranded. The engine blew up in the van I was traveling in, in what felt like a desert. It was actually “the great American Heartland.” But when you're lost, often everything feels unfriendly.

So I was stranded. I didn't know what would come next. And I got to observe - and I've observed it many times since, as I'm sure you and other listeners have – that there are moments in life where we reach out for help, for rescue, for understanding, for a solution, a remedy, and it doesn't come. And in those moments, something interesting can happen. It's a kind of glorious U-turn where we come back to a sense of our own presence, and sometimes a sense of our own belonging to life - a very, very quiet and real experience of I am here. I am here. And in those moments often we can shift from feeling lost to feeling found. I'm here. I belong to life.

And in those moments, instead of desperately reaching outward, we're present. We experience that thing called presence. We're with life. We're with life. We may not know exactly what's going to happen next, but we're open. We're willing to receive what comes with presence.

Richard:   A moment like that is so new, so unexpected, when I come back to being present. And those moments are hard to find. And I think that's why you're saying that as long as our ordinary functioning is getting us by -- our ordinary tensions, our ordinary looking forward with some sort of anticipation -- as long as we're in that, we don’t get to these deeper places of reality in ourselves. In a moment like that, when I am present and I do feel I am, suddenly everything is different.

So I'm thinking about a sort of “now what?' If I experience that kind of opening, what does that imply in terms of how my actions might change, how does that change my interaction with the next person I see? Meditation might take us to that moment, but does meditation tell us what's right action, right speech, right livelihood? Sorry, this is a vague kind of general question.

Tracy:   Interesting question. What I have found in my experience is that practice of presence can be something that can take place in a moment. We can turn from reaching outward to being attentive to what's present, what's here inside me. We started this conversation with an invitation to be spacious, and this practice of presence invites spaciousness into our lives.

So instead of thinking, What do I say next? we're listening. Shifting from speaking -- from thinking What do I say? -- to listening, being attentive. And not just with ears but with sensation, with the whole of ourselves that happens to be present. So we're actually inviting ourselves to see that we're more than we think we are.

We're more than our thinking or our physical strength or our voice. The reason I was happy to talk about my voice is that it invites everybody listening to see, "Oh, there's some way that I feel deficient or lacking or not quite ready for whatever's coming at me." And the practice -- and it's common to all the world's traditions, certainly in Buddhism -- is to let go of that small embattled self, that list of attributes that we think we need to rely on exclusively - our thinking, our health. And to open to see that what we are is also a greater attention that's receptive and responsive and kind.

You talk about right speech, right action, right livelihood. It begins with being present. I'm with life. I begin to have an organic sense of what's needed sometimes. Or at least what doesn't help.

Richard:   Well, I'm thinking of your story of the wallet. You were on a platform for a train in Grand Central Station, I guess, and you saw a wallet there. People were passing by and no one noticing the it. That was surprising right there, that no one was even seeing the wallet. You saw it. So now the question was “Now what?” And you picked it up, right? So here's an example of a moment where I don't quite know what to do. I see something and I don't quite know what to do.

So I'm interested in that process - a situation where there are conflicting thoughts and questions. I don't know the answers. So what is it that guides one? You can tell that story and I'd be interested in your reflections around moments in life where I have to make a decision.

Tracy:   Right. Okay. I think for all of us, the most helpful thing to do is to come back to ourselves, as we've been saying - bringing attention to yourself and giving yourself space. Let it be okay to not know what to do. I don't know what to do.

One time I taught meditation - and I'm gonna circle back to the wallet - I looked up the federal agency for forests for what to do when you’re lost in the woods. And it was perfect. I was teaching in Manhattan, but it was perfect because it had an acronym like STOP. You stop. Take stock. What's happening? What's coming up? Fear, uncertainty, confusion. If you're in the woods, take stock of whether you're injured. Then you kind of drop and observe. Oh. And then you proceed. So the first thing to do always is stop. I don't know what to do, and I'm willing to be with that with kindness.

So in the case of the wallet, I opened the wallet and looked at the ID. The train started going. I had a picture from the driver's licence, and I had a kind conductor - kindly, friendly. So I gave him the task.

I asked him if he'd like to feel really good and do something really fun, and he was open. So I showed him the licence in the wallet and told him to go search for this guy and come back and tell me what happened. So he came back, beaming that he found him, the young man, and he was just so happy, so relieved, and so grateful for a benevolent universe, in this case. A happy outcome.

I want to say that at other times I've had my wallet stolen. It’s been a different story. And in those circumstances too, I've seen help come. The whole practice is being open, being willing to trust life.

Richard:   I'm thinking of situations. I do a lot of walking on purpose, and when I pass a stranger, I'm interested in making a gesture of connection. So I'm interested in this moment where I'm in transit, in life, and let's say passing a stranger. So a decision needs to be made quickly. And there are many ways, I suppose, that we can be in a situation where we don't know exactly, and a decision has to be made. There's no time to wait sometimes.

I'm interested in your thoughts, when I am in a situation where it happens quickly and a reaction is required one way or the other, a response, like no, yes. What do you think about those moments where you don't have time to wait or time to think when something's required?

Tracy:   Well, first we have to let go. In my experience of anxiety, about getting it right, I want to see where that's coming from. There's part of ourselves, usually in the thinking mind, that's always trying to think things through, and do things right, and make it turn out the right way.

And the thing that's so radical about the practice of presence is that it invites us to see when things go wrong, including when you feel like you speak when someone wants to be quiet or something. When things go wrong, whether it's falling ill or getting your wallet stolen, it never means that you've done something wrong. In a larger way, it means that this happened because that happened.

In Buddhism, everything's the result of conditioning. We're asleep and everything is a result of the turning of many wheels and gears. But what we can do - where awakening or coming closer to awakening as possible - is, again, be willing to see. I'm willing to see myself right now. I'm willing to be open to what's happening.

I go walking, too, and sometimes when I'm more present, I can see when someone wants to engage, and other times someone wants to really be with themselves, just talking on the phone or talking inside themselves. So it does make me more sensitive. But beyond that, I give myself the counsel that things just happen. I can be governed - I say metta a lot, “May you be well,” to myself and others, offering loving friendliness - I like to do this when I travel because when I travel in an unknown place, I can be with kindness.

So I'm offering kindness to people even without speaking, and without saying anything. I anchor myself in that. And beyond that, I give myself an invitation to see that things just plain happen sometimes. They happen, and it's not personal.

When I gave the wallet back, it was beautiful. An anonymous act of kindness. When I was robbed in New York City, knocked out and robbed, it wasn't personal. It was because someone who was suffering and disordered, I was in their path.

Richard:   Yes, yes. Right. You know, especially in the last few years, increasingly I see the value and the deep, deep reward of small moments of kindness with others, encounters with strangers, in which a small moment of kindness radiates in both directions - in me and in the other person. These can be so simple and it has to do with walking.

Two people were walking my way. I was walking, too, and I saw they looked happy. And for some reason, an impulse arose in me. I'm a shy person by nature, and there was no time. I had to make a decision. And as I passed them, I smiled and said, "Hello good people!" with a big smile. That was just a big risk for me. I had my dogs with me - and the woman’s response was immediate as they passed me, and in exactly in spirit: "Good people and good dogs!"

It seems like such a small thing. But it required the risk of following this positive impulse. And it was met in kind.

I'm interested in these moments where there's some fear, there's a positive impulse, there's a bit of risk in getting out of my silo, and almost every time, there's an afirmation. But it also requires, as you say, seeing what's in front of you. It’s being sensitive about when to take a chance, trusting the sensitivity in oneself and when to stay in my silo.

Tracy:   Yeah. It’s true. That’s wonderful. I think for me, the thing that's been most transforming about the practice is discovering that when we're willing to be present - and we really have to be willing, it takes a tiny bit of courage to come out of the isolation of thinking and dreaming and be present, be here, sensing and smelling and feeling and seeing, including our own stuff - when we do that, we begin to discover a hidden kindness in life. Attention itself is benevolent.

Stillness.

When we risk - and it can feel like a risk just being still, sitting down, practicing being with what's here - we discover stillness. It's not like a big cold void. It's kind, patient, benevolent. It's like there's something in life that's waiting for us to open to receive it.

And as we start to live that way, at least in my experience, it's like I'm with other people.

It's not so much that I have to go around, like from on high, bestowing benevolence on people. It's just being willing to be with them. Like that beautiful moment you described of “good dogs, good people.”

It's happening all at once. You're co-creating this kind of little party, this little party, just for a moment.

Richard:   I love that -- "a little party." That's beautiful. Okay. And how about dogs? You have a dog. What do you think about other sentient beings? Let's talk about dogs. Is that a good subject?

Tracy:   Sure, sure.

Richard:   Isn't it mysterious if you really look at a dog, or anything? But let's just say my dog - the mystery of it, the utter mystery of this sentient being. I mean, you can look at it in evolutionary terms, life on earth from one-celled beings. Now there's this incredibly complex entity with all these organic things functioning and peering out at you. You feel the reality of this other being. And it's just utterly mysterious. I mean, just utterly mysterious. I’m guessing that dogs is a subject - I mean, I know you have a dog.

Tracy:   I have a dog story that's helpful. I think it's helpful. One time I was teaching meditation in the Hudson River Sangha, when they had a space. The space has since closed and now we're out to get a new space, eventually. But we're virtual, always.

Anyway, one evening someone came into the space with a dog that was being trained to be a guide dog. There's a group here called “Guiding Eyes for the Blind,” and they train these wonderful dogs - usually labs or Golden Retriever mix. They're very patient, they're very chill. They're lovely dogs.

So this puppy who was being trained was kind of rambunctious. But still such a sweet nature. She had a little jacket that said “Guide Dog in Training.” And she was my co-teacher. The thing that was interesting - she liked to get up and play. She wasn't fully trained, but what was touching was that every single person in the sangha saw this beautiful golden puppy. Her name was “Swiss,” after the cheese - and they all saw her; they relaxed, and some people even cried. Because the dog was so completely accepting.

I could feel it, and I never forgot it, because I could see that I wanted to be like that, certainly leading meditation, because they felt so welcomed to bring whatever heartache, voice, whatever their stuff was. Anger, disappointment -- that dog would not reject them.

Richard:  Yes. Right.

Tracy:   She just wanted to be with them and play. So for me, I think when we come back to the body and the breath and sensation, it's our anchor in the present. And I think my body is a good dog. She's a good dog. She's got some miles on her, you know, and she's been through some stuff. But my body has such a basic wish, if you will, to sustain my life, to be with me, to keep breathing, keep telling stories, no matter what -- to be here. So ever since that night, I have treated my body -- and I sometimes encourage other people to treat that practice of coming back to being present in the body -- like a good dog, a good friend. Something to keep you company, and guide you.

Richard:   That's really lovely. That's really lovely. Yes, indeed.

Okay, meditation - trying to become present, I run into tensions. This journey of relaxation can be a long journey. I’m certainly in touch with tensions that are not letting go. I didn't even know about these things, but eventually I learned, “Oh, look at this.” It takes time, I found, this journey. Some things relax, some things don't. And then to be present to that, in front of that.

Talk about running into tension. Perhaps a little bit begins to give way, this journey of entering and finding your way through tension. And some of the tensions are so deep.

Tracy:   Yeah. First of all, it depends on what's going on with a person. Sometimes it's physical tension. Sometimes some people who come to me and sit with me have serious trauma or extremely bad pain, chronic pain. So again, it requires attention and a very gentle touch. In the case of chronic pain - physically, or the pain of trauma - sometimes it's helpful to find a place or a part that doesn't hurt - a breath, hands - as an anchor and a gentle reminder that I'm more than my pain. I'm more than my trauma.

Other times, up comes tension - some pattern inside of tension, or anxiety, or fear, sorrow. That's when it can be very wise to draw close. What needs my love, my loving acceptance? And it's so deliciously bottomless, this practice, because we're constantly invited to see what's coming up now.

Where am I contracting or holding back? We see that our impulse is to fly away from things that are tensions. “I don't want this to be here.” Or to be angry.

I woke up the other night, up came some ancient sorrow, and I tried to distract myself. And I thought, "Here I am." It's second nature to try to distract or flee or fix. Fix! But why don't I just be with it?

It's like if I heard a baby crying in the night, I would go pick it up and hold it. I wouldn't try to shut the door. So I didn't have to listen to that. Though, of course, in our culture a lot of us are the product of upbringings where we weren't supposed to cry and get picked up.

But we have a chance now to meet our pain, our tension, our trauma, our anger, our disappointment - whatever is happening - to meet it with gentle, accepting, loving attention.

"You're welcome here."

It doesn't mean to indulge it. Again, that's why I wanted to lead with my voice. I'm welcome here. My throat is just like this. It's not bad. So for me, the answer is always, Can I be present with this? Can I meet this with kindness and interest and compassion?

Richard:   And this is a “deliciously bottomless” project. I love that phrase, Tracy. I think you know something about this. I must say I've had a little taste of this, and I think when I’m lucky, blessed enough to enter an especially open state in myself, sometimes one can encounter other realities. Things that you just could not even imagine, really. They're not available unless one finds this kind of open, quiet state.

And that brings up your story about Elizabeth, the ghost. Would you speak about your experience with the ghost and the whole world around that of realities that are actually… Well, we could debate whether they're real or not.  So I would invite you to expand a little in this realm of subtle experiences.

Tracy:   Okay. I will tell you my ghost story. Midsummer ghost story. And we'll get to what I think Elizabeth was. In very short form, my parents bought a house that everybody thought was haunted. It was an old Victorian house. It was very gloomy, and everyone - meaning my parents, people who came to visit - had had some unsettling experience.

It seemed almost like a classic haunting. My parents came home one time from being away and smelled this violet perfume all around the fireplace. Something Victorian and completely out of place. Other people had remarked on sinister shadows, or sounds of a trunk being dragged back and forth in the attic. So no one really never felt settled, or peaceful, or happy in this house.

I was about to move to New York City. I was staying in a bedroom that had once been the master bedroom in this house. It had a great big, ornate bed. I loved the drama of it at the time in my early twenties. It was kind of a gothic-looking house. I guess it reminded me of a Victorian novel or something.

But one night I was lying in bed sleeping, and I woke up and there was a column of white at the foot of my bed - and then a vivid, vivid person. There was a high footboard on the bed, and I could see above it a beautiful, young woman with long cascading hair that would've been, I think strawberry blonde, they used to call it, kind of curly. It would've been red. But everything about her was white and bright and she had a lovely face. And a beautiful white dress with eyelets in lace.

She looked at me, and of course I was absolutely paralyzed with fear, literally paralyzed - which is a classic symptom, I've heard. And this beautiful woman said, “I want you to know my name is Elizabeth.” I was gasping with fear, and she said, “I don't live here. But I'm nearby.” And so I'm like, rasping, Richard [makes panting noise]. She said, "I've just come to tell you something important." With a smile - she's smiling beatifically - “If you don't want your body, there are others who do.”

And with that, my world exploded. I had nothing inside except this affirming “No!! I want my body, I want my life!”

And then she said, “You can always find me,” and backed out.

So I was gasping, gasping, gasping, gasping. Finally I could move. I went to my mother's room and woke her up. I said, “I know you're going to think I'm crazy or on drugs or something, but I'm not. I just saw a ghost!”

She said, “I don't think you're crazy. I've seen a column of white, but I felt sorrow.” She'd gotten up and she felt sorrow - classic kinds of ghost feelings.

Elizabeth was quite different. It terrified me so much I couldn't even tell the story for a decade, until I met my now husband. And when I first told him, he said, “It sounds like ‘The Fall of the House of Usher.’” You know, the spooky house.

I've come to understand something. I don't think Elizabeth was a ghost. I think she was a guardian. I'll tell you why. Because when I began being a writer, I wrote a story for New York Magazine and they invited me to go cover a famous channeller. This was many years ago and mediums were all the rage. My job was to be skeptical of the experience. So I went to the session and there were all these people on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and someone went into a trance. An entity came down and filled him, he said. People asked questions of the entity.

I was playing a role. I was young, and I wanted to play the role of skeptical reporter. So I was asking questions to try to expose, to see if this was fake. So he came out of his trance and said, “I have a question for you, Tracy. Who is Elizabeth?”

And I was tingling.

“Who is Elizabeth? Because all around in your atmosphere, I hear Elizabeth.”

Richard:   That is an incredible story.

Rahul:   That was sort of a heart-stopping moment, but I want to take a moment to remind our audience that they can ask any questions on the live stream page or send us a question by email. And maybe, Richard, you could ask a final question before we switch it over to my questions and the questions coming in from the audience.

Richard:   Okay. Final question. I’m still vibrating from that story and the potential reality of these more subtle things. Well, in the book you relate a story about your father, 93 years old, with emphysema and tethered to an oxygen tank. It’s dinner time and he wants to make dinner. You say, “No, I'll do it. I'll do it.”

And he says, “You want to know the secret of life?” Would you just talk a little bit about that story?

Tracy:   Yes, I really think it was so true. I was watching him struggle. He was not a Buddhist or anything, and he was going to make dinner for my sister and me - with great joy - and he had to keep sitting down and resting, having oxygen.

So naturally my conditioning was, “Oh, I have to fix this, or help and take him out of this struggle.” And when I tried, he said, “Tracy, the secret of life, I’ve found, is to notice what brings you joy and love, and let things take as long as they take.”

I found that so immensely helpful with everything from my outer life to my inner practice.

There's so much impatience and anxiety about getting things done. But of course a gift of Buddhism is that the Buddha and his followers work in terms of lifetimes. Not even just this lifetime, but lifetimes. Let things take as long as they take and let this moment be okay. Just be present. Be here. Let it be. It takes as long as it takes.

Richard:   Yes. And your father wasn't around much longer after that dinner.

Tracy:   No.

Rahul:   Thank you so much for this very rich conversation, Richard and Tracy. It's been delightful to listen to. I actually find that the invitation of spaciousness and presence that we brought at the top of the call has been wonderful to sit with, because your unusual voice has almost required a certain kind of presence and attention. So I wanted to thank you for leading with that vulnerability that I think all of us share, as you pointed out, in some part of our lives. It's been quite wonderful. And I have a few of my own questions before we go to questions from the audience if that's okay.

Tracy:   Sure.

Rahul:   One of them, Tracy, is related to this curiosity around the inception of your spiritual practice. I ask because there's a story in the book (which those who are familiar with your prior Awakin call have heard) around a mugging incident where you experienced - perhaps we would call it an expanded presence, or a loving acceptance, or something along those lines.

Do you feel like that was a kind of inception of your spiritual practice? Or an awakening moment where you became conscious of a practice that had started before? Or perhaps that's not even the inception at all -- if there's some other origin point where you began to see yourself as a seeker, someone on a path, whether it's a Buddhist path or something inside Gurdjieff’s work, or otherwise.

Tracy:   The experience you’re speaking of is called “The Night I Died” in the book. And it was another mugging experience. I'm something of a mugging specialist. [laughs] But “The Night I Died,” I would call it a confirmation.

I think the inception of my spiritual life, as perhaps for you and many other people listening, is childhood. There are moments in childhood where you just know there's a way to be that is more whole, more recollected - body, heart, and mind. Not just in your head.

So the experience that happened to me - it was a near death experience. I was jumped on a side street and put in a stranglehold, and I almost died. And in the midst of it - and I've heard from people in this community about it (this time and before) - in the midst of it, I got to see that this light of attention inside us is no small thing. It's not just a small practice that helps me focus or something. There is a light inside us that belongs to a greater light.

In the midst of the stranglehold, I felt it welling up. My thinking mind was useless in the circumstances. My body was useless. My ordinary resources were useless. This light inside welled up, and shot out of the top of my head and joined a greater light, a greater presence.

As I wrote in the story, it never gets old because it's not the kind of story that I made up. I had an experience of being out of my body and in my body at the same time. Looking down. Looking down on myself and my attacker with compassion. This greater Presence was looking at me with this vast love and compassion. I had the sense of being held and seen.

And what that Presence with that greater light was interested in - I could feel it searching me and kind of pushing things away like clouds, things that I thought were important, like my name and my profession. “I'm Tracy, I live in New York,” and all that - of no interest. But what was of interest came to rest in my heart. It was a quality of aliveness, attention, and I had the sense of this greater Presence going, “Oh, good, good. You're still alive. You're alive. You're here, attentive, receptive, part of this great belonging.” I had the impression that behind all the appearances of life, all our separation, there is a force of love and compassion that's completely infinite and ineffable. It's holding up the whole world. We have an opportunity to open to it, to be with it.

This Presence said, “Just relax and everything will be okay.” I had a sense of being seen, as I said - past, present, future.

And I did. I just relaxed and my attacker released his grip on my throat. I got a $10 bill out of my pocket. And he took it with his two friends, and off they ran.

I ran to the apartment where I was heading - crying, crying, crying. But inside, in spite of the outside - inside, something had been given. This gift that I’ve never lost. This knowing that there is this light of love inside us. Me. You. And all around us - penetrating life. That was my experience. It never ever grows old. I can still see it as if it was yesterday and it was 40 years ago.

Rahul:   What a beautiful experience to find in the midst of an otherwise potentially very traumatic experience.  I'm wondering if we can use that as a springboard for you to share more on this theme around trusting life, because that’s an ongoing thread in many of these stories, and even in this call.

I wonder if you can unpack what it means to trust life in the face of those moments where you're either facing illness or disability, or a traumatic experience where your life may literally be taken from you. What does trusting life mean in the face of these reminders of death?

Tracy:   The Buddha brought the great truths - loss, change, illness, aging, death - and also this tantalizing promise that in the midst of that inevitable suffering, something else is possible. Another kind of freedom. Another kind of illumination and joy - and what he called, or what his translators called, “enlightenment.”

I think it's a practice. I mean, I went to extremes in my youth to have extreme experiences. But even on a daily basis - to know, to trust that there's more to me than what happens to me. The theme in this call has been my age, my identity, my illness, my voice - but whatever's happening in my life, there's more. There's something more here. I can shift from trying to fix my life, to using my life to wake up. And it doesn't mean, don't take care of yourself.

I try all kinds of ways to be healthy and have a good voice, but also to see that I can be present here with you, and that there's something we share that’s not small. It's something that appears when we relax, we soften, we open, we let things take the time they take.

We give up that project, that endless project of hurrying up or self-perfection and let things be. It’s like letting things open. And then trusting that this ease that can appear between the two of us, the three of us, and listeners, belongs to that vastness.

In Buddhism they call it the deathless, that attention. In Christianity, they call it God - that we belong to something greater than what's happening to us and our loved ones and our lives.

Rahul:   That's beautiful. And it also brings to mind another question around something you shared in this call about attention being fundamentally benevolent. I'm wondering if you can unpack that further, particularly from your experience of your vipassana practice, where I'm sure that you've encountered that experience of almost being at the base level where sensation arises, and the sense that simply the arising of sensation - regardless of any judgment that we place on it - is benevolent, right? But that there's also something beyond the arising. I mean, there's something beyond that from which it comes.

So I'm wondering what your reflection is on whether that’s kind of the floor of our identity, or does our identity even transcend that or sit beneath that? How does that awareness of the benevolence of attention reflect upon our identity?

Tracy:   There are people here who have all kinds of practice, and levels of practice and experience, but there’s something that everyone has in common, even if somebody's listening who has just begun to meditate - which is that willingness, again.

When I began spiritual practice, I thought it was all about “will.”

I treated meditation, and the Gurdjieff work, too - I treated it like an extreme sport. I was going to storm the gates of heaven. I was going to sit all night. I would not move a muscle. I was going for it, and that was “will” - that kind of effort. Certainly there's a place for showing up every day and paying attention and coming back to the body. Slowly, over the years I began to see: oh, it's not so much will, but willingness. Can I be with this moment?  And I can see my heart’s wish to get to the bottom of it. And a willingness to just dive.

But can I also - this is how it's changed over the years - can I be with those moments when I'm lost? Can I be with those moments in between? Can I be with those moments off the cushion when I am gripped with anxiety, or I'm contracting in fear, or I feel depressed or sad? Can I let attention light on that?

So it's opening, opening, opening to experiencing myself as flow. And more than, you know, I've cracked it! Aha! Now I have it. And also noticing in the course of all of this that attention itself has a quality of patience, vastness, openness, acceptance. Attention doesn't judge whether I'm sitting in perfect posture or if I am lying down, distraught.

So I'm not saying don't practice, but the invitation is to open my practice so that the whole of my humanity in all its conditioning and guises is seen to be understandable, of interest, worthy of compassion and love. And as I do this, I notice that's the nature of attention itself. And when I work in this way, it makes me more available to other people, to life, more responsive. You know what I mean? I literally can relate.

Rahul:   Indeed. Yes, beautifully said. There's a question coming up from the audience around Elizabeth. Can you share more about that? Have you had any more clarity on who Elizabeth was, or any other encounters or communications?

Tracy:   I have not seen her since. But I have slowly come to welcome her and the great teaching of her appearance. I grew up in upstate New York in a very westernized culture. And seeing Elizabeth helped me remember that through all ages and traditions, there are guides, angels, helpers, benevolent forces, and I had the immense good fortune to encounter this mysterious manifestation.

I traveled from fear, which was really fear of the unknown, to a kind of delight. I love thinking of taking her with me when I go on trips, or in other circumstances. But I also have opened to welcoming and delighting and being accompanied by all kinds of benevolent forces, helpers, angels. It's wonderful, it feels great to have company.

And in terms of my reflections, at some point in the first decade, I did a big story on ghosts and so on. That's when it began to dawn on me that she didn't really act like a ghost. Ghosts are very repetitive and heavy and sad. That wasn't her nature at all. It was very bright and light and free.

Rahul:   And did you assign any further meaning to that encounter, that message that she gave you in terms of, maybe, “Want what you have.” Because if you don't, others want it? I'm curious.

Tracy:   For me, there's never been a time when I've told that story that people weren't - it gives a shiver. I think our whole culture, we're constantly giving ourselves away - our attention, our bodies - we're going into our phones.

The project, if there is one, is not self-perfection. It's being present. I want to be present before I die. Present to my life. I wish to be here, fully here with life. I don't want to just hand myself over to skillful marketing, or demonic forces. It doesn't have to be demonic. It can just be I wish to be here, fully here, in presence.

Rahul:   There's a question from the audience on that point. How do you handle being present and listening deeply to another person when it can feel like a draining kind of drama dump? Can you establish a boundary that allows for that compassion without the sense of being taken away by what they're dumping?

Tracy:   Totally. It's about being centered in yourself. Buddha talked about being in the center of the city, taking your seat. I don't have to talk about him. Just in our own experience, the practice of sati - the word for mindfulness - means to be remembered, or to remember the present moment, to be here, body, heart, and mind.

Ground yourself in compassionate presence and come back to the body, to the breath, to feet on the floor. No matter what's going on, you can do that. And that is the center. You're here, and you can respond to what's coming in through the city gates, or from the other person. It's important to recognize when you're being drained. This is compassion practice and sometimes it's necessary to limit our time with someone, if it’s too overwhelming or too taxing or too violating.

Certainly in all cases, it's important to be present first. We're not here just to give ourselves to other people. Ask Elizabeth. The point is not to let ourselves give ourselves up - our bodies, our hearts, our minds, our attention - but to be present with one another.

I think it's helpful to remember that the greatest gift, perhaps the only one, ultimately, we can give one another is our presence.

How it feels to really be listened to, to have someone really see you. That feeling that they have time, that patience again. I have time for you. Let it take as long as it takes.You're welcome to be in my presence. This is what we have to give, not letting ourselves be devoured of spare parts.

Rahul:   On that point, there's a question from the audience about how they can welcome and accept themselves more fully. Do you have any practices or insights around that?

Tracy:   First of all, I always tell my friends who sit with me, “small moments.” A Zen Master was once asked, “What's awakening?” And he said, “Small moments. Short moments. Many, many times.”

So for a moment, just for a moment, if something difficult is present inside, can I be with that? And without puttng words on it. or demands - not even a word, like compassion. Can I be with this in a very unhurried, gentle way? Letting the attention be as gentle as it innately is? Just let yourself unfold and notice how this benevolent attention can help us settle down, and open up, and be helpful.

Rahul:   There’s a very related question here – What are the limits of the practice of presence and attention are, particularly in a collective setting like a family? Or in general, if you’re with people who aren't oriented around attention and presence, what do you recommend for someone who's trying to bring that presence where there’s little or no spacious for it?

Tracy:   Right. It's very helpful to remember that Ram Dass once said, "If you think you're enlightened, go spend time with your family." There are circumstances where we go into it knowing we could get triggered. Again, just like we began, it's about spaciousness. Can I have a loving willingness to see what's coming up inside, even if I "lose it"? Even if I act in a way that's unskillful?

Let the center of your work be yourself, your own experience. It's not selfish. You are giving yourself a spot here, to be a place of peace and presence. If it's just one single moment in some wild, challenging holiday, that's a moment where something else was present - peace, spaciousness, patience. Then, maybe another moment, another moment.

Rahul:   Beautiful. We’re drawing to the end of our time together, and as you know, we like to ask all of our guests a final question: How can we in the Awakin Calls community, and the broader ServiceSpace community, support your work and your vision in the world?

Tracy:   Well, thank you. First of all, I really hope that you'll get a copy of my book Presence and read it. It's a way for me to have a relationship with you. Also, you are welcome to come to the Hudson River Sangha. Everyone is welcome.

Please also consider reading and subscribing to Parabola magazine. It's been around for so many years, and it's unique in its mission to bring the living truth that's common to every tradition. Richard and I share a love and connection to Parabola. So I would wish that very much.

Rahul:   Thank you. I will echo this. Presence [holding up the book] is an anthology of many stories from Parabola, and the thread that relates them. So I thank you for that, and for the deep presence and attention with which you’ve shown up on this call.