I once read a book called “Smiling at Fear” by Chogyam Trumpa. I don’t remember a word of it. But the title somehow remained in my memory banks, as it spoke to my own experience many years ago of meeting the existential abyss of emptiness — the annihilation of a core sense of self as a separate “me” — with curiosity and gentleness. From that moment on, fear never had the same hold on me as it had throughout all of my life.
SMILING AT FEAR
SMILING AT FEAR
SMILING AT FEAR
I once read a book called “Smiling at Fear” by Chogyam Trumpa. I don’t remember a word of it. But the title somehow remained in my memory banks, as it spoke to my own experience many years ago of meeting the existential abyss of emptiness — the annihilation of a core sense of self as a separate “me” — with curiosity and gentleness. From that moment on, fear never had the same hold on me as it had throughout all of my life.