Living with chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS) often feels like carrying an invisible weight that never goes away. The exhaustion is far beyond ordinary tiredness, permeating not just the body but the mind and heart as well. For many of us, this illness can feel like a curse, a complete derailment of life’s trajectory. Yet, over the years, I’ve come to see it also as a strange and unexpected blessing—one that has thrown me deeper into spiritual practice, into moments of stillness and contemplation I might not have otherwise known.
At its worst, the illness can leave me in bed, lights off, no sound, in a state of complete sensory deprivation. And it is in these moments, when there is nothing to distract me from my thoughts, that I’ve had to learn how to truly be alone. Learning to witness my reactions, cultivating equanimity, and practicing calm-abiding meditation have become vital companions on this journey. For many years, I focused on the Tibetan practice of Samatha, or calm-abiding meditation, as well as Vipassana, which allows for a deep awareness of the present moment. Sitting in stillness, aware of whatever calm I could find within, helped me cultivate equanimity—though it remains a practice I still have much to learn from.
But there was another essential practice that transformed how I related to my suffering. The practice of Metta—or loving-kindness—invites us to take our own pain and suffering and recognize that in this vast world, we are not alone in what we feel. When my illness has been most acute, whether through mental anguish or physical symptoms, I’ve practiced thinking: In the same way that I am experiencing this illness, this suffering, this pain, there are others in the world who experience this too. And then, from the heart, I offer the prayer: May I, and all beings, be free from this suffering and its causes.
This simple yet profound shift in perspective allowed me to transform my experience from one of isolation and misery into a practice of compassion. Instead of being stuck in my own pain, it became a way to benefit others by cultivating loving-kindness for all those who suffer. In this way, even my most difficult experiences became part of my spiritual path. ME/CFS was no longer just an illness—it was an opportunity to deepen my compassion, both for myself and for others.
Of course, this hasn’t been an overnight transformation. It took many years of spiritual study and practice, drawing from teachings like the Four Noble Truths of the Buddha, the Noble Eightfold Path, and eventually the teachings of Advaita Vedanta. Through these teachings, I came to recognize the fluctuations of the mind, or vrittis, and learned to observe the content of my thoughts—pratyayas—without identifying with them. This practice of witnessing the mind has allowed me to find peace in the midst of the storm, much like the Dark Night of the Soul described by St. John of the Cross.
For me, it has felt less like a dark night and more like twenty years of spiritual darkness, but nonetheless, this darkness has also been a teacher. Learning to be present with my suffering, rather than resisting it, has become an integral part of my life with ME/CFS. And while the illness has forced me to withdraw from many aspects of life, it has also drawn me into the heart of spiritual practice.
To anyone living with this illness, or any chronic illness, I offer this: it’s okay to feel overwhelmed by the weight of it all. It’s okay to grieve the life you once had or the future you imagined. But there are also practices—like Metta, calm-abiding meditation, and witnessing the mind—that can transform this suffering into something that nourishes not only your soul but the souls of others as well.
May you, and all beings, be free from suffering and its causes. May this invisible weight become a doorway into the mystic, where even in solitude, you find that you are never truly alone.
Discover how the quiet fire of the pristine mind can soothe the restless blaze of chronic fatigue, offering a path to inner peace and gentle transformation.
I sit here today, tenderly aware of a fire burning within me—not the feverish blaze of energy or ambition, but a fire that comes with chronic fatigue, a fire that seems to consume my energy, that feeds on thoughts of worry, longing, frustration. This fire has been with me for as long as I’ve known this illness, and for many years, it seemed the fire was all I had—scorching, demanding, leaving me exhausted.
But in recent days, I’ve come to see a new way of being with this fire, a gentle shift. There are, I believe, two fires within: one that belongs to the ordinary mind and another that belongs to the pristine mind.
The fire of the ordinary mind is a hungry, restless flame. It feeds on what we give it—thoughts, fears, the inner whisper of “not enough.” It clings to the past and worries for the future, each thought a piece of wood thrown into the blaze, each worry an ember reignited. It takes, and takes, and when I stay too long with this fire, I feel myself slipping into exhaustion, my strength given over to a fire that never settles, never finds rest.
And yet, there is another fire. It is quieter, calmer, like the deep glow of coals after the flames have settled. This is the fire of the pristine mind. It does not demand fuel; it simply is. It does not need anything from me, nor does it take. Instead, it offers a kind of sacred purification. It allows the impressions, the pratyayas, those old echoes of worry, disappointment, expectation, to rise up, to be seen, and then to burn themselves out gently, naturally, leaving a clean, quiet space in their wake.
When I find myself caught in the ordinary fire—my mind racing, my heart feeling heavy—I take a breath and remember that there is another way. I sit with my awareness, letting go of each thought, letting each worry pass without adding to it. I let the flames burn low, and, slowly, I shift to the fire of the pristine mind, where each thought that arises can dissolve without reaction. I do not need to hold on to any of it, nor fuel it. In this place, I am simply present, letting what arises pass without attachment.
This is, I’ve come to believe, a healing fire. Not a fire that consumes, but one that illuminates. When I rest here, I feel myself soften, as though I am held in a vast quiet. The pratyayas, those ancient patterns, have no hold here. They are seen, and then they drift away like ashes.
Perhaps, if you too feel that restless blaze within, you can find this other fire. Sit with yourself, as gently as you would sit with a friend, and watch each thought arise and drift away. Do not reach to hold it, to make it stay, or to change it. Let it come, and let it go. Rest in the calm glow of the pristine mind, where there is nothing to fuel and nothing to fear. In this quiet, you are enough, you are whole.
This journey, I realize, is very much a work in progress. Shifting from the ordinary fire to the pristine fire is not a one-time practice but an ongoing exploration—a gentle unfolding that reveals itself with patience and time. I invite anyone who feels drawn to this process, who wishes to explore this gentle technology of the mind, to sit with it and see if it offers benefit. Let it be an experiment, a curiosity, a way of tending to your inner world.
This understanding has been inspired by the teachings in Our Pristine Mind by Orgyen Chowang Rinpoche. His work offers a profound look into the nature of the mind and the potential for peace that lies within each of us. If you feel drawn to explore this practice further, I highly recommend his book. It provides both guidance and wisdom for those seeking to discover the healing light of their own pristine mind.
A Gentle Reflection on Pacing, Rest, and Navigating the Challenges of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
There are days when the body speaks softly, a whisper of weariness that hints at the storm ahead. And though we move carefully, mindful of each step, there are moments when the smallest effort—a turn of the mind, a spark of emotion—awakens something deeper. This is the dance with post-exertional malaise, the hidden tide that comes and goes, often when we least expect it.
Gentle Reminder: Take Care of Yourself
This post is lengthy, and it’s important to honor your pacing needs. Feel free to read a little at a time, take breaks, and come back to it when you’re ready. Your well-being is paramount, even as you engage with information that supports your journey.
In this slow unfolding, I’ve learned the art of listening. Not just to the body’s loud protests, but to the subtle shifts that rise like shadows before a dusk. It’s a practice, really—this gentle balancing act of life. Pacing myself through the hours, I find that it’s not about doing as much as I can, but rather, doing only as much as I must, and stopping long before the weight of fatigue pulls me under.
Some days, I count my energy like a miser with gold, tucking it away in small corners, resting in the quiet between breaths. I know now that to keep moving without pause is to invite the flood, so I rest—not in surrender, but in reverence. It’s a kind of devotion, to honor these limits as something sacred, to see the necessity of stillness as part of the rhythm of being. I don’t always succeed. But when I do, I glimpse a peace that feels fragile, yet profound.
And when the world presses in with its demands, I remind myself that it’s okay to say no, or not now. There is a quiet strength in bowing out, in knowing that tomorrow will ask more of me than today ever could, and I must be ready. There is also grace in understanding that not every task, not every moment, requires my full self. I can do less, and in doing less, I give myself more space to breathe, to be.
There are the days after—the days when the fog of PEM descends like a heavy mist over the mind, the limbs. When it comes, I am learning not to fight it. I lie still, like a tree after the storm, gathering strength in the pause. I have found that recovery is an art, as delicate as anything else. Resting, not out of defeat, but out of wisdom, out of love for the body that has carried me through so much already. The act of resting becomes an offering of peace, a gift I give myself in this long, uncharted journey.
And so, I move slowly, gently, always aware of the fine thread that connects exertion and ease, action and rest. I have begun to cherish the quiet moments of pause, the spaces where life still hums softly, even in the absence of movement. These are the moments when I remind myself that managing this strange, invisible storm is not about conquering it, but learning to live alongside it, to move with it as gracefully as I can. There is beauty here, too—a beauty in the stillness, in the small victories of simply being.
In those moments, I find a sense of peace that is mine to keep. And in that peace, I remind myself that even on the hardest days, I am enough.And so, as I offer these thoughts, I send with them a quiet wish for your well-being. May you find moments of rest that nourish you deeply, and may the days of ease, however fleeting, linger softly in your memory. If you ever feel the weight of this journey pressing too hard, know that you are not alone.
Dear friends,
I know these days may feel heavier than usual. The storm outside has passed, but inside, your bodies may feel as though they’re weathering one of their own. Post-exertional malaise (PEM) comes like that—quiet and uninvited, a deep exhaustion that touches every part of you. Whether it’s the physical toll of surviving the hurricane or the emotional weight of the aftermath, you’re feeling it now, maybe more intensely than you have in years.
Please know that what you are experiencing is valid. You’ve already shown such strength, simply by navigating these storms and their many demands. But right now, in this moment, the strongest thing you can do is rest. Not as a surrender, but as a way of caring for yourself in the most compassionate way possible. Rest, because your body is asking for it. Rest, because this is how you heal.
Pacing is not easy when the world around you spins in chaos, but I encourage you to listen to the subtle signs your body gives. You don’t have to meet every demand or engage with every worry. It’s okay to step back, to breathe, and to honor your limits. In doing less, you are doing what is necessary to recover.
If the fog of PEM feels too thick to see through, know that it will lift. Maybe not all at once, but in small, tender ways. There is stillness, there is peace, waiting for you on the other side of this exhaustion. You are not alone in this experience—many of us are moving slowly through these same waters, learning the rhythm of rest, of patience, of letting go.
For now, take each moment as it comes. Let yourselves be. Let yourselves rest. And in that rest, know that you are enough. You are resilient. This, too, will pass.
With all my warmth and understanding, Richard Silverman
Feel free to leave your thoughts, your questions, or simply your presence here—I will meet you with understandingh and warmth. Together, in our shared quiet, we will honor the pace that life has asked of us.
Healing Through Rest: How the Parasympathetic Nervous System Can Support Recovery from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
In the aftermath of the recent hurricanes, Helene and Milton, I’ve felt post-exertional malaise weigh heavily on my body. The fatigue has been more than just physical—it’s emotional and mental, a deep, enveloping weariness that reminds me how fragile recovery can be. As I continue to mend from both the storms and the physical toll of chronic fatigue syndrome, I’ve found myself needing to return to the gentle practices that once brought me peace. The practices that help restore balance to my overstimulated system—those that invite rest rather than force recovery.
Living with chronic fatigue syndrome is like walking on a delicate thread between exhaustion and healing. In these moments, the body feels like a battleground, constantly stuck in “fight or flight.” What I’ve learned, though, is that there’s another way—a softer, quieter way to approach healing. And this way begins with the parasympathetic nervous system.
The Parasympathetic Nervous System: Our Body’s Quiet Healer
The parasympathetic nervous system is often referred to as the “rest and digest” system, the opposite of the “fight or flight” response that dominates so much of my life with ME/CFS. While the sympathetic system pushes us to react, defend, and survive, the parasympathetic system invites us to slow down, to breathe deeply, to recover. It lowers heart rate, softens the breath, and gently restores the body to a state where healing is possible.
For those of us with chronic fatigue, the parasympathetic nervous system is like a refuge, a space where our bodies can finally stop fighting and simply rest. But tapping into this refuge doesn’t come easily. It requires intention, mindfulness, and the willingness to let go of the push to “do” and embrace the power of simply “being.”
Practices that Invite the Body to Rest
Over time, I’ve gathered a small collection of practices that help me reconnect with my parasympathetic nervous system. One of the most powerful has been breathwork. By consciously slowing my breath—drawing in air slowly, holding the quiet pause between, and then releasing—I can feel my body begin to soften. It’s like a signal to my nervous system: “It’s safe. You can rest now.”
Yoga Nidra has also become a vital tool in my recovery. It’s a guided form of meditation that allows me to rest deeply while staying present in the body. In this state, my body heals while my mind remains aware, a powerful reminder that rest is not the same as sleep. Restorative yoga, too, has been a way to surrender fully, each pose an invitation to soften into support, to let my body be held by the earth.
And then there’s the Feldenkrais Method—gentle, mindful movements that teach me to listen to my body without forcing anything. These movements may be subtle, but they remind me that healing isn’t about big gestures or grand efforts. It’s about the small, quiet acts of listening to what my body truly needs in each moment.
Learning to Listen
As I move through these practices, I often find myself returning to Rilke’s words: “I am circling around God, around the ancient tower, and I have been circling for a thousand years, and I still don’t know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?” Like Rilke, I am circling around the wisdom within me, learning the language of my body’s needs.
Some days, I feel like the storm—torn by fatigue and pain. Other days, I am the quiet center, the stillness amidst the chaos. I am learning that healing isn’t about becoming something new or different. It’s about softening into who I already am and trusting that my body knows the way forward.
An Invitation for Beta Testers
If this resonates with you, I’d like to invite you to help beta test a new GPT model I’m developing. This model is designed to act as a relaxation coach, guiding you through practices like breathwork, Yoga Nidra, and gentle movements to activate the parasympathetic nervous system. It’s a tool I’m hoping will help others find the same peace and healing that these practices have brought me.
This model is still in development, and I’m looking for a small group of people willing to try it out and provide feedback. If you’re interested, please reach out to me in the comments section with a few sentences about why this model interests you, how it could benefit your journey, and why you’d be interested in providing feedback. Your thoughts and insights will be invaluable as I continue to shape and improve it.
Thank you for walking this journey with me. In the quiet, I’m learning to heal. May we all be well and safe. 🙏❤️🙏
In a small village nestled between quiet hills and flowing rivers, there lived a kind, gentle teacher named Sage. Everyone in the village loved Sage because he carried a peaceful presence, like a calm breeze on a warm day. People often came to him for guidance, and he always had time to sit with them, no matter how small or big their worries were.
One day, a group of children gathered by the firelight in Sage’s little house. These children, like you, had bodies that often felt tired—too tired to run and play like other children. Some days, their legs felt as heavy as stones, and even getting out of bed was hard. Other days, the sounds and lights of the world felt too loud and overwhelming, and they needed quiet spaces just to rest.
They had come to Sage with questions. “Why do our bodies feel like this?” one of them asked softly. “How can we find peace when we feel so tired and sad?”
Sage smiled gently, his eyes filled with warmth. “Come,” he said. “Let me tell you a story about a little river, a floating cloud, and a flower seed. Each of these can teach us how to find peace, even on the hardest days.”
The children nestled into their blankets, their bodies relaxing as they listened to Sage’s voice, soft and soothing.
“Once upon a time,” Sage began, “there was a little river. The river flowed gently through the valley, singing quietly as it went. But one day, it rained so hard that the river became muddy and rough. The river thought, ‘Oh no! I can’t sing anymore. Everything is so heavy.’
A passing cloud saw the river’s sadness and whispered, ‘Dear river, you don’t need to be clear right now. Just flow, even if it feels heavy. The mud will settle when it’s ready. You are still a river, just as you are.’
The river listened to the cloud and let itself flow, even though it felt muddy and tired. And slowly, without trying, the mud began to settle. The river’s song returned, not because it had rushed to fix itself, but because it had trusted in the flow of life.”
Sage looked at the children with kindness. “When your body feels tired, like the muddy river, you don’t need to fight it or force yourself to feel better. Just breathe gently and say, It’s okay to feel this way. I will let my body rest. With time, the heaviness will shift, just like the mud settles in the river.”
The children closed their eyes and breathed softly: It’s okay to feel this way. I will let my body rest. Their shoulders softened, and a small sense of ease began to bloom inside them.
“Next,” Sage continued, “there was a little cloud that floated high in the sky. One day, the cloud began to feel very lonely. It looked down and saw other clouds floating by, but it couldn’t keep up with them. The cloud thought, ‘I wish I could float faster and be with the others.’
Then the sun spoke gently to the cloud. ‘Dear cloud,’ the sun said, ‘you are already perfect just as you are. You don’t need to rush. Wherever you float, you bring shade to the earth and water to the rivers. That is enough.’
The cloud felt a little lighter, knowing it didn’t need to rush. It drifted slowly through the sky, enjoying the way the breeze carried it along.”
Sage paused for a moment, letting the story sink in. “Sometimes, it’s easy to feel like you need to do more, or be like everyone else. But just like the cloud, you are enough exactly as you are, even when you need to rest. With each small breath, you are already giving your love to the world.”
The children breathed quietly, feeling a small spark of kindness for themselves, whispering: I am enough, just as I am.
“Now,” Sage said softly, “I will tell you about the little flower seed. This seed lay hidden under the earth, waiting quietly through winter. It wanted to bloom, but the snow felt so heavy on top of it. The seed whispered, ‘When will I ever grow? I want to be a flower, but I feel stuck.’
The earth wrapped the seed in its warm embrace and said, ‘You are already growing, little one, even though you cannot see it yet. Each day, even as you rest, the roots inside you grow deeper. Trust the process, and when the time is right, you will bloom.’
And so the little seed rested through the winter, trusting in the earth. When spring finally came, it bloomed into the most beautiful flower the world had ever seen.”
Sage smiled at the children. “Sometimes, it feels like you are waiting, like the flower seed under the snow. But even on the days when you can’t see it, you are growing. Every time you care for yourself, every time you rest with kindness, you are planting seeds of strength inside you. And when the time is right, those seeds will bloom.”
The children snuggled deeper into their blankets, their breaths slow and soft, like gentle waves on the shore. Sage placed his hands gently on their heads, offering a quiet blessing.
“Now,” Sage whispered, “as you drift off to sleep, you can imagine yourself as the river, the cloud, and the flower seed. There is no need to rush. Just flow, just float, just rest. You are already enough, and your roots are already growing deep. With each breath, you are planting seeds of love, kindness, and peace—not just for yourself, but for the whole world.”
The children closed their eyes, their little hearts filled with the warmth of Sage’s words. As they drifted into sleep, they carried the stories with them, like seeds planted in the soft soil of their dreams.
Sage whispered a final blessing, his voice as soft as a lullaby:
“Breathing in, I rest.
Breathing out, I am at peace.
With each breath, I grow in love.
With each dream, my heart blooms in kindness.”
And with that, the children drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep, their dreams filled with rivers flowing gently, clouds floating freely, and flowers blooming in the sunlight. They carried these teachings in their hearts, knowing that even on the hardest days, they could flow, float, and grow at their own pace.
May your hearts always be filled with kindness, and may you grow into beautiful flowers, spreading peace and love wherever you go. Sleep well. The seeds of mindfulness and compassion are already blooming within you.
Goodnight, little ones. ❤️
If you’d like to explore more bedtime stories for children, including tales that nurture compassion and mindfulness, you can find our collection here.
When post-viral ME/CFS first appeared in my life over 30 years ago, it was like a sudden, uninvited guest that turned everything upside down. The plans I had carefully laid out—the career, the teaching, the travel—came to a screeching halt. My body, which once felt like a reliable vehicle for my ambitions, became a source of constant limitation.
For many people today, especially in the aftermath of COVID, the experience of long COVID or post-viral ME/CFS can feel like a similar trainwreck. The life you knew, the expectations you had, are suddenly out of reach, and you’re left grappling with a new reality—one that modern medicine often struggles to explain, let alone resolve.
I remember the early days well. The confusion, the depression, the overwhelming frustration that came with the unrelenting fatigue. In the beginning, it was hard to see any way forward. It felt like I was being asked to surrender everything I had worked for, again and again. Every time I hit a new limit, I had to lower the bar, lower it again, and lower it even further. It was a painful process of letting go, not just of my physical abilities, but of my identity and the future I had imagined for myself.
But over time, and through countless moments of surrender, I began to see that while the path I had planned was no longer possible, there was another way forward. It was a quieter path, more inward, but it was no less valuable. Writing became my outlet, my way of contributing to the world, even while living in solitude and spending much of my time in bed.
For those of you reading this who are newly facing the reality of post-viral ME/CFS, I want to acknowledge that this is not an easy journey. It’s okay if you need to take breaks, both from reading and from the mental and emotional load of processing what this diagnosis means. Be gentle with yourself, and if you find the post too long, take it in pieces, come back when you’re ready. The key is to pace yourself, in life and in reading.
Surrendering to a New Reality
One of the hardest lessons I had to learn was surrender—over and over again. Post-viral ME/CFS teaches you that you can’t control everything, no matter how hard you try. Every time I felt like I was getting close to managing the illness, there would be a setback. My energy would crash, and I’d find myself in bed for days or weeks at a time. At first, it felt like defeat. I had to give up so many aspects of life I’d taken for granted.
But over time, I realized that surrendering wasn’t about giving up. It was about accepting what is, rather than constantly struggling against it. The more I fought the reality of my illness, the more frustration I experienced. Letting go didn’t mean that I had to stop hoping or working toward better health, but it did mean that I had to stop resisting what I couldn’t change in that moment.
Surrendering, in this sense, became a way to make peace with the limits of my body, to find moments of ease even when everything else felt out of control. It was an ongoing practice, one that I still revisit, especially on difficult days.
Navigating Others’ Reactions
In addition to learning how to surrender, one of the most difficult challenges I faced early on was dealing with other people’s reactions. In those early days, many people didn’t even believe post-viral ME/CFS existed. I heard things like, “You just need to drink more coffee,” or, “Have you thought about taking naps?” Even when I was officially diagnosed as disabled by the government, my own mother thought I was just lazy and needed to be more active.
This kind of misunderstanding, disrespect, and dismissal is, unfortunately, a common experience for many who suffer from post-viral ME/CFS. Family, friends, and even doctors would question or deny my experience. I’ve heard stories of doctors telling their patients not to even talk about ME/CFS because it “doesn’t exist.” It was often treated as a garbage-pail diagnosis, or dismissed entirely.
While there is more understanding of post-viral ME/CFS today, the stigma still remains. Making peace with this aspect of the illness has been a long journey. What helped me most was cultivating compassion, not just for myself but for others. As Jesus said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Having compassion for the people in your life who may deny or diminish your experience is a key part of finding peace.
An Evolving Perspective on Post-Viral ME/CFS
In the early days of my journey with post-viral ME/CFS, I found myself going through what felt like the stages of grief as described by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. At times, I thought I might be dying, and I cycled through stages of anger, grief, depression, and confusion. Acceptance didn’t come quickly, and it took years of processing and reflection before I could reach that place.
One of the major steps toward acceptance came when I read How to Be Sick by Toni Bernhard. This book resonated deeply with me, and for the first time, I felt like someone truly understood what I was going through. Toni’s reflections on illness gave me a new sense of validation and self-respect, and her practical tips helped me develop a healthier way of relating to my experience. I highly recommend this book to anyone struggling with post-viral ME/CFS.
Then, during a meditation class organized by students of Sogyal Rinpoche, based on The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, I began to find deeper peace. It was around this time that I discovered a Tibetan sutra titled Transforming Suffering and Happiness onto the Path of Enlightenment. This teaching profoundly shifted my perspective once again.
As I read the sutra, I realized that my anger, frustration, and negative emotions were not only draining my energy but also exacerbating my symptoms. It became clear to me that these stressful emotions were making my condition worse, and that when I was able to relax, let go, and find inner peace, I had greater capacity and longer periods of activity without crashing—or without crashing as severely. This was an important revelation: cultivating acceptance, forgiveness, and inner peace didn’t just feel better, it actually minimized my symptoms.
Shifting Perspective: The Sutra That Changed Everything
One passage from the Tibetan sutra resonated deeply with my experience of post-viral ME/CFS:
“Whenever we are harmed by sentient beings or anything else, if we make a habit out of perceiving only the suffering, then when even the smallest problem comes up, it will cause enormous anguish in our mind.”
This teaching hit home because, for a long time, I had been focusing only on the suffering. Everything in my life had become an enemy—my body, my circumstances, even the people around me. The more I centered my awareness on the pain and limitations, the heavier everything felt. Even the smallest setback would feel unbearable.
The sutra showed me that the more we focus on suffering, the more it grows and colors everything we experience. By recognizing this, I began to understand that shifting my focus away from the suffering and toward acceptance could help me find peace. It wasn’t about denying the reality of the illness, but about no longer letting it dominate my entire perspective.
The true transformation came not only by making peace with suffering but by learning to approach both suffering and happiness with the same equanimity. I had to remind myself that when I’m unhappy, this too shall pass, and when I’m happy, this too shall pass. This reminder became a useful way to stay balanced through the ebb and flow of life—the good days and the bad days, the good months and the bad months.
Additionally, I found comfort in William Blake’s words: “He who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise.” It reminded me to appreciate the little moments of happiness, to savor them without attachment, knowing that they, too, are fleeting. This perspective helped me not to be disturbed by the constant changes and to find a sense of peace amidst it all.
Discovering a New Path: Writing as Healing
As I continued to navigate the ups and downs of post-viral ME/CFS, I eventually found a new passion that helped me stay connected to the world and give expression to my inner journey: writing. Although much of my life is spent in solitude, and my physical abilities are limited, writing has become my outlet, a way to contribute and share what I’ve learned.
Through writing, I’ve been able to explore the lessons of impermanence, forgiveness, and acceptance, not just for my own growth but as a way to offer encouragement to others walking a similar path. Chronic fatigue may limit what I can do in the physical world, but it has opened up this creative space where I can still connect, reflect, and contribute.
In this way, writing became not just a coping mechanism but a practice of karma yoga, an offering. It’s a way to kiss the joy as it flies, even amidst the challenges of chronic illness, and to embrace each moment—whether in suffering or happiness—as an opportunity for growth.
🙏🕊️🙏
“He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise.”
Now that you’ve taken the significant step of entering the gym without the pressure to exercise, you might feel ready to begin exploring gentle movement. For people living with Post-Viral ME/CFS, this phase requires a delicate balance—respecting your energy levels while slowly reconnecting with your body through light movement and stretching.
In this blog post, we’ll look at how to introduce gentle movement and stretching into your gym experience, all while keeping the principles of mindfulness, self-compassion, and energy conservation at the forefront.
Why Gentle Movement Matters
Even the smallest movements can have profound benefits for those living with Post-Viral ME/CFS. Gentle stretches and slow, deliberate movements help re-establish your connection with your body, providing a sense of mobility and flexibility that can often feel lost. More than that, gentle movement stimulates blood flow, promotes relaxation, and helps to gradually build confidence in your ability to engage in physical activity.
It’s crucial to remember that this is not about pushing limits or forcing your body beyond its capacity. Instead, it’s about nurturing your body, gently reminding it of what it can do—without overwhelming your system or triggering post-exertional malaise (PEM).
How to Approach Gentle Movement in the Gym
Set an Intention for the Session: Before you even begin, set a gentle intention for your session. This could be something as simple as, “I’m here to move with awareness and kindness.” By setting an intention, you shift your focus from achievement to presence. You’re here to care for yourself, not to push.
Focus on Breath: As you start with gentle stretches or slow movement, focus on your breathing. This practice anchors you in the present moment and helps to ensure that your movements remain slow, controlled, and within your energy envelope. Breathing in deeply and exhaling fully can also support your body’s natural relaxation response.
Start with Basic Stretches: You might want to begin with basic seated stretches. If your gym has a stretching area or a yoga mat, this can be a comfortable and supportive space to gently move your body. Here are a few movements to try:
Seated Forward Bend: Sit on a mat with your legs extended forward. Slowly reach toward your feet, allowing your hands to rest on your shins, ankles, or toes. Remember to focus on the sensation, not the stretch itself. Breathe into any areas of tightness or tension.
Gentle Neck Rolls: Sit comfortably with your spine straight. Slowly tilt your head to one side, bringing your ear toward your shoulder. Hold for a few breaths, then slowly roll your head forward, bringing your chin toward your chest, before moving to the opposite side. This can help release tension in the neck and shoulders.
Seated Side Stretch: Sit with your legs crossed. Reach your right arm over your head and lean gently to the left, creating a stretch along the right side of your body. Hold for a few breaths before switching sides.
Mindful Walking or Light Activity: If you’re comfortable, you might try slow walking on a treadmill or even just walking around the gym. The key is to stay mindful of how your body feels. Walk at a slow pace and focus on each step, noticing how your feet connect with the ground. Keep the session short and stay tuned to your energy levels. If you feel tired, pause immediately and return to a seated position.
Use Light Weights for Gentle Resistance: If you feel ready, introducing light resistance can be a wonderful way to engage your muscles without straining your system. Consider using very light dumbbells or resistance bands (which you can even bring with you if your gym doesn’t have them). The focus here is on smooth, controlled movements, keeping everything slow and deliberate.
Seated Bicep Curl with Light Dumbbells: Sit on a bench with a very light dumbbell in each hand. With your arms at your sides, slowly curl the dumbbells toward your shoulders, keeping the movement smooth and controlled. Lower the weights just as slowly. Repeat only a few times to start.
Resistance Band Shoulder Stretch: Sit or stand with a resistance band in both hands. Hold it in front of you with your arms shoulder-width apart. Slowly stretch the band outward by pulling your hands apart, engaging your shoulders and upper back. Breathe deeply and slowly return to the starting position.
Listen to Your Body’s Signals: One of the most crucial aspects of any exercise with Post-Viral ME/CFS is listening closely to your body’s signals. Your body will tell you when it’s time to stop or slow down. Don’t wait until you’re exhausted—end your session at the first sign of fatigue or discomfort. Always honor your energy envelope.
A Mindful Approach to Movement
Remember, the goal is not to push your limits but to reconnect with your body in a gentle and compassionate way. With Post-Viral ME/CFS, you are working within a different framework—one that requires self-awareness and a focus on sustainable, restorative practices. Be kind to yourself, and understand that even the simplest movements can offer profound benefits.
Here’s what to keep in mind as you explore gentle movement:
Embrace Small Wins: If you stretch for 5 minutes and feel good afterward, that’s a success. Celebrate these small wins, as they are stepping stones to building a sustainable relationship with your body.
Pace Yourself: Rest before you feel fatigued. It’s better to stop early than to overextend and risk PEM. The slow, deliberate approach is key to protecting your energy levels.
Feel Your Breath: Your breath is your guide. If your breath becomes strained or you notice any discomfort, it’s time to stop. Let your breath stay smooth and calm throughout your session.
Savor the Experience: Make your gym session a sensory experience. Notice how your body feels in each stretch, how your breath moves through you, and how the space around you feels. The more mindful you are, the more connected you’ll feel to each small movement.
Psychological and Emotional Benefits
Just as with the earlier steps of entering the gym or sitting in the parking lot, engaging in light movement and stretching can have tremendous psychological and emotional benefits:
Restores a Sense of Connection: Light movement helps you to feel more connected to your body. You begin to trust that your body can move, however gently, and that you can care for it without fear of over-exertion.
Promotes Relaxation and Presence: Focusing on gentle movements and mindful breathing helps to activate the relaxation response in your body. It’s an opportunity to let go of stress and feel more present.
Builds Confidence: Each session—no matter how brief or simple—builds confidence in your ability to re-engage with movement. You’re taking important steps toward creating a sustainable practice that fits your body’s current needs.
Final Thoughts: Gentle Movement as an Act of Kindness
Reconnecting with your body through gentle movement and stretching is a powerful act of self-kindness. In a world where exercise is often equated with intensity and performance, your approach is different. You are choosing to move in a way that respects your limits, nourishes your body, and honors where you are right now.
As you continue with these mindful movements, remember that progress is not measured by how much you do, but by how connected you feel. Each stretch, each breath, each step in the gym is a way to rebuild your relationship with your body, one moment at a time.
Next in the Series: Exploring Gentle Shoulder Engagement with the Lat Pulldown Machine
In our next post, we’ll explore the Lat Pulldown Machine, finding ways to gently engage the muscles of the shoulders and back in a mindful, energy-sensitive way. As always, we’ll focus on small movements, deep breaths, and compassionate awareness as we continue to build a practice that supports those living with Post-Viral ME/CFS. We’ll discuss how to use the machine with minimal weight and how to adapt it for a Post-Viral ME/CFS approach.
As we navigate the challenges of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS), we often seek methods to enhance our well-being and support our bodies in finding balance. Recently, I’ve begun experimenting with sound therapy, specifically focusing on the frequency of 261.63 Hz, associated with the note C4 (middle C). My intention is not to find a cure—rather, I’m exploring ways to promote relaxation and stimulate the parasympathetic nervous system, which can often feel elusive for those of us living with CFS.
I’m eager to hear from others in our community who have tried sound therapy or similar practices. What has your experience been like? Have you found any particular sounds or techniques helpful?
The Benefits of Sound Therapy
Sound therapy has been studied for its potential benefits in promoting relaxation, reducing stress, and enhancing overall well-being. Research indicates that sound can influence the autonomic nervous system, helping to activate the parasympathetic response, which is crucial for healing and recovery.
• Relaxation Response: Exposure to soothing sounds, like those produced in sound therapy, can lower heart rate, reduce blood pressure, and promote a state of calm. • Stress Reduction: Studies have shown that listening to calming frequencies can significantly reduce levels of cortisol, the stress hormone, thus alleviating anxiety and promoting a sense of peace. • Improved Sleep: Sound therapy can enhance sleep quality by creating a tranquil environment, allowing the body to enter restorative sleep states more easily.
Incorporating Sound Therapy into Daily Life
Here are some ways to integrate sound therapy into your daily routine:
Listening Sessions: Consider setting aside time each day to listen to your chosen frequency. You can use headphones or speakers to create an immersive experience.
Meditation and Mindfulness: Incorporate sound into your meditation practice by focusing on the sound while breathing deeply. Allow the vibrations to fill your awareness.
Personal Soundtrack: Use apps that allow you to customize your experience. I personally enjoy using an app that provides a variety of frequencies and waveforms, including the sine wave, which I find particularly soothing.
Background Ambience: Let the sound play gently in the background while you work, relax, or engage in other activities to create a calming atmosphere throughout the day.
Choosing 261.63 Hz and the Sine Wave
I specifically chose the frequency of 261.63 Hz for its calming and harmonizing properties, often associated with the note C4 (middle C). This frequency resonates well with the heart chakra, promoting feelings of love, compassion, and emotional balance, which can be particularly beneficial for those of us dealing with the emotional toll of CFS. Additionally, I favor the sine wave waveform for its pure, smooth tone that creates a gentle and soothing auditory experience. The sine wave’s simplicity and lack of harsh overtones allow for deep relaxation, making it an excellent choice for meditation and sound therapy. By immersing myself in this frequency and waveform, I hope to support my journey toward greater relaxation, emotional healing, and overall well-being.
Conclusion
As we share our experiences and insights, I hope to foster a conversation around sound therapy as a supportive tool for managing CFS. Your feedback and stories are invaluable as we explore these practices together.
If you’re interested in trying sound therapy, I encourage you to check out the app I’m using but I found on the Google play store called, “Frequency Sound Generator” which offers a customizable frequencies and waveforms tailored to your needs and desires..
Let’s continue this journey together, supporting one another as we seek out new ways to enhance our well-being.
Harnessing Inner Peace: A Pacing Toolkit Tool for Those Living with ME/CFS or Long Covid
As I reflect on the approaching Hurricane Milton, I’m reminded of the powerful moment when Jesus calmed the storm on the Sea of Galilee. His disciples, gripped by fear, watched as He simply said: “Peace! Be still!” and the storm settled. In this moment, I feel called to do the same—to access the peace of God within me and speak to the storm, “Peace! Be still.” I truly believe this is what Jesus asks of us, to practice this promise, and to remember that even faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains.
But this call to peace and stillness isn’t just about the external storm. As someone who lives with chronic fatigue, I know how much of a difference it makes to calm the storms within as well. The mental and emotional stress can often intensify symptoms like post-exertional malaise (PEM). So, I remind myself to relax my mind and heart, to let go of worry and concern, and to give my body the space it needs to heal.
One of the tools I turn to in these moments is Pristine Mind Meditation, as taught by Orgyen Chowang in his book Pristine Mind: Journey to Unconditional Happiness. Pristine Mind is the pure, natural awareness that exists within all of us, untouched by thoughts or emotional turmoil. By resting in this space, I find that it helps me manage my symptoms, reduce stress, and pace myself more effectively. It’s an essential part of my pacing toolkit, allowing me to not only physically rest, but also calm my mind and emotions, preventing flare-ups of PEM and other symptoms.
In this moment, I invite us all to join together in saying to the storm—whether it’s the physical hurricane or the inner storms we face—“Peace! Be still.” Let’s tap into the divine promise that’s always been ours and use the tools we have to cultivate peace, clarity, and healing within ourselves.
Let us, from a place of faith and trust, send love to this storm and say to it: “Peace, be still.”
There is something about preparing for a storm that feels like a dance with the Divine—both a surrender and a determined act of mindfulness. As I sit here in the quiet hours before evacuation, I realize that this has been more than just a physical process of gathering what I need. It has been an intimate spiritual journey, one that stretches my capacity to trust, to let go, and to deepen into the lived experience of the present moment.
Living with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) means that every action I take must be intentional. Every task requires careful pacing, every moment of activity balanced with long periods of rest. There is a delicate art to navigating this kind of preparation, especially during a post-exertional malaise (PEM) crash. Yet, somehow, this storm has become a mirror—reflecting back the inner landscape of my spiritual practice, calling me into a deeper relationship with contemplation, with surrender, and with faith.
The Importance of Pacing I began the preparations by gathering what I would take with me: clothes, medications, bedding, and electronics—just enough to fill a small suitcase and backpack. For most, this might seem like a simple task. For me, it was an act of delicate pacing. I worked in small bursts, then returned to rest, mindful of the balance I needed to maintain in order to avoid worsening my symptoms. Each step of preparation became a meditation on pacing, on honoring the limitations of my body while trusting in my ability to persevere.
In these moments of rest, I found myself returning again and again to the practice of contemplation. I lit a candle, not only for myself but for all those who are suffering—for all sentient beings in the path of this storm and beyond. There is a peace that arises in this kind of surrender. A quiet knowing that, no matter how much preparation is done, the outcome rests in God’s hands. And that, somehow, is enough.
A Shift from Meditation to Contemplation This journey has been more than just practical preparation. It has been a spiritual unfolding. For years, I have studied the teachings of Advaita Vedanta and Dzogchen, exploring the ways in which these paths guide us beyond intellectual understanding and into a direct experience of the Divine. In the midst of preparing for this hurricane, I felt a deepening—a shift from meditation to contemplation.
Contemplation is not about thinking or striving. It is about resting in the space of the witness, in the awareness of what is, without grasping or resisting. As the storm approaches, I find myself leaning more into this practice. Each moment becomes an invitation to let go of control, to allow the Divine to move through me, and to trust that whatever happens, it is part of a greater unfolding.
Mindful Eating and Body Awareness Even the simple act of eating became a mindful practice. I prepared a spontaneous meal—scrambled eggs with garlic and cayenne, rich in healthy fats and protein to fuel me through the day. As I ate, I focused on each bite, slowing down, tasting, being fully present with the nourishment my body needed.
In the midst of so much uncertainty, these small acts of mindfulness brought me back to center. They reminded me that, even as the world outside seemed to spin with chaos, I could find peace within the present moment. I could honor my body’s needs, even as I prepared to enter an unfamiliar shelter and face whatever lay ahead.
Pacing the Preparation of the RV As I packed my belongings, I also prepared my RV, the place I call home. I moved slowly, bringing frozen food to the clubhouse, unplugging the RV, securing what needed to be secured. I paced myself, taking each step with intention, aware that my energy was limited and precious.
There is something sacred about these practical tasks, when approached with mindfulness. They become a part of the spiritual practice, a way of aligning the outer world with the inner. In unplugging the RV, I was also unplugging from the need to control. In securing my belongings, I was also securing my faith—trusting that whatever happens, I am held by something greater than myself.
Karma Yoga: Offering and Receiving Prayers During this time, I also turned to the practice of Karma Yoga—offering prayers for the world, while asking for prayers in return. I posted a prayer request on Facebook, asking my community to hold me, and all those in the storm’s path, in their hearts. The response was overwhelming. The outpouring of love, of people offering their prayers and well wishes, became a source of strength for me. It reminded me that, even in times of uncertainty, we are never alone. We are held by the compassion of others, by the grace of the Divine, by the interconnectedness of all life.
Surrender and Trust And so, I surrender. I surrender to whatever will be, knowing that I have done all I can to prepare—both physically and spiritually. I surrender to the wisdom of the Divine, trusting that, in the midst of this storm, there is a deeper unfolding happening. There is a lesson in the letting go, in the release of control, in the peace that comes from trusting that God’s will is always unfolding in ways that we may not understand, but can still embrace.
To those who read this, who are also navigating life with chronic fatigue syndrome or facing similar challenges, I hope this reflection offers you some sense of peace. We cannot always control the storms that come our way, but we can choose how we prepare, how we respond, and how we anchor ourselves in the presence of the Divine.
May you be safe. May you be held. May you find peace in the midst of the storm.
Rest now, breath by breath, Let each moment cradle you— And nourish your soul.
As we recover from the aftermath of Hurricane Helene here in Florida, many of us are left not only dealing with physical damage and power outages but also with the internal toll such intense stress can take. For those of us living with chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS), the impact can be particularly difficult, as our systems are already strained and now must cope with the post-storm chaos. This is a time when all of our skills for stress management, pacing, and self-care become essential—what Chögyam Trungpa might call “on-the-spot” practice.
Understanding ME/CFS and Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM)
Living with post-viral myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME/CFS) means managing a complex condition that affects multiple body systems, including energy production, the nervous system, and immune responses. One of the hallmark symptoms is post-exertional malaise (PEM), which refers to the worsening of symptoms after even small amounts of physical, emotional, or mental exertion. This could manifest as extreme fatigue, brain fog, muscle pain, increased sensitivity to noise and light, and a host of other symptoms that flare up after the body has been pushed past its limits.
After a high-stress event like a hurricane, PEM can be easily triggered, making the recovery process even more difficult. The combination of exhaustion, nausea, sensory overload, and emotional stress all contribute to a heightened flare-up.
On-the-Spot Strategies for Coping with Stress and PEM During Recovery
Here are some pacing and stress management strategies that can be helpful as you recover from the storm:
Cultivate the Witness
Instead of trying to fix or fight the sensations in your body—like tinnitus, sensitivity, nausea, shakiness, or nervous system overwhelm—focus on observing them. This approach allows you to witness the intensity of your experience without adding the extra layer of resistance. Take a few deep breaths and simply notice the physical sensations, the loudness of the tinnitus, the shakiness in your limbs, the agitation in your mind, as if you’re watching a storm pass through.
This is also an opportunity to remind ourselves of the Buddhist teaching of the second arrow. The first arrow is the physical or emotional pain we experience in a situation like this—our symptoms, the stress, and discomfort. The second arrow is the suffering we add on by resisting, judging, or wishing things were different. By simply observing the experience and letting go of the need to fix it, we avoid the second arrow of mental anguish. In this moment, it’s enough to just be with what is, without adding layers of judgment or frustration.
Mindful Pacing
Pacing is key to managing ME/CFS, especially during stressful recovery periods. Even though you may feel the need to push yourself—to clean up, reconnect with loved ones, or restore normalcy—it’s essential to honor your limits. Break tasks into the smallest chunks possible, rest frequently, and give yourself permission to not complete everything in one go.
Physical pacing: Limit physical tasks to just a few minutes at a time, followed by equal or greater rest.
Mental pacing: Engaging with recovery efforts, media, or news updates in small doses can prevent mental exhaustion.
Emotional pacing: Allow yourself to step back from intense emotions when needed. Take breaks from conversations or situations that feel overwhelming.
Tinnitus and Sensory Overload
For many of us, stress exacerbates tinnitus, turning the ringing into an almost unbearable roar. One approach is to “lean into” the sound—not to fight it but to witness it, as mentioned earlier. Another option is to use low background sounds that are soothing to your system, such as nature sounds, white noise, or calming music, to soften the intensity of tinnitus. Remember, the goal isn’t to eliminate the sound but to cultivate a gentler relationship with it.
Grounding Practices
In times of heightened anxiety and post-storm disarray, grounding techniques can help calm the nervous system. Simple practices like feeling your feet on the floor, focusing on your breath, or using gentle touch (like placing a hand over your heart) can remind your body that you are safe in this moment, despite the external chaos.
Breathing exercise: Try the 4-7-8 breath. Inhale for a count of 4, hold for a count of 7, and exhale slowly for a count of 8. This practice helps soothe the nervous system and bring a sense of calm.
Resting in Stillness
Though silence may feel elusive with tinnitus and nervous system overwhelm, there is a different kind of stillness available—the stillness of simply being aware. You don’t need to find literal quiet; instead, notice the quiet space that exists beneath all the sensations and noise. This is where your mind can rest, even when your body cannot.
Pacing Your Recovery
In the days following the hurricane, continue to pace yourself. Power outages, disrupted routines, and the emotional and physical toll of cleanup efforts can keep you in a heightened state of alert. Be mindful not to overdo it as you engage with recovery tasks, and remember that healing from PEM takes time. Even small tasks can be enough to push your body too far, so take frequent breaks and allow your body the space it needs to recover.
Post-Hurricane Care for ME/CFS
As we navigate the chaos left by Hurricane Helene, it’s vital to be gentle with ourselves and recognize the profound impact that stress can have on our health. Recovery is not just about cleaning up the physical aftermath but also giving our bodies the rest and care they need to heal from the exertion and stress.
Take things moment by moment, and know that it’s okay to ask for help. Whether from neighbors, online support groups, or local resources, you don’t have to navigate this alone. The storm has passed, and now is the time to focus on restoration—both externally and internally.
By integrating these on-the-spot practices into your routine, even during the stress of post-hurricane recovery, you can help your body manage the intensity of post-exertional malaise, tinnitus, and the other challenges that come with ME/CFS during such times. Stay safe and prioritize your well-being above all.
Rest now, breath by breath, Let each moment cradle you— And nourish your soul.
For those of us living with post-viral myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME/CFS), the experience of life often feels like moving through a landscape filled with unseen obstacles. There is the fatigue—so heavy, so relentless—that it can feel like a weight we will never shake. There are the moments when even the simplest tasks become insurmountable, and the pain becomes a constant companion, whispering in the background of every day.
When I first encountered the teaching “Transforming Suffering and Happiness into Enlightenment” by Dodrupchen Jigme Tenpe Nyima, it felt like someone had gently opened a door I hadn’t known existed. At the time, I was entrenched in my own struggle—fighting the fatigue, resisting the pain, angry at the injustice of it all. I didn’t see it then, but my resistance, my frustration, and my desperate need for things to be different were only making me sicker. Each day felt like another battle against my body, and it was exhausting in every sense of the word.
The teaching introduced me to an entirely different way of relating to my experience. It was an invitation, not to fight against my suffering, but to sit with it, to gently turn toward it with a kind of curiosity. At first, the idea seemed absurd—how could I welcome something that was robbing me of so much? But as I read further, I began to understand that the more I resisted, the more I labeled my suffering as the enemy, the stronger it became. Everything around me had started to feel like an enemy—my body, the illness, even the world itself.
The first time I truly absorbed the idea that suffering, like anything else, grows stronger with the attention we give it, it was a revelation. I started to realize that I had been feeding my suffering through my resistance. In a way, I was making myself worse by constantly pushing against the reality of what I was experiencing. This was the first eye-opener: that my own mind was contributing to the intensity of my suffering.
I remember vividly when I decided to start putting this teaching into practice. I had signed up for a meditation class, feeling both hopeful and uncertain, and around that time, I also came across Tony Bernhardt’s book How to Be Sick. Little by little, I began to change how I approached the fatigue and pain. It didn’t happen overnight. In fact, it felt like planting seeds in the darkest soil—there were days when nothing seemed to grow, and I wondered if this new approach would ever bear fruit. But gradually, something did begin to shift.
The more I learned to observe my suffering without immediately pushing it away, the more space I created around it. It wasn’t that the fatigue disappeared—far from it—but my relationship to it began to change. Instead of seeing every wave of exhaustion as something to fight, I started to meet it with a kind of quiet acceptance. This didn’t mean I liked it, but I stopped resisting it quite so fiercely. In time, the constant anger and frustration began to soften.
As I practiced more, something else began to emerge—equanimity. I began to realize that the less I resisted both the suffering and the rare moments of joy, the steadier I felt inside. Over the years, my confidence in my ability to face difficulties has grown. There’s a quiet knowing now, a calmness that wasn’t there before, that when challenges arise, I can meet them without being completely swept away.
Of course, this is still a work in progress, and I expect it will be for the rest of my life. Some days are harder than others, but the difference is that I no longer see the hard days as failures. They are simply part of the ebb and flow. And in learning to embrace both the suffering and the moments of peace, I’ve discovered a kind of strength that doesn’t come from fighting but from surrendering—surrendering to the reality of my experience without letting it define me.
This teaching has shown me that suffering, far from being something to avoid, can become a profound teacher. When we allow ourselves to meet it with openness, we can begin to transform it. It doesn’t mean the pain or the fatigue will disappear, but our relationship to it changes. We become less fragile, more resilient. Over time, the suffering no longer feels like something that has complete power over us.
For those of us living with ME/CFS, this teaching offers a way to shift the narrative. Instead of seeing our illness as something that has taken everything from us, we can begin to see it as part of our path. By practicing mindfulness, by gently turning toward our suffering instead of away from it, we begin to cultivate a heart that is steady, a heart that can hold both the fatigue and the fleeting moments of ease without being shaken by either.
It’s a slow process, and it requires patience—patience with ourselves and with the process of healing. But there is a quiet beauty in this work. Each time we meet our suffering with compassion, we are planting a seed. And while the fruits may take time to blossom, they do eventually grow.
For those of you who are interested in exploring this teaching more deeply, I encourage you to take your time with it. Let it sit with you, and consider how it might apply to your own experience. And if you’d like to read the full teaching by Dodrupchen Jigme Tenpe Nyima, you can find it freely available online here.
This journey isn’t easy, but together we can learn to transform our suffering into something that doesn’t just weigh us down but also lifts us toward a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us.
🙏🕊️🙏
Biography of Dodrubchen Jigme Tenpai Nyima
Dodrubchen Jigme Tenpai Nyima, the Third Dodrubchen, was born in 1865 in the sacred Ma valley of Golok, Tibet, into a family deeply rooted in the spiritual lineage of his father, Dudjom Lingpa. From the very beginning, his life was marked by extraordinary recognition, with his teachers and mentors seeing in him the incarnation of profound wisdom. But his journey was not without struggle. As a young boy, he found study difficult, often frustrated to the point of tears. Yet, through perseverance and the support of his teachers, his understanding blossomed, revealing a deep capacity for spiritual insight.
What makes Dodrubchen Jigme Tenpai Nyima so relatable is his humanity. Even as a master of Tibetan Buddhist teachings, he encountered challenges that shaped him into the teacher he became—a man of great compassion, who dedicated his life to training countless students in both Nyingma and Sarma traditions. His accomplishments were vast: he rebuilt his monastery, composed celebrated commentaries, and gave teachings tirelessly. And though he eventually retreated into seclusion due to his failing health, he continued to guide his closest disciples with unwavering dedication. His life, both ordinary and extraordinary, stands as a testament to the power of persistence, humility, and the profound depth of spiritual commitment.
About Lotsawa House
Lotsawa House is a rich and invaluable resource for those seeking authentic Tibetan Buddhist teachings. The website offers an extensive collection of translations from Tibetan texts, including teachings from many great masters such as Dodrubchen Jigme Tenpai Nyima. This is where the teaching “Transforming Suffering and Happiness into Enlightenment” can be found, along with countless other treasures, all freely available for anyone to access.
Whether you are new to Tibetan Buddhism or have been practicing for years, Lotsawa House provides a space to explore the wisdom of these great teachings. The site is dedicated to making the profound texts of Tibetan Buddhism accessible to a global audience, offering translations in English and other languages, so that anyone, regardless of background, can benefit from these ancient spiritual insights. It’s a place where the wisdom of the Tibetan masters is preserved and shared, so that all who seek it may find the path to peace and understanding.
You can explore the full collection of teachings and discover more about the great teachers who brought them to life by visiting Lotsawa House.
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