selective comPassion

I first heard the phrase above after an intense Dharma session when the yoga teacher instructed us to level down and sit cross-legged at the foot of our mats.

we choose who we care for, she told us.

we choose what we care about, she told us.

we often have selective compassion, she told me.

I remember tears streaming down my face, meeting with the sweat that accompanied my headstand. Previously upside down, turned around, and whatever else she made us do, 

she had suddenly turned me inside out and worse, 

called me out.

I am stretched so thin, I thought, how do I not have selective compassion?

The number of prison beds are manufactured based on
the results of 4^th grade reading assessments,

It’s not too difficult to see who can read and who can’t.

who will be able recognize her name and who will struggle.

who gets the bed time story

and who doesn't.

who sees himself next to the crossword puzzle on the cereal box.

who never sees herself on the pages of a shimmering book, fighting the battle, winning the prize.

             How do you not have selective compassion? I cried out. 

 

That was 2 years ago, and I am still struggling with having compassion for everyone.

What’s different now is that I’m starting with myself – 

do I have compassion for me?

What areas of my life do I need to re-build and renew, so I’m stretched thicker than thin,

Courageous rather than ashamed,

Everyone has a story -

pockets empty or full,

language learned or mother tongue,

ivy leagued or home-schooled,

tall and handsome or short and stout.

Because in the end, we won’t know who will win the battle for us.