In a world increasingly marked by fragmentation, learning how to truly work together may be one of the most urgent and liberating practices we can undertake. Not just for productivity, but for peace. Not just for efficiency, but for awakening.
Cooperation isn’t just a practical skill—it’s a spiritual one. It’s the act of remembering we belong to each other. Like the roots beneath the forest floor that support and feed the trees, our lives are deeply and invisibly connected.
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Sometimes, when I’m teaching a group for the first time, there’s a certain tension in the room. Not conflict—but the edges are firm. People may lean back with arms crossed. They’re waiting to see how much they can trust. Some have come because they’re searching for something, others because they promised someone else they’d give it a try. Still others have read enough to know the terminology of Buddhism but are unsure how to feel any of it.
This is how we often arrive to newness, with uncertainty—separate, unsure, carrying hidden histories and armour of defence. And yet, when we begin to share authentically, something shifts. A quiet nod here, a laugh there. The warmth seldom rushes in like an immediate flood. It trickles. It tests the stones in the river before it starts to flow.
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One of the most beautiful truths in the Dharma is that nothing exists in isolation. The teaching of pratītyasamutpāda—dependent arising—reminds us that everything comes into being in dependence on conditions. This isn’t just philosophy. It’s permeating our every step through life. Dependent arising is a blueprint applicable to existence itself. It gives us a lens to see through and realize that our relationships, our communities, and even our internal lives are woven together in a profound tapestry of cause and effect.
The 12 links of dependent origination (Sanskrit: dvādaśāṅga-pratītyasamutpāda, Tibetan: tendrel yun tan chu nyi, Pāli: dvādasanidāna) can seem abstract at first glance. But stay with me—even a basic reflection on them can open a deep well of insight into how we relate to one another, and why we often struggle to do so skillfully. When we understand how our habits arise—and this is a big one—how perception colors reaction, and how craving feeds cycles of suffering, we begin to soften. We begin to see ourselves and others with more clarity, more compassion. And from that, real cooperation can emerge—not from obligation, but from recognition.
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Let’s look briefly at just a few of the links in this chain:
- Ignorance (Sanskrit: avidyā) – not a failing, but a kind of forgetting. A fog that tells us we are islands. That the others are competitors or strangers. That we have to defend our place, our idea, our worth.
- Formation (Sanskrit: saṃskāra) – those unseen scripts written by years of repetition, habit, and reaction. They’re not set in stone. They’re wet ink. Which means we can rewrite. And when we rewrite them together, the act becomes sacred.
- Craving (Sanskrit: tṛṣṇā) and Clinging (Sanskrit: upādāna) – they sound dramatic until you see how quietly they move. A tightening of the jaw. A sentence you can’t let go of. A vision of how things should be that won’t make room for how they are.
I’ve found that when I’m introducing the 12 links in a team or sangha—not as doctrine, but as a mirror—people begin to recognize their own patterns. It’s not always comfortable. But it’s real. And real has a power that no motivational strategy can match. Because when we understand that our thoughts and behaviors are conditioned—and that everyone else’s are too—we stop expecting perfection. We start practicing patience. Motivation becomes less about trying to win, and more about wanting to participate in something true.
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When people begin to glimpse how their thoughts, actions, and speech arise from conditioned tendencies—and how those in turn affect the entire dynamic—there’s an opening. Less blame. More curiosity. A willingness to slow down, to listen, to take individual responsibility. And motivation becomes less about chasing reward and more about showing up authentically.
Engagement can’t be forced. It emerges. Like breath. Like dawn. When people feel seen, when they sense they matter—not in theory, but here, now—they start leaning in. They ask questions. They offer help. They begin to cooperate not because they’ve been told to, but because they’ve remembered something essential: they’re part of something.
True engagement doesn’t come from pressure or performance. It comes from connection. And connection arises naturally when we realize: we’re not separate. We never were. Your breath is not only yours. Your mood ripples outward. Your joy strengthens the whole. And when it does, so does everyone’s.
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So, the next time you sit in a meeting, step into a sangha gathering, or simply pause in the quiet of your own mind, remember this: cooperation is not just a practical solution—it’s an expression of wisdom in action. We walk this path together.
May we meet each other with openness.
May we support each other with care.
And may we always remember the profound joy of cooperation based on the truth of interdependence.
Lama Chimey
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Lama Chimey 