Lama Chimey

The Play of Illusions in Global Leadership and Our Collective Life

We live in a moment when our world is not only asking to survive, but quietly—and sometimes urgently—hoping to flourish. In such times, the subtle play of illusion that moves through our collective life becomes easier to notice. It is not as something “out there.” It does not belong to a particular group of leaders. Rather, it is an expression of the same mind-stream we all share.

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Illusions are not mistakes. They are movements of mind—projections arising from fear, hope, habit, and the deep longing to feel safe. When these projections meet responsibility, influence, or power, their effects become more visible. But the root is always the same: when we cling to appearances, we lose sight of what is most real.

When Our Narratives Start to Feel Like Identity

As human beings, we all build internal narratives about who we need to be — strong, capable, unshakeable. In leadership roles—whether in families, communities, organizations, or nations—these narratives gain a larger stage. When we feel these narratives are threatened, we cling to them. The illusion can become rigid. It shapes decisions and actions without our conscious awareness.

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We all know this.
We have all felt the pull to appear certain, in control, and confident.

But these patterns are not flaws—they are human tendencies. Recognizing them allows us to act from clarity rather than habit, from care rather than fear.

The Veil and the Possibility Beneath

What might sincerely touch us, when we pause and look honestly, is that beneath our patterns, fears, and projections, there is the possibility of acting with care, clarity, and presence. Even if the world does not always seem to seek honesty, even if we do not always know the right path, there is space to choose awareness over habit, compassion over reactivity.

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When we lose connection to the natural clarity of the mind, our actions arise from fragmentation—and fragmentation naturally creates more of itself. Policies, decisions, conversations, and relationships shaped from confusion tend to mirror that confusion. This is not a failure of leadership; it is a reminder that inner conditions shape outer outcomes. We are interdependent all the way down.

What Healthy Leadership Could Look Like

Healthy leadership is not about holding power; it is about holding presence.
Not about being the one who knows, but the one who is willing to see. Leadership in all its forms could become an expression of care rather than defense, clarity rather than confusion.

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Whether we guide nations, organizations, families, or simply our own days, we can embody qualities that bring clarity into the shared field.

A healthy leader cultivate:

1. The willingness to see their own illusions.

Not with judgment, but with curiosity. Recognizing projections allows us to act from clarity rather than fear.

2. Intention grounded in genuine care.

A steady wish to reduce suffering and to support others. Quiet. Unforced. Reliable.

3. Truthfulness without performance.

Honesty that does not need applause. Words aligned with inner integrity. Actions aligned with the words.

4. Accountability as part of the path.

Not a threat, but a practice—a way of staying awake within responsibility.

5. An embodied understanding of interdependence.

Knowing that nothing we do stands alone. Every decision touches countless lives and conditions.

6. Respect for collective wisdom.

Wise leadership listens. It invites many perspectives, recognizing that no single perception can hold the whole.

A Shared Invitation

The illusions we see in the world are not separate from those that arise within our own hearts. They are invitations—not to blame, but to wake up. Each moment we remember the mind’s natural clarity, a shift happens. The world becomes a little less distorted. Our actions become a little more aligned. Our presence becomes steadier.

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And with increased clarity, the shared stage of consciousness will transform—from a landscape shaped by unconscious patterns into a mandala shaped by awareness.

Yours in the Dharma,

Lama Chimey

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Mindful Living: The Way to Experiencing Wisdom in Your Daily Life

Seeing the Strength in Your Shortcomings

Since deepening my practice, I’ve noticed certain qualities arise and recede within experience. Buddhism describes these through the five Buddha families. Anger, attachment, pride, confusion, and jealousy are not mistakes to be erased. They are signposts pointing toward clarity, openness, confidence, insight, and appreciation. The so-called “shortcomings” and hidden strengths were never absent; they have always been present, moving and manifesting in life. Deepening the path has allowed these qualities to be recognized and embodied with more clarity. They naturally shape how each moment unfolds. This is true whether it’s a small disagreement with a friend, a moment of frustration at work, or noticing impatience when life feels too full.

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Meeting Personal Qualities as They Arise

The five Buddha families — Vajra, Ratna, Padma, Karma, and Buddha — each carry a poisonous aspect and a corresponding wisdom. We all reflect one or more of these families, depending on the patterns that arise in our experience.

Over time, through consistent awareness and practice, these qualities reveal themselves as expressions of underlying wisdom. They naturally move and shape life in ways that feel effortless rather than forced. When anger arises, it can point toward clarity and fearless presence. Attachment can unfold into openness and discernment. Pride can become confidence rooted in humility. Confusion may transform into insight, and jealousy can be experienced as genuine appreciation.

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These qualities, when recognized and allowed to manifest naturally, lead to softened habitual tension. Interactions deepen. The mind becomes less reactive. What has always been present — the latent wisdom within these qualities — begins to move and shape life in subtle, tangible ways.

Embodying Wisdom in Everyday Life

The integration of these teachings is most visible in ordinary moments: rushing through the morning routine, navigating small disagreements with friends, or noticing impatience when expectations arise. By simply observing how these qualities manifest, and allowing the corresponding wisdom to express, life becomes a living reflection of practice.

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I would love for you, if you are curious, to explore this further. Each of us manifests patterns from one or more Buddha families, and the process of recognizing and embodying their inherent wisdom can subtly transform daily life. These qualities have always been present; deepening the path simply allows them to unfold more fully and naturally.

Invitation to Explore Further

I will be speaking more about this at tomorrow’s Triyana workshop. And I’ll share ways to bring these insights into everyday life. I’m also delighted to invite you to the upcoming Mindful Living Retreat. I will host it together with Yoga Master Ulrica Norberg at Cal Reiet – Mallorca, Spain. There, we will explore how to embody these powerful aspects as a living practice: Save your spot here.

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Awakening in the Ordinary

Mindful living is not a path of perfection or fixed achievement. It is an ongoing awareness of qualities as they arise. A recognition of the wisdom inherent in what appears to the mind. And an invitation to allow life to unfold with clarity and openness. The five Buddha families remind us that every challenge holds potential for insight. Practicing the path more deeply allows that insight to reveal itself naturally. This happens in the ordinary, ever-changing flow of everyday life. If you feel called to explore this more deeply, you are warmly invited to join tomorrow’s Triyana workshop, or to deepen the practice at the Mindful Living Retreat at Cal Reiet, Mallorca.

Yours in the Dharma,

Lama Chimey

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Quantum Leaps and the Quiet Space Before Your Shift

Reflection on Transformation Through the Five Buddha Families

The Dance of Your Mind’s Potential

Sometimes change arrives not as a slow unfolding, but as a sudden opening — a quantum leap. One moment we are circling the same habitual thoughts. The next moment, we are standing in a wider field. We wonder why we ever believed the cage was locked. These leaps are not random miracles; they are reflections of ripened causes meeting the right conditions. In Buddhist language, they are the dance of mind’s potential revealing itself.

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In my upcoming workshop, we’ll explore how the Five Buddha Families map this inner terrain. We will take a look at how to move from confusion to clarity and from fixation to freedom. You find more information about the workshop here.

The Nature of a Leap

To leap is to trust. Not in the sense of naive faith. It involves a deeper sense of letting go of resistance. You see that the next ground will rise to meet you only once you’ve left the old one.

Margaret Atwood once wrote, “A word after a word after a word is power.” Replace “word” with “moment,” and the same holds true. Power lives not in accumulation, but in awareness — the willingness to be present through the small tremors before transformation.

In Buddhist psychology, quantum shifts happen when patterns of grasping dissolve. The mirror of Vajra wisdom cuts through illusion with precision. The spacious acceptance of Buddha family allows everything to simply be. The warmth of Ratna turns judgment into generosity. The movement of Padma transforms attachment into open-hearted connection. And Karma energy, so often restless, becomes effortless activity.

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These are not ideas to memorize; they are living energies to be recognized. In my upcoming workshop, we will work with them directly — through meditation, reflection, and embodied awareness. Save your spot here.

Reflection and Ripening

Every true leap begins long before the moment it happens. Like water wearing down stone, every small practice, every quiet act of honesty prepares the way. Then, without warning, the surface breaks — and what once felt impossible becomes natural.

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Reflection is what allows this. Not analysis, but stillness that listens. The kind that doesn’t demand results. In that listening, we sense which Buddha energy is calling for attention. Is our mind too heavy, needing the clarity of Vajra? Or too scattered, yearning for the groundedness of Ratna?

During the workshop, we’ll use these five families as mirrors. Each will reflect back a part of ourselves we’ve outgrown. They will also reveal the potential waiting just beyond. Join me in my upcoming workshop.

Readiness Can’t be Forced

Quantum leaps are not about speed. They are about ripening. A readiness that can’t be forced, only recognized. When we stop pushing, we start seeing. The leap happens by itself. It occurs quietly, almost tenderly, like dawn appearing on water.

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In that moment, reflection turns into illumination.
And the mind, finally, remembers what it has always known.

May this be of benefit,

Lama Chimey

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Finding Clarity Amid Uncertainty: Cut What Is Ready, Leave What Is Not

Sitting in the Unknown

As a Buddhist practitioner, I have learned that uncertainty is not an obstacle — it is the ground we walk on. We cannot predict the storms of life, but we can learn to meet them with steady attention, to sit with what arises, and to trust that clarity can emerge in its own time.

One story from the Jataka tales has stayed with me through moments of doubt and confusion. In it, a bamboo cutter finds himself lost in the forest, unsure of what he is seeking. The words of an old monk he meets there have often guided me when I have felt equally adrift: cut what is ready, leave what is not.

When the World Feels Unstable

A bamboo cutter lived in a village beside a dense bamboo forest. Each day he worked with care, cutting only what was ready, moving with the rhythm of the trees.

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Then a season of endless rain arrived. Paths became rivers, roofs collapsed, and his baskets refused to dry. The world he knew — familiar and ordered — became unpredictable.

He tried to keep his routine, but every step felt uncertain. He could no longer find the rhythm in his work, nor the confidence to know what to do next.

Walking Without a Map

One evening, restless and uneasy, he left the village. He didn’t know where he was going, or what he hoped to find. He only knew he needed to move.

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He walked into the forest, the rain soaking his clothes, the wind pulling at his hair. The forest was dark, tangled, unfamiliar. He had no plan. No destination. Just the quiet urgency of a heart searching for some sense of direction.

The Teacher in the Rain

Under a broad tree sat an old monk. His posture was calm, his expression still, as if the storm were simply another presence to sit with.

“How can you remain here?” the bamboo cutter asked. “Don’t you fear the flood, the wind, the chaos?”

“When has the world ever been still?” the monk said.

They sat together, listening to the rain. Finally, the monk spoke again:

“When you cut bamboo, do you know which stalk will bend and which will break?”

“No,” said the man. “I only cut what is ready.”

“Then do the same now. Cut what is ready. Leave what is not.”

The bamboo cutter closed his eyes. For the first time in weeks, he felt a breath settle in his chest, as if the storm itself had softened.

New Shoots After the Rain

Days passed. The clouds slowly dispersed, and sunlight returned, falling across the wet forest floor. New shoots emerged from the earth, straight and resilient.

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The bamboo cutter moved among them, touching leaves, feeling the steady pulse of life. He realized that he didn’t need a map or certainty. All he needed was presence — patience, attention, and a willingness to act only when the moment called for it.

Finding Stability in Uncertainty

Uncertainty is the teacher of patience and resilience. It asks us to pause, to trust, and to act only when the time is right. Life does not require that we have all the answers — only that we remain attentive and willing.

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The bamboo cutter left the forest with a quiet clarity: in the midst of the unknown, presence and careful action are the path forward.

Yours in the Dharma,

Lama Chimey

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Why the Buddhist Meditation Path is Good in the Beginning, Good in the Middle, and Good in the End

The Path Begins in Realization

The Buddha’s teaching is often said to be “good in the beginning, good in the middle, and good in the end” — and that is exactly how I’ve experienced meditation. It begins with grounded clarity, deepens through compassion, and culminates in the fearless recognition of mind’s potential. Each stage contains the seed of the next, showing that the path is a continuous unfolding of insight and capacity.

The First Vehicle: The Discipline of Seeing Clearly

In the Theravada tradition, meditation begins with honesty and discipline. We train to see reality as it is, not as we wish it to be. Through mindfulness of breath, body, and thought, we begin to perceive the impermanent nature of all experience and the futility of clinging. This is the work of disentangling ourselves from confusion — not to escape life, but to stop mistaking illusion for truth.

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I loved practicing with the Theravada community — the simplicity, the silence, the grounded wisdom. Yet I always missed the presence of the bodhisattvas, those luminous symbols of compassion that had first inspired me on the Mahayana path.

The Second Vehicle: The Heart of Compassion

I began in Zen — a blend of Sōtō and Rinzai — rooted in the Mahayana tradition, where meditation expands into the vast field of compassion. Here, realization is no longer about one’s own liberation but the awakening of all beings. The bodhisattva ideal teaches that wisdom and compassion are inseparable. Practices like Metta (loving-kindness) and Tonglen (sending and receiving) embody this spirit of boundless empathy.

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In Mahayana, we learn to breathe with the world — to let the suffering of others open our hearts rather than close them. Meditation becomes an act of courage and participation, not retreat.

The Third Vehicle: The Indestructible View

Vajrayana, often called the Indestructible vehicle, reveals meditation as the recognition of mind’s innate emptiness and clarity. Rather than rejecting thoughts or emotions, we work directly with their energy. The raw, unfiltered experience of each moment becomes the very path. It’s a practice of inclusion — where nothing is outside awareness and nothing needs to be denied.

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When I first encountered this approach, it felt like stepping into a new dimension of freedom. The sacred and the ordinary merged, and that’s what skydancer world is all about. The practice no longer aimed at improvement, but at revealing the full capacity that was always latent within us.

Triyana – The Three Vehicles as One Path

Through Triyana Meditation, I integrate techniques from all three vehicles into every session — the grounded mindfulness of Theravada, the compassionate vastness of Mahayana, and the fearless awareness of Vajrayana, the Indestructible Vehicle. Each reinforces the other; each is part of the same unfolding truth.

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Meditation, in the end, is not about escaping the world, or managing stress, but revealing our full potential through it, by familiarizing ourselves with the minds ways. The path continues to evolve, just as we do — steady, spacious, and indestructibly alive.

If you wish to participate in live Triyana meditation classes, workshops, or retreats, you’re warmly welcome — find upcoming events here.
And if you prefer to begin from home, you can join me in an online meditation course. It’s a way to deepen your own practice at your own pace — discovering through reflections, guidance and practice – the clarity and confidence already waiting within you.

Yours in the Dharma,

Lama Chimey

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Awakening or Automation? The Dharma of AI Leadership

AI Generated Image

The Mirror We Built

Artificial intelligence is a reflection of the human mind — but not the mind in its totality. It mirrors a selected few of humankind: those who design it, fund it, and define its priorities. It does not create greed, attachment, or compassion; it amplifies the tendencies already present in those who shape it. From a Buddhist perspective, AI is a projection of mind (citta-santāna), shaped by craving and aversion.

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For all of us, and those of you who are leaders in particular, this is not abstract philosophy; it is practice. Each AI-driven decision, each automated process, expresses the mental states that created it. The question is not whether machines can be ethical — but whether we remain vigilant enough to guide them with intention. In my own dharmic blogging, I often write about how small, conscious choices ripple outward in ways we rarely notice. AI magnifies these ripples, making mindful leadership more urgent than ever.

Check out The Inner Wisdom Program for Leaders here.

Intelligence Without Wisdom

For the time being, AI has no access to wisdom (prajñā). It can calculate, predict, and optimize, but it cannot discern the true nature of reality. The Buddha spoke of ignorance (avidyā) — not simply lack of knowledge, but disconnection from absolute reality.

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Yet we treat AI outputs as oracles, and outsource discernment to algorithms in the hope of certainty. But insight cannot be coded. At least not at this point in time as far as I’m aware. Neither can awareness be delegated. When we mistake data for truth, we fall into the same fog of ignorance — only faster, only more convincingly.

Ethics as Design, Not Decoration

Ethical behavior is not a moral overlay on technology; it is the very seed from which all actions grow. Intention is the root of every effect. A system built on speed, extraction, or self-interest created by a few chosen representatives of humankind it will reproduce those roots endlessly, no matter how many “ethical guidelines” are layered on top.

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Leadership, then, becomes spiritual practice. Not preaching values, but embodying them through design and action. Asking: Who benefits? Who suffers? What qualities of mind are we cultivating — in ourselves, in our teams, and in the systems we create? Awareness without compassion is incomplete; the two must move together.

The Middle Path in the Machine Age

The Middle Path is about avoiding the extremes of nihilism and eternalism. Applied to AI, it means neither idolizing technology as omniscient, nor demonizing it as inherently corrupt. AI is a mirror — but a mirror of a selected few — revealing both clarity and confusion from a limited perspective.

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If we meet it with awareness and inclusivity paired with compassion, it can illuminate habitual patterns, loosen unskillful tendencies, and guide more conscious leadership. If we ignore these principles, it simply industrializes delusion. The dharma invites a quiet rebellion: stay awake, lead with mindfulness and compassion, and remember that insight is still the most advanced form of intelligence we know.

Check out The Inner Wisdom Program for Leaders here.

Yours in the Dharma,

Lama Chimey

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Expanding Our Circles of Loving-Kindness in a World of Cries

Loving-Kindness in a World That Feels Too Restricted

Love is rarely as simple as we might want it to be. It arrives quietly, insistently, sometimes in forms we do not recognize. We celebrate romance, cherish those closest to us, and yet often glance past the vast, unfolding field of beings who share this world with us. Buddhism teaches that love need not be limited, nor should it be. Metta, or loving-kindness, is a practice that stretches the heart beyond desire, preference, and attachment. It is not the flutter of butterflies nor the spark of passion. It is steadiness, warmth, and a quiet resilience. When we cultivate it, we discover that expanding care is not only possible—it is practical, restorative, and profoundly stabilizing.

The Four Doors to Compassion

Loving-kindness opens through what Buddhism calls the four objects of compassion, each a doorway into the world and into ourselves.

Ourselves – Begin with the self, often the hardest and most necessary door. To offer ourselves patience, ease, and clarity is not indulgence; it is foundation. It may take a quiet morning, a deep breath, a gentle acknowledgment of exhaustion or pain. Each act of self-kindness softens the edges of the mind and builds a heart capable of holding more than it imagined.

Those We Care For – Friends, family, mentors—those whose presence feels familiar and comforting. To them, we offer not obligation, but attention. Listening fully, speaking gently, offering patience when irritation rises—these small, repeated gestures weave threads of connection and trust. The brain itself begins to respond, learning that warmth, not expectation, is the language of belonging.

Strangers – The brief encounters, the glances, the lives we touch lightly. Recognizing their shared humanity, even in passing, reminds us that the world is far larger than our immediate circles. A nod, a smile, a pause to notice someone’s struggle—these tiny gestures echo quietly in the mind, strengthening empathy, softening judgment, opening space for care to flow where it is not demanded but offered freely.

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Those We Find Challenging – The hardest doorway of all. Difficult colleagues, neighbors, even strangers who provoke irritation. To extend care here is to strengthen the heart and steady the mind. It does not excuse harmful behavior, nor does it require engagement; it simply cultivates freedom. Remember always: you have the choice to step away from conversations or spaces that feel toxic, online or in person, while maintaining a measure of inner generosity. In this choice lies the essence of loving-kindness.

In my digital course, Introduction to Triyana Meditation, I guide students through practices that cultivate this expansive care. For those curious to explore gently, a mini, bite-sized course will soon be available, an invitation to experience the practice before committing to the full journey. Link to full course here.

Practical Ways to Cultivate Loving-Kindness

Even without formal meditation, there are countless ways to practice loving-kindness, small and practical, yet transformative.

Small Daily Actions: Listen fully. Offer patience. Notice small needs and respond with attention. A cup of tea shared, a door held open, a smile given freely—these gestures ripple far beyond the moment, altering the texture of our interactions and quietly rewiring the mind toward care.
Awareness of Reactions: Observe irritation, judgment, or aversion as they arise. Let these feelings be noticed without forcing them away. Your response is a choice, and in that choice lies freedom. Each moment of deliberate kindness, even inwardly, strengthens the capacity to respond with gentleness.
Digital Mindfulness: Step back from heated conversations online, or any exchange that drains or unsettles you. Protecting your energy is itself a form of care—both for yourself and for the conversation. Choosing not to engage is not withdrawal, but an intentional act of loving-kindness in action.

Through repeated attention to these practices, the heart gradually expands. What once felt like a finite circle grows, quietly and insistently, capable of holding more, noticing more, responding more with patience, warmth, and care.

Choosing a Heart That Expands

Loving-kindness is not romantic love, though it may feel warmer than desire. It is not possession, though it holds the world softly in the hand. It is immediate, practical, and transformative. Through everyday choices, subtle gestures, and awareness of where we place our attention, the heart can stretch farther than we often believe.

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If you are ready to expand your loving-kindness through beginning or deepening this practice, Introduction to Triyana Meditation offers guided loving-kindness meditations and much more. Read about it and sign up here. And for a gentle first step, the mini, bite-sized course will soon be available, perfect for exploring the practice before committing to the full journey.

Each moment spent wishing ease, extending care, or choosing mindful engagement strengthens the heart. Start small, notice the shift, and remember: every act of loving-kindness ripples farther than the eye can see. If you can’t wait to step further into the practice, and commit to making it a priority in your life, the full course provides deeper guidance and structure. I’m here to guide you. Are you ready? If so, start now, the world needs your loving-kindness!

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You know, the world softens where care is offered. It widens quietly, imperceptibly, until the boundaries we once assumed were fixed begin to dissolve. And in that space, the heart discovers its remarkable capacity to expand—beyond preference, beyond habit, beyond expectation.

Go love the world,

Lama Chimey

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Brytningstid: Embracing Change and Letting Go with Autumn’s Grace

There’s a hush that arrives before the leaves surrender their green. A pause so small it’s almost imaginary—like the breath before someone speaks a truth they’ve kept hidden for too long. The sun’s angle grows tender, the shadows lengthen and hesitate. This threshold between seasons—what in Swedish we call brytningstid—is not a clean cut but a gradual tilting of the light.

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I’ve learned that the heart recognizes this shift long before the mind does. It’s not a melancholy so much as a summons: a call to look at the way all things slip from one form into another. In Buddhism, we do not see this as loss. It is the river of becoming, the same river that has carried us from breath to breath, birth to birth, leaf to leaf.

The Silence Before the Turning

In the Jātaka tales there is one story I return to each autumn, perhaps because it, too, carries the weight of the season’s hush. It tells of a Bodhisattva—the one who in a later life would be born as the Buddha Shakyamuni—wandering in the high mountains as summer was giving way to cold winds. There he encountered a starving tigress and her five cubs, all too weak to draw breath. Moved by compassion so complete it made no calculation, he laid down his body as nourishment for her and her young.
(Scholars refer to this as the “Hungry Tigress Jātaka,” where the Bodhisattva sacrifices himself to feed a tigress who, in her desperation, might devour her cubs.)

What brings that scene to mind is what unfolded lifetimes later: when he was reborn as the Buddha. Those same beings—the tigress and her five cubs—reappeared as five wandering ascetic practitioners. They were his old companions from the years he had spent in severe yogic austerities, practices he eventually left behind after realizing that physical practices alone could not lead to liberation.

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When the newly awakened Buddha met them again near Deer Park, they were skeptical—seeing him as one who had strayed from their path of discipline. But as they listened to what he had realized under the Bodhi tree, their minds, already ripened by long practice and past karma, opened. Some of them came to realization during that very first teaching, known as the First Turning of the Wheel of Dharma. What had once been an act of sacrifice returned as the blossoming of wisdom. The circle closed, quietly, with a tenderness that autumn seems to understand.

The Autumn Lesson

Now, when I walk beneath thinning branches, I notice the way each leaf lets go—gently, without bitterness. They drift down in spirals, soft as the memory of a promise fulfilled. There’s no argument with the wind, no bargaining with the tree. I am inspired—reminded—what it means to fall with grace.

I reflect also on the words of His Holiness the 17th Karmapa, Ogyen Trinley Dorje, who says:

“Once we realize that our personalities are not fixed and that we can decide to actively change them … compassion and other inner qualities … need to be cultivated gradually, over time, and in concert with other qualities.”
—from Interconnected: Embracing Life in Our Global Society

That insight speaks well to our seasons of transformation: change is not a wound but a slow unfolding. We do not lose something essential; rather, we permit ourselves to evolve.

Autumn teaches this lesson better than any sermon. The tree does not weep for the leaves it loses. It does not believe it has been diminished. It trusts the bare branches to hold through winter, trusts the sap still running quietly within, trusts that the emptying is part of a larger rhythm.

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As a Buddhist priest, Lama, and as a fellow human being, I find this trust—this willingness to release what we cannot keep—may be the deepest practice we can learn. To lean into the breaking point of a season, of a chapter in life, without turning away or clinging to what once was. To let the shedding be a blessing, not a defeat.

Letting Go with Grace

Dear reader, you might be standing somewhere in your own brytningstid. Perhaps it is not autumn outside your window, but you know the feeling: that subtle tilt of light in your life, the quiet suggestion that something is ready to be released.

You have known the weight of holding on. You have known the ache of things changing against your will. And yet, as you look more closely, perhaps you can sense that what feels like breaking is also an opening.

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May you, in this season or the next, listen for the wisdom in the falling leaves. May you see that change need not be feared as loss, that release can be its own kind of nourishment. The trees will stand through winter’s silence; so will you.

When the time comes, may you, too, fall with grace—and trust that the ground will receive you gently, ready to nourish what will rise again.

Yours through change,

Lama Chimey

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How Convenience Turned Us into Birds Flying Into a Clear Glass Window

We live inside a paradox. The modern world has gifted us more convenience than any era before. Food arrives with a tap. Conversations happen across continents in seconds. Knowledge, once preserved in monasteries and libraries, now rests in our pockets. It should feel like liberation. Instead, many of you, leaders not the least – tell me they feel trapped—by stress, distraction, and the smallest of obstacles.

The truth is that convenience has not freed us. It has made us fragile. And in the absence of real challenge, we often manufacture friction to fill the void. This is where Vajrayana Buddhism offers a different lens: what if the obstacles we avoid are the very raw material of leadership and transformation?

The Trap of Endless Comfort

Convenience is not the enemy. In Buddhist practice, we deliberately simplify our lives so that we can pay attention to what matters most. A meditation cushion is a convenience compared to the bare ground. A text handed down from a teacher is a convenience compared to figuring it out alone.

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But there is a tipping point. Too much comfort dulls our edge. The mind, unchallenged, becomes impatient and brittle. The smallest disruption—a delayed email, a misinterpreted comment, a system glitch—sparks outsized frustration. In organizations, I see this ripple outward: teams get frustrated not because the problem is catastrophic, but because their capacity to work with discomfort has been quietly ruined.

This is not weakness. It is habit. We have trained ourselves to expect ease, and so we are startled by friction, like a bird flying into a clear glass window.

Turning Poison into Medicine

Vajrayana Buddhism teaches a radical view: nothing is wasted. Even the poisons—anger, fear, doubt—can be transmuted into clear wisdom. Obstacles are not interruptions on the path. They are the path.

This principle is vital for leadership. A leader who embodies this way of seeing does not try to eliminate all difficulty from the workplace. That is neither possible nor desirable. Instead, they show how to meet resistance with awareness and clarity. Friction is not denied or smoothed over. It is acknowledged, worked with, and ultimately transformed.

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Think of it as alchemy of the mind. The raw heat of frustration can be refined into the clarity of problem-solving. The heaviness of fear can be reshaped into the solidity of courage. The restless energy of doubt can be redirected into inquiry and innovation.

But this does not happen automatically. It requires training, discipline, and what I call Wise Inner Leadership—the capacity to lead oneself before attempting to lead others.

Leaders and the Myth of Seamlessness

Modern leadership often obsesses over efficiency, productivity, and seamlessness. But seamlessness is an illusion. Life is inherently uneven, unpredictable, sometimes sharp-edged. Leaders who try to create perfectly smooth systems end up with brittle cultures: one unexpected challenge, and everything splinters.

Vajrayana leadership is different. It does not ask: “How do we remove all friction?” It asks: “How do we relate to friction when it inevitably arises?” This shift changes everything. Instead of reacting with blame, acting out or avoidance, leaders can cultivate resilience in themselves and their teams. They can normalize discomfort as part of growth, not as a failure.

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Convenience has its place—it clears unnecessary noise so that our attention is free. But when convenience becomes the goal itself, it weakens the very capacities leaders need most: patience, resilience, and the courage to transform the unknown.

Choosing the Path of Wise Inner Leadership

So here is the invitation. Do not allow convenience to dull you. Use it wisely, but do not let it define you either. Welcome friction not as punishment, but as training. In organizations, this might mean creating spaces where challenges are named openly, where teams are guided not to panic but to pause, reflect, and transform.

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This is the work of Wise Inner Leadership. It is the core of my guidance program for leaders—and very soon, I will open an exclusive try-it-out for a limited group of leaders, for a limited time. If you feel called to explore how Vajrayana wisdom can strengthen your leadership, you will find more details here: The Inner Wisdom Program. Guided in Swedish or English.

Convenience can smooth the surface of life, but it is clear presence that gives us sustainability. Presence that meets difficulty without shrinking and without lashing out. Presence that can hold an organization steady when everything around it shifts. This is the leadership our times are asking for: awake, resilient, and unafraid.

Your guide to integrating the Dharma into your everyday life,

Lama Chimey

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Why are you acting like a Robot? Reclaim Your Humaness Through the Power of Sati

The Morning Begins with Awareness of Your First Breath

The first breath of the morning is a doorway. On one side lies sleep, on the other, the day. What we do in that threshold matters. If the first thing we reach for is a glowing screen, we lose control of our mind. This happens before we even know where we stand. But if we begin with presence—with a pause, with breath, with awareness—we reclaim that fragile space between dream and duty. In Buddhist practice, this is the essence of sati: remembering now.

Start Your Day Off-Screen and On-Purpose

When we speak of sati—mindfulness—we mean more than simply paying attention. It is the power to remember this moment, to meet it without distraction.

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Our phones train us to forget. Online, we are constantly asked to prove we are not robots: Click here to verify. Select all the images with bicycles. The irony is that by living automatically—rising, scrolling, reacting—we risk becoming robotic. We forget that we are incarnated beings, tender and raw, living in the flesh.

Remember Now: Reclaim Your Humanness from Autopilot

The body is not who we are, but it reminds us. To incarnate—in carne (Spanish)—is to dwell in the flesh. The warmth of a cup between your palms, the stretch of muscle, the cool air of morning on your skin—all of these are invitations to remember our true essence.

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Without judgment, with upekkhā—equanimity—we can simply allow what is here, neither clinging nor pushing away. This is how I guide my live meditation classes, always returning to the steadiness of equanimity.

Anchoring Your Morning Practice

Try beginning your day with just ten minutes of this remembering. Direct your awareness towards your breath as it is, without changing anything. Just be with what is. Make a warm drink and notice the weight of the cup in your hands. Stretch gently, as though greeting your body anew.

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Then step outside. Feel the elements on your skin—the touch of wind, the smell of rain, the warmth of sunlight. These are not trivial sensations. They are reminders that you are alive, that you are connected to the fabric of the earth itself.

Your Steady Morning Rituals Shapes Your Mind

Write down the first things that come to mind without judging it. Write in a journal: a dream, a thought, or one clear intention. Let it be one sentence you can remember and repeat every morning. Not as yet another robotlike sure, but as a vow springing from kindness.

Examples:

I vow to bring patience into this day.
I shall care for my own heart so I may care for others.
Today I wish to do no harm.

When such a sentence arises, it becomes both anchor and compass. Journaling is not just a quaint practice; it is a powerful way of meeting your own mind. In my digital courses, writing is an integral part of meditation training, because it deepens awareness and gives shape to what otherwise slips away. Explore my courses here →

This simple ritual is not only where Buddhist practice may begin, but also how it is sustained. Remembering now, through our thoughts, words and actions. Like water dripping steadily on stone, each morning of mindful presence wears a path deeper into the mountain of our habitual mind. Over time, what seems immovable—the stone of distraction, restlessness, and reactivity—yields. Practice makes its way to the core.

Let Presence Be Your Compass

So tonight, make a small preparation. Put your phone somewhere other than your nightstand. Place a notebook there instead. When you wake, write, stretch, breathe. Remember now.

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This is not self-improvement; it is remembering to live. Not as a performance, but a return to humanness. Begin your day not as a machine proving you are human. Instead, start as a being who has incarnated tender and raw. You have the chance—every single morning—to touch the essence of who you truly are.

Yours on the path,
Lama Chimey

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