This book presents just such a course of instruction, called the Bodhisattva Peace Training. Although “bodhisattva” is a Buddhist word, this training is not just for Buddhists. It offers methods that anyone of any faith can use to enhance mind’s positive qualities, the source of benefit for ourselves and others, while reducing self-centered and negative habits, the source of harm for ourselves and others.

Such training is crucial if we aspire to have a positive impact—whether in a troubled relationship, family, workplace, community, or world. Our current perilous state of affairs has arisen from the conviction that each of us, regardless of our self-identity—as Christians, Buddhists, whites, blacks, Westerners, Easterners—knows the only way to true happiness. Most of us have never seriously considered that we might be wrong. We try to change or correct others, to convert them to our own way of seeing, then think we are clever if we succeed in doing so.

The truth is that we can rarely force others to act as we think they should or deter them from doing things we don’t like. No matter how much we may want them to, it is unlikely that they will act according to our wishes, and we can seldom prevent difficulties from arising. We need to realize that our habitual approach to challenges—trying to change everything and everyone else—is ineffective. It fails to address the root of the problem, which is the negativity within our own mind.

Trying to change the world without changing our mind is like trying to clean the dirty face we see in the mirror by scrubbing the glass. However vigorously we clean it, our reflection will not improve. Only by washing our own face and combing our own unkempt hair can we alter the image. Similarly, if we want to help create conditions that foster peace and well-being in the world, we first need to reflect these qualities ourselves.

According to an old Buddhist saying, the world is like a great field filled with thorns and sharp objects; rather than trying to cover it with leather, it is far easier to wear a pair of leather shoes. We face a host of thorny issues with unlimited potential for dissent, strife, and bloody conflict. None of us, not even the most powerful leader, can remedy them all.

If we are to fulfill the short-term goal of resolving conflict, and the ultimate goal of eliminating all our flaws and making evident our positive qualities, we must rely on spiritual methods. Intellectual understanding alone will not make possible the profound inner peace that can influence others. Like mending a hole in our pants by sewing on a patch, we must use the methods of the spiritual path to stitch our understanding to the fabric of our being.

We begin with the sincere wish to benefit others as much as ourselves. Recognizing that they want to be free of suffering and find happiness as much as we do, we seek ways of caring equally and simultaneously for ourselves and others. Over time, we expand the scope of our motivation, increasingly placing others’ needs before our own. We cultivate boundless, unbiased compassion—not just for our children, friends, parents, or associates, but for all beings alike, without preference.

Such compassion—the desire to alleviate the suffering of all beings equally—is part of the meaning of the Sanskrit term “bodhisattva.” Bodhi refers to wisdom mind, which is completely selfless. Sattva can be translated as “hero.” A bodhisattva is someone who has taken on the sole task of meeting the needs of others, no matter how difficult that might be. His self-centeredness has been reduced to the point where wisdom, love, and compassion arise naturally, benefiting any situation. Motivated only by concern for others, he would offer his own life without regret if he saw that it would be of help. So the mind of the bodhisattva is heroic, vast, and of limitless benefit.

We cannot say that we are true bodhisattvas when we first give rise to the altruistic wish to serve others, but that is where we start. We then strive to develop selflessness in every aspect of our lives and to eliminate everything obscuring our natural positive qualities. The end result—what we call enlightenment in the Buddhist tradition—is the ability to help anyone who sees, hears, touches, or remembers us. Such benefit is spontaneous, unceasing, and unimpeded.

The Bodhisattva Peace Training begins where we are, as people who wish to develop greater compassion and love for those close to us. Then we practice extending compassion and love again and again, until our limitations and obstacles fall away and our inherent qualities increase immeasurably in scope and impact. This is the transformative purpose of the training—to introduce methods for reducing our self-centered, negative, and harmful thoughts, words, and actions and increasing positive and beneficial ones.

The training spans three to five days. A topic is presented and participants ask questions, reflect and meditate on it, then share how the teachings relate to their own experience and how their thinking has been affected by what they have learned. Contemplating and discussing the teachings in this way makes it easier to integrate them into daily life.

For the spiritual power of peace to touch every person on this earth, it must radiate out from a profound peace within our own mind: across political and religious barriers, and across the barriers of ego and self-righteousness. To this end, we should seek an inner peace so pure and stable that we cannot be moved to anger by violence or to selfish attachment and fear by those who view or confront us with contempt and hatred. We can achieve such stability only by purifying mind’s poisons—ignorance, anger, attachment, jealousy, and pride; then we can clearly see that war and suffering are but their outer reflections. The essential difference between true peacemakers and those who wage war of any sort is the presence of extraordinary patience and discipline in the minds of the peacemakers as they work with these pervasive poisons. If we truly understand this, we will never allow ourselves to be defeated from within or without.

In Tibetan Buddhism, the peacock symbolizes the bodhisattva. A peacock is said to eat poisonous plants, transforming their toxins into the radiant colors of its feathers. It does not poison itself. In the same way, we who advocate peace must not poison ourselves with anger but regard with equanimity those who perpetrate violence, remaining constantly aware of our own state of mind. If we become angry in our efforts, we must pull back and regain our compassionate perspective. Without anger, perhaps we will penetrate the terrible delusion that gives rise to violence and hellish suffering.

From the clear space of our own inner peace, our compassion can expand to include all those caught in the tragic web of rage—aggressors and victims alike. True compassion is aroused by suffering of any sort, the suffering of every being. It is not tied to right or wrong, attachment or aversion. The work of peace is thus a spiritual path in itself, a means to develop the perfect qualities of mind that can be brought to bear in extreme suffering, urgent necessity, and death.

Substantial change happens slowly, and, in the midst of crisis, more slowly still. By starting with our own mind and working outward, we can affect others in extraordinary ways. A candle can bring a measure of light into the darkest room; a bright electric light will banish the darkness completely. The bodhisattva’s powerful ability to benefit others is like that electric light; our current ability to help, more like the candle. Even so, one candle can light another, which can light the next, and so on until darkness fades. In this way, may the lamp of these teachings illuminate the minds of beings until the whole world blazes with light.

Self-interest severely limits our ability to help. Self-clinging establishes a boundary between ourselves—including all we take to be ours—and everything else. We tend to isolate what we believe, need, and want for ourselves from the beliefs, needs, and desires of others. Such attachment leads to fixation on our own ideas, family, community, or country. We exaggerate the value of whatever we call “mine,” imagining ourselves and “ours” to be uniquely important. This perspective separates, binds, and restricts us, making openness impossible. We react with aversion to not getting what we want, as well as to getting what we do not want. Attachment and aversion are like a twin-headed demon; they are two sides of the same coin.

Although we may aspire to help, we often find ourselves hampered by negativity and mental habits that perpetuate suffering and conflict rather than create happiness and harmony. Our intention to aid someone we sympathize with might be compromised by aversion toward someone who has injured her or by our desire to gain or achieve something through our actions. If in our efforts to help we become judgmental and self-righteous, if we angrily try to control or retaliate against someone, then our intention is tainted by pride and aversion. If our motivation for helping others is marred by desire, anger, or self-interest, we are like a doctor who administers sweet-tasting medicine laced with poison. It might seem delicious in the short run, but will ultimately only cause harm.

The mind is like a fertile field. If we contaminate it with the poisons of ignorance, desire, anger, jealousy, and pride, we will inevitably produce poisonous crops. Acting carelessly or harmfully toward others, or working for our own benefit at the expense of others, will only create limitation and suffering. Medicinal seeds—wholesome, virtuous acts of kindness, love, and compassion—will produce the fruits of peace and benefit. Actions that are both positive and negative will produce a mixture of happiness and sadness. This is the principle of karma. Karma originates in the mind. Our thoughts give rise to words and actions, and these have consequences. We cannot plant poisonous seeds and expect edible or medicinal fruit. When we begin to see the negative results of our self-centeredness, we understand why we must carefully choose which seeds to plant. Our future is in our own hands.

If our motivation is truly to help everyone, we must reduce our own negativity and learn to develop equal love and compassion for all beings. This means that we must try to help both victim and aggressor. In the case of a murder that is about to take place, our impulse is to defend the victim, but ideally we would also act out of compassion for the aggressor, to try to protect him from the consequences of killing. If he follows his murderous impulse, he will soon be estranged from everyone he has ever known or loved. He will ruin his life and destroy his chances for happiness. Thinking only of the short term, he has no idea what could be in store for him, a degree of suffering that we wouldn’t wish on anyone. So as difficult as it seems, we must cultivate the same compassion for him as for the victim. One is suffering now; the other will suffer in the future. Equal compassion is truly great compassion.

Similarly, in the arena of world peace, we all wish to protect those ravaged by war, yet those who wage war will eventually experience the negative consequences of their actions. Because of the aggressors’ power and arrogance, and the terrible suffering they inflict, it may be very hard for us to feel compassion for them. Nonetheless, we need to hold war-makers and victims in the same compassionate embrace. Whether in the name of peace or war, attachment and aversion are toxic and will taint any method of intervention.

If the leader of a nation decides to go to war, people on both sides of the conflict will die. His responsibility for many deaths, or even one or two, will have serious karmic consequences. Today he might be sitting in a big chair, a very powerful man, but in future lifetimes he will suffer intensely. Knowing this, we feel compassion for him. If we truly feel equal compassion for war-makers and war victims, we can begin to embody the qualities of good heart that will inspire positive transformation in the minds of others.

Good heart is the medicine that heals all conflict, the great antidote to selfishness and the problems that stem from it. It naturally gives rise to understanding and compassion; it makes us more open to listening, more able to see why we are having interpersonal problems and how to resolve them. As we give rise to good heart, we watch our own and others’ happiness grow.

The great Buddhist scholar and master Shantideva said that awakening good heart is like finding a precious gem in a mound of filth. Once we discover it in the ash heap of our mental poisons, we should never lose or disregard it. Just by hearing about or acknowledging it for an instant, we receive the blessings of enlightened beings. Like the first light of the rising sun, it is the dawn of spiritual practice.

To bring forth good heart, we must use spiritual methods. We are never too old or too young to do so. One of the key points of these teachings is that everyone can apply them.

We begin by cultivating pure motivation. Contemplating the experiences of those caught in cycles of suffering, we give rise to compassion and the aspiration to do whatever we can to help. But we need more than the wish to benefit. We may want to save a drowning person, but if we can’t swim or don’t have a boat or rope, we won’t be of much use. We must learn to swim before we can save others. With the love and compassion now in our hearts, we might be able to help ten, twenty, a thousand, or maybe a hundred thousand people. But even that is not sufficient, for countless beings suffer in every moment. Despite our good intentions, our ability to help others is limited. Any positive impact we have will be temporary, because our spiritual capacity is so meager. We need to dedicate ourselves to expanding that capacity, to fully realizing our inherent positive qualities.

Our true nature is a state of perfection imbued with wisdom, compassion, and the potential to create limitless benefit. For most of us, this nature is obscured, like a crystal encased in stone. We aren’t omniscient and haven’t completely developed our compassion and ability to help. However, through spiritual practice we can fully actualize these qualities.

Wisdom includes a range of knowing—from the intellect’s ability to learn, change, and mature, to omniscience and the realization of our true nature. We all have access to compassion and loving kindness to different degrees; no one is totally devoid of them. Most people find it easy to love their children, friends, parents, or those close to them. Others have a larger vision that includes the desire to end the suffering of all beings. Increasing our love and compassion can be a goal for all of us, regardless of our spiritual tradition. Compassion and wisdom give rise to the power of ceaseless benefit. By applying spiritual methods to change our own mind, we develop an ever-greater ability to serve others.

If the crystal represents our perfect nature, and the stone the negative habits that obscure it, then as we chip away at the stone using spiritual tools, the lucent and beneficial aspects of the crystal will become increasingly apparent. Moments of intuition or psychic abilities are examples of this. Through spiritual practice, great masters have removed all obscurations, fully manifesting their wisdom, compassion, and ability to benefit beings temporarily and ultimately. Enlightenment is the crystal revealed, its capacity to refract light and cast rainbows complete and effortless.

The Buddha left our human realm a long time ago, but we still receive blessings when we think of or pray to him. Jesus lived centuries ago, but his example of love and compassion helps people directly, here and now. Mahatma Gandhi’s life was taken from him, but his loving kindness and philosophy of nonviolence continue to influence others.

The lives of many contemporary bodhisattvas exemplify the path of selfless service as well. A great lama in my family, Tulku Arik, went into retreat at the young age of eleven or twelve and remained there until he was about twenty-five. He then spent one year at a monastery, and eventually returned to retreat, emerging only occasionally to beg for food.

Due to his extraordinary meditative accomplishment, his qualities became apparent, and people came from long distances to receive his blessings. For one week every three years, he would let people sit with him. They could see him just for a moment, and only if they had agreed to give up all forms of killing, including smoking, hunting, and fishing. Everyone came to regard the region surrounding his retreat site as a peaceful sanctuary for all beings, including animals. As word of his kindness and realization spread, people began making pilgrimages to his hillside and leaving offerings, which he scarcely touched. He would take only a little grain from a huge sack and leave the rest for the community of poor who had congregated in the area, living off the offerings intended for him. He never accepted money; he didn’t own a change of clothes.

In 1959, when the Chinese were imprisoning lamas and searching for members of the Tibetan resistance, they found Tulku Arik in retreat. They bound his hands, tied him behind a horse and rider, and led him to jail. He was elderly by then, very thin, and unable to keep up. Whenever he fell, he was dragged. In a village along the way, the people immediately recognized him. Though it was dangerous to show devotion for a lama, the villagers nonetheless ran to him, crying and bitterly criticizing the Chinese. When they tried to attend to his wounds, he said, “Please, don’t worry about me. Help the soldier who is holding this rope. He has blistered his hands dragging me.”

The jails were staffed by the most frightening of the Chinese and their Tibetan allies. These Tibetan collaborators, angry with their own people, tortured the lamas. On the first day of Tulku Arik’s imprisonment, the guards were vicious, but he met their ferocity with such gentleness that, by the next day, they began to treat him and the other prisoners more kindly. Just being near him, his captors were transformed. Among the prisoners were political detainees who had many grievances against the Chinese, as well as hardened criminals whose anger seethed at inmate and guard alike. By his example, Tulku Arik—though old and feeble—saved them from the torture of their own poisonous emotions, and conditions improved on both sides of the bars. Eventually, a prison once known for its brutality became an exception to the rule.

Over time, Tulku Arik was moved from prison to prison, and wherever he went, compassion followed. This was not lost on the Chinese, who ultimately released him, saying, “This kind of lama is okay.” Such is the influence of a person with good heart and pure motivation.

This quality of good heart is the essence of the bodhisattva vow in the Buddhist tradition—the commitment to free all beings from suffering, bring about their unending happiness, and undertake spiritual methods that will enable us to do so. The foundation of this vow is bodhicitta, the compassionate wish to attain enlightenment in order to bring all beings to that same state. In essence, bodhicitta means that self-clinging and self-interest give way to unceasing concern for others.

Someone who has given rise to bodhicitta even for an instant is no longer ordinary. Rather, she delights and becomes a child of the buddhas, for there is no greater service we can render or offering we can make to enlightened beings than bodhicitta.

The ideal motivation, then, for receiving these teachings and putting them into practice is to fully reveal our true nature so that we may be of limitless benefit. Such motivation is selfless, pure, and exalted. The more we bring it to everything we do, the greater the scope and power of our actions. Tibetans have a saying: “The dancer must follow the beat of the drum.” Upholding pure motivation in our lives lends beauty, power, and inspiration to the dance, and ensures true and lasting benefit.

The Bodhisattva Peace Training offers extensive tools for doing exactly this. It is meant to serve as a mirror with which to examine ourselves—our motivation, impulses, and conduct—not as a window through which we might judge others. We need to assess and transform ourselves so that we come to recognize our true nature and perfect its expression in our thoughts, words, and actions.

This training is not based on blind faith. Nor can it succeed unless we have a deep understanding of its principles—something we can achieve only by thoroughly contemplating the teachings. So do ask questions. That is your job. It is the teacher’s job to try to answer them and make the teachings accessible, fully applicable to you and your life.

Wars break out when people are attached to their countries or ideologies. Conflict usually arises in families and communities because someone thinks his way is best. Like icebergs colliding, one “me” crashes into the next.

At first, we cannot completely give up all self-centered thoughts, but we can expand the mind, changing our focus to include the happiness of others. We can ask ourselves, “How can I help this or that person find happiness? Perhaps I have something to offer.”

We need to realize that everyone suffers; we aren’t the only ones. All human beings face sickness, old age, and death. Many are victims of war and famine. Others look endlessly for something to fulfill them, yet don’t know how to find it. Blaming, fighting, harming—people act at cross-purposes to their desire for happiness. Feeling compassion for them, without judgment, we strive to find ways to protect them from the consequences of their actions.

The more compassion we feel, the more we reduce our selfish attachment and purify our karma and obscurations. We become less angry, our mind more expansive. Ultimately, we reduce our own suffering by benefiting those around us.

Compassion and attachment to others’ happiness purify self-centeredness—the source of all our problems. Using our attachment to helping others in order to transform attachment to ourselves, we will eventually come to have no attachment at all.

In one of his lifetimes, the Buddha was a bodhisattva who worked as a ferryman. Once, his ship was transporting five hundred merchants, selfless bodhisattvas dedicated to serving others. An infamous robber came on board, threatening to kill the merchants and steal everything they had.

The ferryman thought, “If this robber kills these bodhisattvas, he will suffer for eons in the hell realms. If I kill him first, not only will I save the bodhisattvas, but I will also prevent him from creating terrible karma and reaping the consequences. I will remain in hell for a shorter time than he would for killing five hundred bodhisattvas. For everyone’s sake, I will accept this suffering.” With that motivation, he killed the thief.

In the ferryman’s act of killing, there was not a trace of selfishness, no thought of being repaid or of making a name for himself. Because there was only selflessness and compassion, he didn’t go to hell but instead created great virtue. The difference between virtue and nonvirtue can’t always be seen from the outside. It all comes down to intention.

Many people in the healing professions have asked me how to protect themselves from their patients’ illnesses and negative energy. I know from my own experiences as a physician in the Tibetan tradition that the selflessness required to heal someone can result in a transfer of energy so that the healer temporarily manifests the patient’s symptoms. This is not a problem, but rather an indication of the healer’s effectiveness. If she understands this, the impulse to protect herself won’t arise. But if she becomes concerned about taking on her client’s symptoms, then her fear, self-interest, and impulse toward self-preservation will attract negativity.

The motivation of enlightened beings is one of selfless concern for others, whereas that of ordinary beings is basically one of “me” and “mine”—a little bit of helping, but a lot of self-cherishing and self-preservation. That approach merely results in one kind of suffering after another. So selflessness is ultimately our greatest protection.

If we set out on the spiritual path with great enthusiasm and decide to make big sacrifices or commit ourselves to substantial changes in our life without proper preparation, our practice will be unstable from the very start. We might break our commitment later, doubting the reasons for having made it or, even worse, regretting that we ever did. It is much better to go gradually, step by step, so that our good qualities have a chance to develop. Then we can slowly deepen our commitment.

First we need to reduce our attachment. There is a simple exercise that you might find helpful. Take something you value—gold, silver, jewelry—and hold it in your right hand; then “give” it to the left, saying, “I’m giving this up.” Then offer it back to the right hand. From one hand to the other, repeatedly give it away.

It may sound simplistic, but in this small, humorous way, we can begin to break down the habit of holding on to things. We mentally practice giving them up again and again until our grip loosens. In the Buddhist tradition, there are many other meditative methods for diminishing attachment. Right now, it would be difficult for us to give up even one finger. But eventually, after practicing such methods, we would have no qualms about sacrificing our entire body, just as the Buddha and many bodhisattvas have done.

In one of his previous lifetimes, the Buddha, then named Great Heart, was the middle son of a king. As he walked in the woods one day with his brothers, he came upon a tigress and her cubs. She was wounded and slowly starving to death; her cubs were trying to suckle but found no milk. Greatly moved, the prince wanted to help, but had nothing to feed them except his own body. He thought, “For countless lifetimes I have clung to my body, but that clinging has never given me an extra moment of life. I’ve lived and died so many times, and my body has been cremated or left to rot in the ground without benefiting anyone. At least this time, let there be benefit from my death. I will offer my body to this tigress and her cubs.”

He pretended to be tired and sent his brothers to find fruit in the forest. Then he lay down next to the tigress. She didn’t have the strength to eat him, so he cut his flesh with a piece of sharpened bamboo and let the blood from the wound drip into her mouth. When she became stronger, he fed her pieces of his flesh until he was too weak to go on. By then she was strong enough to continue on her own. Through all of this, Great Heart did not feel a moment of regret.

At the same time, the queen dreamt that she saw three suns in the sky, the middle one eclipsed. She woke up knowing that something had happened to her second son.

As Great Heart died, he made the aspiration that by the power of the virtue he had created, in every future life his ability to help others awaken to a state of freedom might grow. The earth trembled, rainbows filled the sky, flowers fell from the heavens, and the joyful music of celestial beings resounded throughout the region. With that one perfect, selfless act, he gained more capacity to benefit than he would otherwise have achieved in eons.

Some of the prince’s hair and bones are in Nepal in a stupa, a monument that is a symbolic representation of the deathless nature of mind, greatly benefiting anyone who circumambulates it.

Many great practitioners throughout history have offered their lives for the sake of others. I remember seeing video footage of Vietnamese monks who burned themselves alive to protest the war in Vietnam. Even as they ignited their bodies, they didn’t jump up in fear or regret, but sat in perfect meditation posture. The dedication and selfless motivation they demonstrated starkly contrast with the act of suicide.

Your students are like your children. Your care for them will become imprinted on their minds and will pervade their lives. They will come to respect you and the qualities you embody. When they go out into the world, they will take this same habit of warmly caring for others.

The universe is full of things we can learn. But we don’t have the time to learn everything, nor do we need to. Instead, we can choose to train in what is essential. No matter what your spiritual tradition, focus your intention on how the university can help nurture, in both students and faculty members, the basic human qualities of wisdom, compassion, and ability to benefit, for the good of the university and society at large.

In the Buddhist tradition, pure motivation is considered so crucial that teachers start every lecture by stressing its importance. By constantly reiterating that the objective of education is to develop positive qualities and the ability to help others as well as ourselves, you will firmly establish this goal in people’s minds, and good heart will naturally follow.

If you have a choice between hiring an excellent scholar whose motivation is self-centered and one with good heart, it is preferable to choose the good-hearted person, because her interactions with others will be harmonious. If your staff members’ intentions are altruistic, their minds will be flexible. They will be open to the opinions of others and willing to change their own positions if they feel it’s best for the students and the school as a whole.

When you hire someone, let her know your school’s values. Be very clear about your guidelines and principles, including standards for the practice of good heart—humility, cooperation, and harmony. Explain that anyone who is part of the university is expected to uphold those standards.

There once was a yogi who developed clairvoyance while meditating in a cave. One day he saw his sponsor coming, so he tidied up the cave, dusted off the shrine, and made fresh offerings. Then he sat back, pleased with his efforts, until he asked himself, “Why did I do this? It wasn’t to make a pure offering to the bodhisattvas or to my lama. I did it because my sponsor is coming.” Disgusted by his motivation, he scattered ashes all over the shrine.

Then we imagine all those who find themselves in similar circumstances. We continue to expand our compassion until it encompasses all beings, each of whom suffers at various times to a greater or lesser degree, and all of whom seek only to find stable contentment and fulfillment. We formulate the aspiration and intention to bring them all to a state of unceasing happiness, establishing this as the purpose of whatever we’re doing.

If we have a relationship to prayer, we then pray—to whosoever or whatsoever embodies our highest ideals of limitless wisdom, compassion, and ability to benefit—that by those blessings and through our own efforts, temporary and ultimate benefit may be accomplished for all beings.

Then we observe our mind while imagining or replaying an emotionally charged interaction. We notice the ways in which we assess, categorize, or judge the other person’s speech or conduct. Is desire, aversion, pride, jealousy, or ignorance present in our mind? Do our thoughts, feelings, words, and actions stem from self-centeredness? Do we place our own opinions, needs, and desires first? If so, we reestablish pure motivation. Reviewing recent events and anticipating future ones, we continue to watch our mind as if looking into a mirror.

As we become more familiar with this meditation, we can try it during actual conversations, beginning with situations that don’t elicit strong emotions. As our awareness of our mind’s landscape develops, we will learn to always check for and reestablish our pure motivation before responding.

Over time, as we become able to do so in more and more interactions, we will gradually awaken to the mirror-like quality of daily life. Our ability to perceive our ongoing experience as mind’s reflection will increase and elicit more deeply the aspiration for positive change.

Though we may wish to love and help all beings equally, we continually sort people into categories—those we like, those we don’t, and those who have little effect on us, whom we usually disregard. Right from the start, we must address this tendency to discriminate. To extend love and compassion to everyone—friends and enemies alike without distinction—we must come to the certainty that all beings are equally deserving of our kindness and compassion. Our equanimity has to be genuine, not just a theoretical concept, or we will never change the way we relate to one another.