I am sitting here, fingers at the keyboard—aka, pen in hand—writing. Fear is present. She is almost always here. My knee-jerk reaction is to banish her. My ego voice says, Oh, my Lee! We have a ton of emails to respond to. And what about all the social media posts—people will think you are rude, unkind, if we don’t reply!
What’s really going on is this: the reflex to check, manage, and stay on top of things is fear trying to take over the keyboard and call it duty.
As I watch the little computer icon blink, I am reminded of Ram Dass’s gentle teaching: invite your fears in for tea—they are here; why not let them sit beside you? Still, there is a burning desire to ban the fear, to push it away.
Ram Dass’s words become a quiet invitation—a sweet nudge to stay. To sit within the fear. I listen.
Fear’s judgments are based on a single misconception: that something here needs to be fixed. Fear whines, “If I decide correctly, I won’t hurt. If others approve, this will settle. If I optimize, I can avoid pain.”
But here’s the truth: presence doesn’t rush in with answers. It doesn’t try to fix the fear or explain it away. Presence simply sits beside what hurts and says tenderly, I’m here. This hurts, and it cannot be resolved—only lived.
Fear can feel relentless, showing up in many different ways, different forms. Presence offers the courage to face our fears, to sit down and offer tea—maybe even crumpets. It does not offer solutions; presence offers hope and companionship, reminding us of our innate ability to meet the unfixable. Presence whispers, choose love, not resolutions.
And for now, that is enough.
This reflection lives alongside the larger body of work I’m shaping in my forthcoming book, The Seven Gates of Inner Light.
This is lovely, Lee. And whenever you remind me of Ram Dass (and those joyful, exploring years of reading him when we were all so much younger,) you have automatically gotten me on your channel. The message is even more frought with meaning, now! Yes, by gum, why not sit and have tea with my fears? Thank you for making it okay.
Thank you, Ted. First time I picked up, Be Here Now, sitting in a friends living room, not knowing what to do next, opened up the book (such an interesting cover!) and the words poured out – not instruction, just words. Yes, sit down with those fears, offer tea and crumpets, laugh. Thanks for reading & responding!