Lodro: It’s hard to ask people to contemplate that an idiot—all the way up to an authoritarian ruler or politician—possesses basic goodness. It’s difficult for me. But then I think, okay, they have people who love them, who love them back. They experience moments of genuine open-heartedness with those individuals. There’s certain moments where they actually are connected to basic goodness. Could they come back to that?
Tami Simon: In this episode of Insights at the Edge, my guest is Lodro Rinzler, a Buddhist meditation teacher, a father, and the author of seven books, including the international bestseller The Buddha Walks into a Bar. He’s the founder of The Basic Goodness Collective, which is an online meditation community, and he’s the author of a new book, You Are Good. You Are Enough: Free Yourself from the Trap of Doubt and Return to Basic Goodness. Lodro, welcome.
Lodro: Thanks for having me. It is always a delight to hang out with you, Tami, and I always just feel a little more relaxed and at ease in your presence, which is so fun.
Tami Simon: Oh, what a kind thing to say. I learned that you started meditating when you were just six and you were raised in a family where your parents were meditators. That didn’t really blow my mind, but what did was that you started teaching meditation when you were just 18 years old. I wanted to begin by asking you—what in the core of you drew you to the dharma, to the teachings of the Buddha, to meditation? What was so resonant inside you that at such a young age you said, this is it, this is what I want, this is what I’m going to do?
Lodro: I always love talking with you because these questions stop my mind for a second. As you noted, I was raised in a Buddhist household, so I was raised within this container where the concept of this new book—You Are Good, You Are Enough—was really drilled into me from a young age: basic goodness, that I was basically good, whole, complete as is.
And I think you’re right, it’s not unusual that a kid would say, my parents meditate, I could meditate, and imitate them to some degree. But I think the thing that was infused in me that was really helpful at that time was the idea that I was basically good—meaning that I wasn’t a bad kid if something went wrong. It’s just that something went wrong. I made a mistake and it didn’t negate that I’m okay. So when I was 17, I say this very dramatically, I ran off to the monastery. I basically spent a summer where I shaved my head.
Tami Simon: You can be dramatic with me, it’s fine.
Lodro: Thank you. I shaved my head, I took the robes, I went all in. It was a temporary ordination—it was always going to be a temporary ordination. And I was doing walking meditation inside, but they had these great large windows, wall to wall. There’s this moment I remember so clearly: a whale broke up through the sea and then came crashing back down. Similarly, I guess, it stopped my mind and I realized, my parents had never done this. They had never experienced what I was experiencing. My path had diverged from their path. This was now mine, this was my thing.
So I was 17 at that time and went off to college, and I said, all I want to do is study this thing. I threw myself into religious studies, did as many retreats as I could, and at a certain point I started a little meditation group on campus and imported teachers from the surrounding area. At a certain point they just got frustrated with the commute and said, you have done all the prerequisites for initial teacher training. Go do it. You’re in the trenches with these other 18 to 22 year olds—we are not. You know what it’s like to be there. Go talk to them at your level.
And I learned how to teach meditation. I did it very poorly for a few years—I don’t think I was great at it—but I really did just try to hold as much space as possible for people. I think sometimes people say, oh, this was a calling. I wouldn’t go that far. But this was something that I knew was helping people, even if I didn’t always get it right, just by creating spaces where people could show up and meditate. I said, this is helping people. All I want, as an 18-year-old at Wesleyan University, is to help people and help this world. Maybe this is the way I go about it. And I just sort of fell in love with the path from there.
Tami Simon: What’s interesting is this desire to be helpful—this longing—is not something all teenagers identify as a core motivating force in their lives. I think that’s powerful, Lodro.
Lodro: Thank you. I think I was in good company. I served throughout Wesleyan University. There was that whole movie that spoofed it called PCU, where everyone and their mom had a cause and everyone had an idea of how to help. I was finding my way in terms of how I wanted to help the world—protest, arrests, things like that too. But I realized that one way that really did help and bring about peace was people working with their minds. I knew it brought me peace, so I doubled down on practice and study and ultimately teaching as much as I could.
Tami Simon: You mentioned that in your family, your parents treated you with a spirit of “you’re good, you’re enough.” I want to talk about when our parents have their own shame, their own sense of not being sufficient inside themselves—and how that’s the water we swim in when we’re in the womb, when we’re born. You can tell I’m asking for a friend, Lodro. But what I’m getting at is: even if the words were given—”it’s fine that you didn’t get such a great grade”—we knew that they didn’t think they were okay. And we picked up on that and it became our internalized norm.
Lodro: I’m with you. And to be clear, it’s not like my parents got all A’s in that regard. There were messages shared with me about things that were their own biases—you can’t go into that career, you’ll never make money, or you can’t be that sort of person because life would be harder. Well intentioned, often, but not representing “you’re basically good.” It was in the water enough that I internalized it.
As a parent myself at this point, I am so sensitive to this. My daughter’s three and there’s no way I’m going to get this right—I almost have to say, I’m going to show up as authentically as I can, meet her in the moment, put down my phone every time she’s in the room, and just be there with her. I am consciously thinking: I need to pass on this message of basic goodness. And that also means I have to work with my own relationship with it.
I remember when my wife was pregnant, sitting there and sensing this almost primal need—not material need, we had the house, the backyard—but the sense of: I have to get my mind right. I have to really work with my own mind so that I don’t pass down some of my negative habitual tendencies to this next generation. It felt urgent in that way.
Tami Simon: The new book has three different sections—three arcs: seeing the goodness in ourselves, seeing the goodness in others, and seeing it in society. I want to start with seeing the goodness in ourselves, because I think the biggest obstacle is this sense of shame—a feeling that it’s very deep and below the surface, whether it’s body shame, shame about being different, or the shame from a previous generation that we feel still lives in us. So I want to know: you have this urgent commitment—I don’t want to live with this kind of shame and pass it down to my daughter. Have you worked it out? How have you worked with your own shame?
Lodro: Continuously. That’s the short answer. What came up for me as you were framing this was a moment where my friend Neil—as a gay man, he grew up afraid of what people would think about him if they knew who he really was. I think many of us have some version of that. But by virtue of being attracted to men, there was societal messaging that taught him there might be something broken inside.
Ultimately, Neil overcame that messaging and came out. But the reason he brought this up to me was because, years later, he attended some teachings and heard me talk about basic goodness. He was stunned. He said, “I don’t think I ever heard anything like it. Is this how people have been moving through the world—with the sense that they’re fundamentally worthy, just inherently deserving? Not having to engage with all of the shame and blame?” He realized that he’d been okay all along, that the problem wasn’t him. He didn’t need to be fixed. That by virtue of being who he is, he’s been whole and complete as is.
I mention Neil to start because I think that’s resonant with a lot of people. And it doesn’t have to be specifically about sexuality—it could be body, disability, any number of things. For me personally, it’s looking at so many aspects of my own mind, where I’m holding stories that are just no longer serving me, and starting to admit that they’re not serving me.
I do think the bummer of our whole capitalistic system is that it’s built around a basic confusion about our sense of enoughness. We’re told the lie that we are not enough, and therefore we need something external to make us whole. The cosmetics industry, the diet industry, even some areas of the wellness industry—companies make money off the idea that you’re basically messed up and if you come to us, we have something that can fix you. If we actually woke up one day and said, “that’s not true,” all of those industries would fall into the ocean.
So even though I was also bombarded by conditioning that told me I’m not enough—striving to get into a better school, get the right job, become financially secure—I realized that’s samsara: that constant striving of “when I get to X, Y, Z, or look this way, or get that accolade, then I’m enough.”
I’ve been on both sides. I started a network of meditation studios, Mindful, at one point. I grew up with my parents reading the New York Times and I thought, how cool would it be to be in the New York Times someday? And then we were. A wonderful photo, a great writeup above the fold. And then people came and learned how to meditate and walked away. And it happened again a month and a half later. Six times in about six months. And honestly, it didn’t do anything for me. It was nice the first time—I checked that. But it didn’t make me feel whole, complete as is.
And so it’s me, actively every day, working with those thoughts that come up in my head—what I refer to in the book as the trap of doubt. That insidious little voice that says: “Will anyone even want to read this book? Will anyone care?” All the way up to more rigid things around shame, mistakes, villainization—all of these things we do, often in the comfort of our own mind, that are not serving us.
It’s been a lot of work for me personally, and it’s not done. I think if we were truly done with those stories, we’d be enlightened. So it’s a constant examination: what stories am I telling myself that are not serving me, but are actually causing harm?
Tami Simon: How do you work with your own mind when you see this achiever self—you just published a new book, you want it to reach X number of people, and if it doesn’t, you won’t feel “enough”?
Lodro: That’s exactly it. And even if you came up with a magic number of the perfect number of listeners and you hit it, you’d probably say, okay, so now what? Sharon Salzberg actually has a great story about this. She’d been somewhat envious of friends who made the New York Times bestseller list. And then finally one day it happened—she gets this email from her publisher, a list of all the books from that publisher who’d made the list that week. I believe it was Faith. And right below her book, it said something like “Sharon Salzberg, Faith, 1 week on the list.” And then What to Expect When You’re Expecting—180 weeks. And she said, “Oh. So she got the thing and immediately thought, but I don’t have 180 weeks.”
For me, with the first book, The Buddha Walks into a Bar, I remember sitting there on publication day. As you well know, no one ever tells authors this, but publication day is incredibly boring. No one’s popping champagne. You’re sitting on the couch saying, okay, so now what? I came up with this elaborate fantasy: someone would read it—it was meant for people in their twenties—and started meditating and kept meditating and incorporated the principles and maybe lived a more compassionate life and wielded that influence in a really good way. I said, that’s enough.
And I’ve come full circle with You Are Good, You Are Enough. If one person reads this and it actually helps them wake up to their basic goodness, and they start seeing basic goodness not just in themselves but in the people around them—the people they like, the people they don’t like, the people they don’t know—that’s enough for me. I set the bar at one person. And that weekend, someone emailed me. I was like, done—everything on top of this is gravy. I really do believe that.
Tami Simon: I want to talk about the words basic goodness a bit more. They’re extraordinarily meaningful to me. But whenever I start to talk about it, it can get very abstract very quickly and I feel like I’m in some kind of philosophical debate about good and evil. I want to get into the essential feeling, the experiential sense of innate goodness. And I thought you did a brilliant job of helping the reader get there when you talked about the color blue and how blue was not in the human vocabulary previous to 4,500 years ago. Maybe you could share that and how it helps us feel into what basic goodness is underneath the language.
Lodro: This is my favorite story. Let me start by unpacking the term. Basic—if you don’t like that word, you could say fundamental, primordial, innate, inherent. It’s part of who we are. Like the foundation of a house is basic to the house—everything is built on top of it. And goodness is not the good-versus-bad dichotomy we often think of, not a Star Wars level of good versus evil. It’s a sense of wholeness, completeness, goodness as is. That is our birthright. That is a basic human experience. It’s not a Buddhist thing. You don’t have to be a Buddhist to understand that you’re basically good—in fact, if you come from some Christian backgrounds, it might actually be really helpful to realize that you’re not basically sinful, that you are basically good.
As a meditation teacher, I admit that when you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail—but meditation really does help us understand the experience of basic goodness. When I am meditating and I notice I drift off, I acknowledge the thoughts, I come back. There might be a moment when there’s just some space and I’m relaxed in my body and I say, “Oh, this is okay.” That was it. It is ordinary but profound at the same time.
When I got back from the gym this morning and got into the shower and the warm water hit my back and my muscles relaxed—I experienced a moment of basic goodness. When my daughter hugs me at the end of the night and says “big hug”—I’ve employed Disney World rules in my relationship with her: the mascots apparently are not allowed to let go of the hug first, because you never know how much a child might need that hug. So she holds me for two minutes and then says “I’m ready” and lets go. That’s two minutes of basic goodness, if I’m a hundred percent there and not thinking about running late for a meeting.
But to get to your point about blue—Jules Davidoff was a professor who went to Namibia and worked with the Himba tribe. He found that they didn’t have a relationship to the color blue in the way that you and I do. So he got a piece of paper and put 12 squares on it: 11 of them were green and one was very distinctly blue. He showed them to many members of the tribe and said, “What do you think? What’s the difference here?” And they would say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—they all look the same to me.” He said the only reason he or you and I might be able to see blue, and the Himba tribe might not, is because we’ve been introduced to blue.
The moment I heard that story, I was like, I need to go take my daughter outside and point at the sky and tell her it’s blue. That’s the whole point of this book—to point out the experience of basic goodness so that people might start to see it in themselves, and then recognize it in others. And what is society, if not us plus other people?
Tami Simon: Just to go into the words a little more—I notice when I use words like sufficiency, deep okayness, wholeness, connection, satiation, they give me the feeling without creating the same good-and-evil connotation. What do you think about that?
Lodro: I agree with it. This term is ubiquitous in particularly Buddhist circles today. It was originally coined by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche in the early 1970s. He used the Tibetan term dön dam—you will not find that term in traditional Tibetan Buddhist texts. He pulled these two words together and said, “basic goodness”—I’m going to use that term to describe this awakened state of mind. He had a real knack for making sometimes esoteric principles incredibly accessible to Westerners. But as the Buddha taught 84,000 skillful means, I think as many terms as possible to point to the fact that we’re good, whole, and enough—I’m all for any of them.
Tami Simon: Okay. The first section of the book—seeing the goodness in ourselves—as challenging as I find that to do consistently in my life, I didn’t find it anywhere near as challenging as when I got to section two and three. Seeing the goodness in others. What really trips me up there? I just judge other people like they’re idiots. How do we see the goodness in someone when they’re just behaving like an idiot—and they’re not even hurting me personally, it’s just like, what?
Lodro: I love this. I have a loved one who really loves to be judgmental—it’s sort of like a fun hobby: “Why is that person doing that? That is really dumb.” I think we can almost have a sense of humor about this to some degree. It’s when we get really solidified in “that person is doing something wrong and they’re bad and evil” that it becomes harmful to ourselves.
You can go all the way from your neighbor who, you know, is mowing the lawn wrong, all the way up to—there’s a chapter here—what about that world-threatening politician? Because you have to acknowledge it. As someone who’s been teaching for 25 years, the number of times someone has raised their hand and said, “Okay, basic goodness, fine, but what about…?”—and it’s often a world-threatening politician.
From an overview perspective: if I’m basically good, and you’re basically good, and everyone is basically good—that’s our nature—that doesn’t negate that there is confusion. Someone could be confused about their basic nature, could act in ways they think are going to bring them happiness, but that are ultimately harming themselves and others. Have you ever done that? Yes. I’ve also done that. There are times in my life where I fell off the cushion, where I was deeply entangled in grief, sadness, drank too much, and caused harm to myself and others. That doesn’t negate that I’m basically good—it just means I was really distant from it at that time.
When we get to that world-threatening politician, these people are incredibly distant from their basic goodness. They’re acting from a place of hate. That is incredibly hard. The original chapter heading—what about that world-threatening politician, what about Hitler—can we go there?
Tami Simon: Well, we can go there because, as you said, this conversation necessitates going all the way to the extreme. And Hitler, it’s Trump—another world-threatening politician.
Lodro: Yes. And if people hate that we’re talking about Trump, other people in a different room would probably say, “What about Biden?” But more often than not, in the last several years, it came about Trump. The idea—going all the way to the extreme of Hitler—is that this is someone who didn’t emerge from the womb hating people. He learned that type of thinking over time, and that hate distanced him from any semblance of basic goodness. The confusion at the level of a neighbor mowing the lawn wrong is very different than what we’re talking about here. The consequences were catastrophic. I’ve lost entire branches of my family tree as a result.
So it’s hard to ask people to contemplate that an idiot all the way up to an authoritarian ruler or politician possesses basic goodness. It’s difficult for me. I acknowledge that. But then I think: they have people who love them, who love them back. They experience moments of genuine open-heartedness with those individuals. There are certain moments where they actually are connected to basic goodness. Could they come back to that?
There’s a story I rarely share but I’ll share here. When I was touring for The Buddha Walks into a Bar, this question came up and someone asked, “What about Hitler?” And I gave some version of what I just said. Afterwards, a woman told me a story. She married a man who had kids; she had kids from a previous marriage. They merged their families, and one of her stepsons fell in with the wrong crowd, was doing a lot of drugs, and committed an unthinkable crime—someone ended up dead. And she, at that moment, said, “Well, basic goodness—that’s not a thing. This is an evil act. I was wrong about this concept.” But because she was close with him, she continued to visit every month. A couple months in, he asked about the family dog—she noticed a slight softening. A couple of months later, he asked if she could bring him art supplies because he used to love painting. Without the drugs, without the influence of those people, she noticed him starting to come back to who he was before.
She said, “I know basic goodness is real because I’ve seen it in the worst of situations.” We can get very distant from our basic goodness, and then we can also come back. No one is irredeemable—which is not to condone anyone’s negative actions, but to say that they are still human, that they are still basically good. And if nothing else, it helps us. It doesn’t behoove us to have an icebox around our heart. Trump doesn’t care what I think of him. If I spend all day thinking negative thoughts about Trump, it hurts no one but me. Which is not to say I’m going to only think positive things about him—but I can direct my mental energy towards ways that can help this world.
Tami Simon: In the book, you offer this practice where you can have a photograph of someone you have a really hard time with—including world-threatening politicians—somewhere in your home, and practice loving-kindness. I’m curious if you’ve actually done that practice yourself.
Lodro: I have to some degree. It’s always an easier person for me—a friend I’ve fallen out with, someone who felt unreliable. I’ll share a specific situation. The practice, as I first learned it from Pema Chödrön: you take this photo, put it somewhere in your home or wallet where you’ll see it semi-regularly, and when you see it, you pause and make a loving-kindness aspiration—”May you be happy, may you feel safe”—something that feels genuine.
There was a friend in my early thirties who just didn’t show up the way a friend would. Would often make plans and break them last minute without calling. At a certain point I was like, okay, enough with this person. But I put a photo of him somewhere and thought, I haven’t thought about this person for a while—let me just wish them well. I went through the process and felt maybe a little softer. I said, I’m done with this, I can put it away.
Two years later, he reached out. He was in recovery. He said, “I wanted to talk to you because I wasn’t a good friend to you back then. I don’t think you knew how much I was drinking, what was going on with me—I was hiding it constantly.” He wasn’t blaming me. He was like, I just wasn’t there for you because I was struggling with my own stuff. And I’m in recovery now.
And I was a thousand percent receptive—maybe because I’d been setting aside those resentments already. I think it’s helpful to soften our heart toward people we’re holding resentment for, in the comfort of our own home, because even if we never talk to that person again, we feel more liberation. I could have never talked to him again and still felt a little better about the relationship.
Tami Simon: As I was reading You Are Good, You Are Enough, in the second section about seeing the goodness in others, I noticed this softening. I thought of all the people I’ve put in the enemy camp over the years. And when you talked about never giving up on anyone, I thought, huh—I gave up on that person. I gave up on that person. What could I entertain around that idea?
Lodro: I love that. And I’ll say, none of this is me—this is wisdom that’s been passed down to me through various traditions. But there’s a quote I want to share from Representative John Lewis. Before he passed, he was on Krista Tippett’s On Being, and he said this remarkable thing about the work he was doing in the early civil rights era. He said: “We would discuss, if you see someone attacking you, beating you, spitting on you—you have to think of that person years ago, that person was an innocent child, an innocent little baby. So what happened? Did the environment, did someone teach that person to hate? To abuse others? So you try to appeal to the goodness of every human being. And you don’t give up. You never give up on anyone.”
I thought that was so profound coming from him—someone who was literally beaten and attacked—and was still able to rise to the occasion of: you learned this. This isn’t who you are. That is such a lesson in basic goodness.
Tami Simon: Now—one more point about seeing the goodness in others that I really appreciated. You were talking about it in the context of conflict with a partner: you can be a scientist and not a lawyer. I thought, Tami, take note—because I come from a family of lawyers and I can often start making my case. The scientist takes a very different view. This was an excellent point, Lodro.
Lodro: Thank you. And credit where it’s due—that framework was introduced to me by my wife, Adriana Limbach, who wrote a book for Sounds True, Tea and Cake with Demons. It’s a running joke in the household that my wife never listens to any of these things, so I can come on and just tell everyone how brilliant and wonderful she is.
The lawyer approach: you go about your day looking for ways to prop up your idea about something, you build a case, and if there’s anything that contradicts that case, you don’t include it. The scientist says, I’m going to approach what’s going on with fresh eyes and a curious mind. I’m going to look at what’s happening right now, and if something contradictory to my hypothesis arises, I’m going to take that into account and start to see things clearly. We want to see things clearly—not live in a story bubble of our own making.
Tami Simon: Alright. The third part of the book—seeing the goodness in society. When I first looked through the table of contents, I thought, what? Really? I mean, patriarchal society. Where’s the goodness, Lodro? Make your scientific exploration here, if not your legal case.
Lodro: I’ll make my case. I’m with you—society feels even worse than when I started this book three years ago. Things feel more on fire, more divisive. I’m not being Pollyanna—this isn’t a Pollyanna book, that’s not who I am. And yet I’m making the case that society is basically good.
If I can say I’m basically good, and you’re basically good, and a lot of other people I like are basically good, and then all of those people I don’t like are basically good but confused—and then there’s all those people we don’t know, which is the vast majority of everyone, the people in the grocery store, the people halfway across the world I read about in the news—they’re basically good. Then society is basically good.
We think society is this massive thing out there that we are not a part of, dictated in Washington, DC or elsewhere. But society is this—right now. You have built an incredible community. Even within the context of a podcast, this is a society: it’s you and me and whoever is listening. And the people who walk away from our conversation, hopefully, feel uplifted. They think, oh, this thing—basic goodness. And then someone cuts them off in traffic while they’re listening, and they say, okay, I’m frustrated, but that person’s basically good and they’re just a jerk. And then they get a little softer toward the other people in their life.
It’s like throwing a stone in a pool of water—we don’t know where the ripples will go. You and I think we’re just having a conversation, but it has this massive effect on whoever is listening, and then they go and have a massive effect on everyone they interact with. We all have so many mini-societies: I have the Basic Goodness Collective, I have my home society with my wife, my daughter, our two dogs. I have my gym society—people I’ve known for many years. The Buddhist notion of interdependence is an experience, not a philosophy or a dogma. When we show up authentically, we impact people one way. When we show up lost in our own head or full of anger, we impact them differently. So we’re constantly having this drop-by-drop effect on society.
To imagine society not as something out there, but something we’re constantly co-creating through all of our mini-societies, can be very powerful—and can embolden us to know that we are creating positive social change in a world that often feels like it’s on fire.
Tami Simon: And maybe this is obvious, but I think it’s important to say: whether we’re talking about individuals or societal norms, there’s something that is harming other people. Naming that is important—even at the same time as we can recognize how we can bring our own good hearts to help make a shift in the societies we have impact on. We still have, many times in my life at least, a responsibility to name something we see as harmful.
Lodro: There’s a story in the book that comes to mind—the parrot and the forest fire. It’s one of those jataka tales about a past life of the Buddha. It doesn’t necessarily matter that it’s the Buddha’s past life, but he was a parrot and the forest where the parrot lived caught fire. The flame spread, and she had wings, so she flew off for a second—but then she heard all of the cries of the animals in the forest and said, I’ve got to go back.
She started swooping into the nearby river, picking up a few drops of water and shaking it onto the forest fire, which was obviously not really doing anything, and she was getting burned herself. The way the story goes, there are divine beings watching the parrot. The king of this realm—Indra—says, “I’ve got to go check this out.” So Indra flies down in the form of a mighty eagle and says, “What are you doing? You’re not really making much of a difference. You’re about to get burnt alive. Get out of here.” And the parrot, undeterred, replied: “You’re a much bigger bird than I am. I don’t need your advice. I need your help.” Indra was so moved by the courage and conviction of this bird that he began to cry, and his divine tears fell and extinguished the forest fire, saved the animals, and fell on the parrot herself—who became more beautiful as a result, bright colors spreading across her feathers.
I love the story because it illustrates: what did the parrot do? The parrot didn’t single-handedly put out the fire. The parrot named the issue, said, this is something that’s going on and I’m going to show up and help in my small way, even if it hurts me at times. And that magnetized others—in this case, a very powerful individual. When we name something, community comes up and says, I can help with that too. And ultimately our small actions join together to make a massive impact.
I was doing an event in New York City recently, and a dear friend Erica Phillips was talking about how Thich Nhat Hanh famously said that the next Buddha would be the Sangha. The power of community during this time is really extraordinary. I don’t think we should look to an individual savior. It’s all up to all of us to band together and help. We can start by just saying: there’s a forest that’s on fire, I’m going to do my best, I’m going to name the thing, and I’m going to hopefully inspire enough people that they are moved to help.
Tami Simon: In this third section, writing about seeing the goodness in society, I want to tell you the moment I found most refreshing—when you quoted Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, who said: taking the attitude that the phenomenal world is sacred is the first and last practice of all. I’d never heard that quote before. Suddenly I was sitting there thinking about society, and then: oh, Tami, remember—everything you see and experience is sacred. How does that shift you when you take that perspective?
Lodro: Yes. This book, as you noted, has a lot of “here are things you can do.” But really it’s a book about a shift in view—from “I’m not enough, I can’t, I’m not doing enough, if people knew X, Y, and Z about me they wouldn’t want to hire me or date me” to “I’m basically good, I’m basically whole, I have the resources to show up and make a difference in this world.”
Applied to society, that’s actually pretty huge: to start to view the world around me not as basically messed up, but as a bunch of basically good people who could be helped to realize that a little more, to put down their aggression, to put down some of these divisive things. That shift in view brings about more hope in a time that feels somewhat hopeless.
There have been dark times before in societies and we’ve emerged from them. And yes, we didn’t always have nuclear weapons in the same way. I know that. I know society doesn’t feel good right now. But to hold the view of basic goodness—that there are so many of us individually who are trying to help, who are trying to live through the lens of enoughness and help one another—that’s at least, from the comfort of our own home, a nicer way to hold and approach the world.
Tami Simon: Okay, but just to dig in a little more—when you consider “the first and last practice is seeing the world as sacred” and you see all of the poly-crisis in front of us, genocide, the climate crisis—we could go on and on. How does the sacred view actually work in you? You’ve talked about seeing the goodness in individual people underneath it, but how do you see even this passage that we’re in as humans as potentially a sacred passage at this time as a species?
Lodro: As you asked that question, I glanced out my window and I looked at this tree that has been alive longer than I have and will be there—barring any massive disaster—longer than I will. I think of a teacher I greatly admire, someone I studied with before his passing: Dr. Larry Ward. He shared a story that one of the first things he did every morning was go to his backyard and put his hands on a tree, just make that connection. And he’s someone who really mastered this sense of connection to the sacred world—and he was not shy about talking about our societal problems. He was phenomenal at addressing them. And he still held the sacred view.
I always think of him when I look out at the trees in my backyard and realize I don’t actually spend enough time just putting my hands on them. I do it at times. And the other day I climbed one of them to show my daughter that you could do such a thing. And in that moment there was basic goodness—it was just the two of us. This is not to negate the world being on fire. But sometimes we need reminders and strengthening of the sacred view, of the sense of enoughness, of basic goodness, of our own enlightened potential. That’s what we need in order to fortify us to address what’s going on in the world.
Tami Simon: As a note to end on, I wonder if you could use your meditation teacher skills and take us into an experience of touching basic goodness in our own experience right now—some way we can access this.
Lodro: I think there might have been moments where someone listening to this has already intuitively grokked it. But I’m happy to lead us in just a few minutes of meditation. It’s not an esoteric practice—it is mindfulness meditation. I’m going to see if we can relax into that experience through being here, present with our body, breathing.
If you’re at home, you can just place your feet firmly on the ground, or sit with your legs loosely crossed. Maybe just take a breath and start to relax down through those sit bones, through those feet or legs—to actually make the same connection with the earth as a tree does, to root down. With each out-breath, sinking in deeper.
From that strong base, we lift up through the top of the head, elongating the spine—but allow the muscles to relax. Let the shoulders hang down. If you want to place your hands on your thighs, you can. The head can rest comfortably with the chin slightly tucked in, relaxing the muscles in the face—around the forehead, cheeks, and the jaw.
This means the jaw can hang open slightly. That’s fine.
Just notice the natural rhythm of the breath. We don’t have to change it in any way. Just feel it—at the nose, the mouth, the belly, wherever you find it best. Just feel it and rest your attention there.
If you get distracted, that’s fine. You can just silently note “thinking” to acknowledge that you drifted off, and come back to the breath.
And as we rest—is there some experience of basic goodness? Is there some sense of: I’m okay in this moment? It can feel very ordinary, or maybe there’s some clarity. Just rest. Just allow yourself to be here, fully.
Okay. We can conclude the meditation in whatever way feels right—maybe moving the body a little, having a sip of water. Hopefully, coming out of that, there’s some experience—not a philosophical understanding, but an experience of: oh, in that moment there was basic goodness. And if not, that’s also okay. It will come. But even basic mindfulness meditation can really help reveal it.
Tami Simon: I’ve been speaking with Lodro Rinzler, the founder of the Basic Goodness Collective and the author of the new book You Are Good, You Are Enough. Lodro, thank you so much.
Lodro: Thanks so much for having me.
Tami Simon: Being in society together. I like it.
Lodro: I always like hanging out with you, so thanks for having me.
