The human mind is often described as a “monkey mind,” a mind perpetually noisy, filled with overlapping thoughts, worries, and endless “what-ifs,” each voice competing to be heard. It leaps from one thought to the next, never resting in one place for long.

But if we narrow our attention from this vast, overwhelming outside world and focus on just the six doors through which we perceive it, a fascinating pattern begins to emerge: emotions do not last very long.

Let me share a story. I used to wonder why, even when I resolved to change my actions for the better, something seemed to act faster than “me”—something that resisted this intention. I kept trying to develop my awareness and concentration, trying to understand what was acting in place of my own will. Often, people who’ve never had to make a hard choice to give up an attachment believe they’re fully in control of their decisions. They assume that if they haven’t given something up, it’s simply because they don’t want to, or that they’ve changed their mind. Like an alcoholic saying, “I could stop drinking if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.” But when faced with the challenge of actually trying, they realize just how difficult it is.

Here’s the trick: take any intense emotion you felt yesterday or today, and notice its journey. Have you ever observed how emotions fade? How long do they really last? People often say, “I was angry all day,” but in reality, anger comes and goes. It’s impossible to be in a state of pure anger for a full day. Usually, we remember only the moments that stood out. Learning to stay present with anger—or any emotion—can offer tremendous insight into the workings of our psyche.

Last year, I had a cat—a wild little thing I’d adopted when I was still a nun. When I disrobed, I brought him with me. He had the most outrageous energy. I’ve known cats my whole life and am familiar with their body language, but this one had a special ferocity. When he was a 4-month-old kitten, I remember playing with him at the Buddhist monastery (MABA), and he looked at me with such intensity that I could tell he wanted to claw at my face. I redirected him quickly, but I knew when we moved he wasn’t suited for the one-bedroom apartment we were renting at the time. After months of trying, I finally let him explore the outdoors. He was so happy and excited. Sadly, what I feared happened: he was hit by a car.

I’ve always loved animals, and the loss of each cat or a dog in my life has been painful. This time, though, I wanted to approach grief differently. My practice now is to look directly at emotions without letting them take over or pushing them away. I buried my cat, AnAn, in a sunlit clearing in the woods that he once showed me, a place he loved. When I returned home, I went about my day. But whenever grief washed over me—while washing dishes, for instance—I’d feel such intense pain that my hands would weaken, and tears would blur my vision.

At these moments, I’d acknowledge what I was feeling, saying aloud, “AnAn is dead. AnAn is dead,” or simply, “Pain. Pain. Pain.” And as if by magic, the spell would break: the tears would stop, and I’d regain my strength. Later, when memories flooded back, I’d feel sadness and repeat the exercise, focusing on where I felt the sensations in my body. Each time, this awareness would dissolve the feeling.

For the first time, I experienced loss without overwhelming heartbreak. I didn’t shy away from any memory. Instead, I let myself go deep, recalling the texture of his fur, the warmth of his lifeless body, the sunlit meadow. It wasn’t mechanical. I was fully present with each feeling and sensation, yet as soon as the emotions arose, they would soon pass.

I’ve often shared how I learned in Taiwan to see the end of a feeling, which gave me my first glimpse into the value of recognizing “the beginning, the middle, and the end.” Now, this skill has matured, and I’m grateful it has been so helpful. Perhaps, if it sounds like something you’d like to try, it could be beneficial for you as well.

Invitation to Practice:

To deepen your awareness of emotions, try this simple practice: the next time a strong feeling arises—whether it’s anger, sadness, joy, or anxiety—pause and gently name it. Simply say, “Anger,” “Sadness,” “Joy,” or “Anxiety.” Take a moment to observe how it feels in your body without needing to change or judge it. Let the naming act as an anchor, helping you stay present with whatever arises. You might notice that by acknowledging it this way, the emotion feels less overwhelming and easier to sit with.

Reflective Question:

How might you observe the beginning, middle, and end of your next intense emotion? Could this awareness offer you a new perspective on how emotions flow, change, and eventually pass?