We can look at it like this: our mind is like a house, and our mindfulness is like the tenant of that house. Because we don't want any intruders or unwelcome guests, we lock all the doors and windows of our house. Now no one can get in unless we let them in. No one can enter unannounced. That's the function of mindfulness—to be watchful of what's trying to enter our mind. If an angry thought tries to enter our mind, it can't come in until we open the door. Our purpose is not to shut everything out; it's to remain conscious of our environment and what's happening in it. Then we can deal with it appropriately. We can open the door to our angry thought, listen to it, and then ask it to leave. We recognize it as a thought and don't mistake it for who we are. That's the point. It shifts the experience. Instead of thinking, "I'm really angry right now," we think, "Oh, look, an angry thought has entered my mind." It's easy to let go of a thought that's a guest in your mind; it's harder when you take on the identity of the guest. Who are you going to ask to leave?
Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche, "Rebel Buddha"
via Tricycle.com
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