The Awakened Heart: Learning to Love What Scares You

A few years ago, I discovered that I had to have a tooth pulled. Big deal, right? Yet I was astonished at the intensity of my reaction. Most nights I found myself awake at 3:00 a.m., tormented by thoughts of mortality. My poor old tooth prompted fears that growing older would mean a future in which I drop limbs like a diseased tree. Before long I’d be old, old and frail, old and alone!

I mentioned these nocturnal worries to a friend, taking care to present the subject with humor so I didn’t seem like an hysteric. He was not unsympathetic, but did take the opportunity to caution me about the law of attraction and to wonder why I was manifesting this physical problem. He’s a genuinely caring person and I know he meant well; so why did I leave our meeting feeling judged and alone instead of positive and empowered?

Maybe I’m a cynic, but it seems to me that trying to inoculate ourselves from life’s darker side is rather empty—like a false Santa Claus groaning beneath the weight of unearned gifts. At this Cancer Full Moon, the Moon’s instinct for care and emotional truth is challenged by a rare triple conjunction of the Sun, Mars, and Venus in Capricorn. Across the sky, the Moon in nurturing Cancer stands opposite this concentrated Capricorn energy—asking us to hold tenderness and resolve, vulnerability and strength, at the same time.

Alone with my sundry tooth terrors in the wee hours, I found something in my heart besides fear: compassion. I found a lot more empathy for people coping with pain, loneliness, and troubles much more profound than my own. Pema Chödrön calls this compassion “the awakened heart,” akin to the bodhichitta. Feeling what we feel—the negative as well as the positive—is a doorway into the complex hearts of others.

My poor tooth is long gone, but my early-morning mind still finds plenty of worrying thoughts to obsess over. The truth is, these are tough times. Many of us are scared, and angry because we’re scared. Who will care for the aging aunt? How will the new graduate repay student loans, or the recently laid-off worker find a new foothold?

Strangely enough, when my 3:00 a.m. self taps into this shared field of fear and uncertainty—when I stop resisting it and simply allow myself to feel it—I become calmer. I’m no longer alone with my private worries; I’m participating in something collective. In those moments, I glimpse another face of Capricorn strength—not cold or punitive, but steady, enduring, and capable of bearing reality with an open heart.

Sometimes we’re fortunate enough to encounter people who embody this integration—the wise elder, the warm-hearted mentor, the friend who remains present even when things are hard. These are never people whom life has spared from difficulty. It’s precisely because they’ve faced fear and loss, and stayed loving anyway, that their presence reassures us: We can do this. We can care for one another. We can care for ourselves.

Perhaps my friend was right, and I did attract that damaged tooth into my life—not as punishment for negative thinking, but as an invitation into deeper compassion. At this Cancer Full Moon, with the Moon shining opposite a concentrated Capricorn sky, I hope you feel genuinely happy, loving, and at peace. But if you also encounter moments of sadness, regret, or loneliness, may you trust that these feelings can open rather than close your heart.

When the Moon illuminates Cancer’s realm of feeling, let our hearts remain open. Let them teach us, soften us, and draw us closer to one another. In holding both fear and care—both tenderness and resolve—we awaken the heart that knows how to belong, how to endure, and how to love.

© by April Elliott Kent