While in Toronto this past weekend, I noticed a post-it note above my friend Richard’s computer. The host of a popular world music radio show on CIUT called No Man’s Land, Richard became an instant friend when we met in Montreal four years ago. Part of that bond was solidified by our shared love for global philosophies (as well as music), and the three words he had scribbled onto that yellow sheet, attributed to the Buddha, hit me like a ton of bricks: hope causes pain.

It was a perfect prescription for my own mental/emotional turmoil of late. Without coincidence, Richard had been dealing with his own issues, so our conversations were well timed and advantageous to us both. I used that idea when I taught two classes at the Yoga Sanctuary in Toronto, and upon returning to New York, I continued to espouse the philosophy to my students. The range of responses, as you can imagine, were broad.

Buddhism sometimes relies on what is called negative theology, which is essentially negating something for the purpose of arriving at a larger truth. Yet this should not be confused with being “negative.” In fact, in a non-dual philosophy like Buddhism, negative and positive balance the scales, dance around each other while the central pole remains undisturbed. The statement is also evident in the Buddha's first cardinal truth, that all life is suffering, which he then goes on to state there is a way out of.

As an example, I first offered something personal: I really, really, really hope that Barack Obama wins the election. If he does not, I will certainly be disappointed. Yet that disappointment stems from my having an expectation, and because that expectation has the possibility of not manifesting, I have created my own downfall via desire. The reality is I will not be so distraught that it will direly affect my daily life—I’m not one to give somebody else that much power over my emotions. A politician who I’ve never met does not have that immediate, emotive sort of hold over me. People close to me do, though, and this is where the philosophy really needs to take root.

It’s easy to have expectations of our closest friends, families, and lovers—it’s almost part of the bargain. And it’s also easy to take advantage of these people without even meaning to. When someone is there for us time and again, we expect that to always be the case. When there is strife that seems sudden, it may not be so sudden after all, but part of a long build-up that was seeded unconsciously and grew and, eventually, festered until it created tension—put another way, pain. Our hopes of that person being who we need them to be then turns into a sort of betrayal; yet the root is very often of our own doing, not the actions of another.

One of the main comments I received this week is that such a philosophy is very hard to actually integrate into life. Yes, it is! That’s what a discipline is — a path, and an arduous one at that. Most people I know are not “endowed” with compassion. It’s a trait one has to practice, over and over. Just like religion. As Richard Dawkins wrote, many people assume they “are” a religion because that's what their parents' practiced. It is far better to find your own path (I admit, I was very fortunate in this regard), and not assume you are a certain religion because of your bloodline. To embody the duty of faith, you have to live it fully.

Teaching the workshops in Toronto to a number of new students, I reminded them that the most important thing to do is smile. A rigorous asana practice is no fun if you’re not enjoying it. I never understood people who get so amped up in class that they essentially throw their energetic frustrations and pride at everyone around them because they’re so “focused.” It is a group effort. If you fall out of a posture and get mad, that’s your stuff coming out, and an indication of how you react to every fall you take. I like to laugh a lot when I practice; it reminds me that I’m human, and I love to see my students doing the same.

This, to me, is the key to understanding that hope causes pain. When you’re enveloped by laughter, there is no room for pain. You are enjoying every moment for what it is. If you can laugh at yourself, you can take yourself lightly—and lightness is certainly a commendable trait in a balancing discipline like yoga. Most importantly, you are here and now involved in the moment, and not in the future moments that may or may not happen. You set up your mind and heart for the pain that’s coming if you’re not prepared for all the possibilities. Preparation is important; more so is the ability to be grounded in every moment of your day. When you are firmly present, you can watch the past and future from all directions, and be secure in knowing where you stand.