Śūnyatā and the Illusion of Stability

Śūnyatā (Sanskrit: शून्यता) means “emptiness,” and Śūnya means zero. “Zero” or “nothing” never had any value to me until I understood its true significance. The human mind always seeks ground to stand on, something that offers stability and consoles us with a sense of security. Imagine the journey of astronauts Suni Williams and Butch Wilmore, who were stranded in the space station for nine months before finally returning to Earth. They had not planned to spend more than two weeks in space, but technical issues with the Boeing Starliner spacecraft thwarted that plan. Picture them sitting in the capsule as it hurtled through Earth’s atmosphere. Imagine their anticipation as they neared touchdown, longing to see the welcoming faces of their friends and family. Look at the smiles on their faces as they alighted from the capsule. Now, think back to the long months they spent waiting in the ISS to be rescued, longing to set foot on the grassy lands of Earth. Each of us, at some point in our lives, experiences this feeling of groundlessness.

I highly recommend the book When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön. It offers a perspective on facing uncertainty with courage and wisdom rather than fear and avoidance. It talks about the Buddhist concept of groundlessness and shows us how to navigate uncertainty. It challenges our desire for secure ground and our thirst to cling to certainty and reminds us that a permanent stable footing is nothing but an illusion. Here is my attempt to embellish some of the wisdom in this book.

Most of our suffering arises from the fear of losing something. We may have challenges with our relationship(s) or challenges with our jobs, yet we hesitate to make a change because of our fear—fear of falling out of relationship(s), losing financial stability, or even simply losing face.

In the book, there was a story recounted by Pema Chödrön. A Buddhist monk takes his disciples to a graveyard guarded by a fierce dog. As he walked past the growling animal with huge teeth and red eyes struggling to free itself from the chain that held it, he saw its bluish tongue and spittle spatting from its mouth. All of a sudden, the chain broke and the dog rushed at them. The disciples froze in terror, but the monk charged straight at the dog. The dog was so surprised that he put his tail between his legs and ran away.  

Only when we can conquer our fear and venture into a territory that we were so worried about setting foot on, can we set our souls free. We might have set some goals for ourselves in the past. Or perhaps our parents or someone who has had a big influence on our lives might have contributed to our goals. But as we move forward in life and mature with experience, we might realize that we are looking for something completely different. The path of our life cannot be pre-decided, it needs to evolve.

A child praised for being the smartest in class may unknowingly climb onto a pedestal, setting themselves apart from others, and  thinking of themselves as better than the rest. Fearful of failure or ridicule, they build a social wall around themselves, isolating in loneliness.

Two, a powerful short film by Satyajit Ray, beautifully depicted the interactions between a rich and a poor child. By the end, the rich child lets go of his ego. It reminds us that it’s okay to fail, to step down from the pedestal, to embrace humility.

We may have a preconceived notion of ourselves. But when we look into the mirror and try to peel off layer by layer all our ideas and principles and undo our old ways of thinking, we get closer and closer to the deepest layer of our soul. It is at that moment when we feel vulnerable, when all the arrogance disappears into thin air.

Compassion is often misunderstood as mere kindness, but true compassion takes immense strength. It is not just about being kind to those who are suffering, it is also about being kind to ourselves and even to those who have hurt us.

Self-compassion means embracing our vulnerabilities and allowing ourselves to be imperfect, to fail, and to heal. Too often, we are our own harshest critics, but only when we are compassionate about our own suffering can we truly come down from our ivory towers and make our ego dissolve.

Perhaps the most challenging is the idea of being compassionate to those who have wronged us. It takes profound courage to wish well for someone who has caused us pain. But if we can do so, we free ourselves from the weight of anger and resentment. Tonglen is a Buddhist practice, that involves breathing in the suffering of others and sending thoughts of peace and goodwill, even to those who have hurt us. It acknowledges that even those who cause you harm are caught in their own cycles of struggle and ignorance. A powerful example of this is Rais Bhuiyan, a Bangladeshi American who was shot in a hate crime after 9/11. He was attacked as part of a misguided act of revenge against Muslims. Bhuiyan survived but was left with severe injuries and lost sight in one of his eyes. Instead of harboring hatred, he campaigned to save his shooter from the death penalty and founded the nonprofit World Without Hate, dedicated to promoting forgiveness and understanding.

When we endure pain, we often avoid others who are going through something similar. It takes incredible strength to embrace our suffering and use it to help others.

One such person is Manuel Oliver, who lost his son Joaquin in the Parkland school shooting. Rather than retreating into private sorrow, he and his wife Patricia founded the organization Change the Ref, which uses art and activism to advocate for gun reform. Through murals, protests, and public speaking, they transform their unimaginable grief into a call for action. Every time they tell their story, they revisit their deepest pain, yet they continue because they believe it can save lives. Their journey embodies the Buddhist principle of using suffering as a path to greater compassion and purpose.

We live in fear of things falling apart. But what if, instead of clinging to the illusion of control, we let go? What if we accepted that some things are meant to crumble? Perhaps, around the corner, something new awaits—a guiding light, a helping hand, a transformation waiting to unfold. One must die before one can be born again.

Groundlessness is not something to be conquered; it is something to be experienced. By ceasing to resist the impermanence of life, we discover that we are not falling into nothingness but rather into a vast openness—one where true wisdom and liberation reside.