Faith is radical trust in action. Trust in what? In Being, in our own Buddha-Nature, in What-Really-Matters. We may not see It, we may not hear It, we may stray far from It, but through faith we open to the recognition that It -- however invisible It may seem to be to us -- is ever with us, regardless of our thoughts to the contrary.

Faith is intimacy with not-knowing.

F. Rassouli ( www.rassouli.com )

Faith is forged in the crucible of our suffering, emerging as a dynamic openness that helps us navigate those zones of ourselves commonly submerged in darkness, despair, and depression. The presence of faith, however, doesn’t necessarily mean we will have clear sailing or an easy time. Even when our faith is strong, we may still find ourselves down in the mud on our hands and knees, but not so inclined to make ego-suffused drama out of our situation.

Faith responds to problems, but not on the level at which they occur. That is, faith assumes a nonproblematic orientation to problems, providing a spiritually intimate openness that holds us and our areas of concern with great care.

This openness -- a sacred enfolding -- contains without binding, and releases without abandoning. Its value is verified by direct participation in it. Direct experience, not belief, provides the relevant data or material -- physical and otherwise -- through which faith is cultivated, known, appreciated, and more deeply known.

Faith is not a kind of belief or cognitive exercise; it is much deeper than any mental construction. And nor is faith merely a type of hope -- hope is rooted in the future, faith in the present.

Where hope promises, faith gives. Where hope dreams, faith awakens.

Where hope is nostalgia for the future, faith is acceptance of the now.

And this is not a blind, defeatist, narrow, misguided, or submissive acceptance, but it is an acceptance nevertheless -- and a largely unresisting acceptance -- unpolluted by hope and other romancings of tomorrow.

Faith deepens through situations that test it. Without such conditions, faith remains in the shallows.

Pain comes with Life; what better use to make of pain than to deepen our faith? Instead of turning our pain into suffering -- that is, dramatizing it, with us playing victim or pawn to it -- we can use its energies to fuel our way into a deeper life, a life abundant with faith. Then suffering is not so much a fall from Grace as it is Grace in its dark, deglamorized disguise, providing the very conditions through which we can more fully awaken from the entrapping dreams we habitually populate.

There is perhaps no more worthy gift to have than unshakable faith.

What does such faith mean? First, a strongly felt connection to Being, in conjunction with the recognition that that connection still exists at those times when we don’t feel it. Second, a non-despairing abandoning of all hope of fruition, an unforced letting go of being invested and caught up in particular outcomes. Third, a developing of the kind of patience that waits without waiting, that endures without having to have a clear endpoint. Fourth, a dynamic embracing of not-knowing, honoring the knowledge-transcending Mystery of Being. Fifth, accepting what is exactly as it is, including one’s feelings and intentions and actions regarding it. And, last but not least, cultivating gratitude for what one currently has, including the ability to develop faith.

Faith makes us feel good even about not feeling good.

If our faith is well-rooted, we usually do not forget it for long -- we cannot help but remember what gives us faith, even when our remembering is gray, thick, or far from stable. Faith is not an antidote to our suffering, but rather a compassionate space for it, wherein we can more clearly hear and sanely respond to what our pain is saying to us.

Although faith may not make pain go away, it changes our relationship to it in such a way that we’re less likely to turn our pain into suffering. So faith does not necessarily still the storm, but allows us to be with it -- and to become intimate with it -- without losing track of What-Really-Matters. Spiritual stamina.

Faith teaches us not to control, but to let be. This is not mere passivity nor some sort of spiritualized irresponsibility, but rather a kind of potent quietness or stillness out of which can emerge fitting action, choices made by something wiser than our minds. When our faith is strong, the necessity of the situation is the only catalyst we need.

Faith is frequently made synonymous with what is commonly referred to as “blind faith.” But real faith is far from blind; though it may sometimes lack clear vision, it knows the way by heart, even if it has to inch along on its belly through the sniper fire of doubt.

Faith allows us to live sanely and compassionately in the midst of all that is happening. Bad days don’t destroy or cripple it.

In fact, bad days actually strengthen it. So for faith, suffering is not just bad news. However, the presence of faith does not mean an end to difficult states -- as in some fantasy of saintly detachment -- but rather an appropriate context for them. Bringing things to an end is not the point -- radical trust in Being is.

Faith is the unresisting embodiment of such trust. Faith is the highest form of devotion. Faith is the heartland of sacred patience, explaining nothing and revealing much. Through it, we find the necessary energy and endurance for the most significant journey of all.

Faith knows the way by heart.