Ping-Pong Without a Ball
On what is really moving beneath the surface
In a dream, I was playing ping-pong. But there was no ball. I swung the paddle, again and again, and nothing came back. I woke up with that image still with me. A game without the ball. The form was there. The life wasn’t.
I wanted to bring something good.
Before an important gathering, I found myself preparing more material, analyzing more carefully, looking for something more meaningful to bring. I thought that was faithfulness. But the more I prepared, the heavier I felt. I was already exhausted before I walked in the door. The desire to do better was making the room heavier.
The Tension on the Inside
I sat down, ready to begin — and noticed my body was already tired. That’s when I saw it. What I was preparing wasn’t really for them. It was to keep myself from disappointing them. Not faithfulness. Proof. Starting from the feeling that who I am right now is not enough — and moving from that lack, trying to fill it.
Tara Brach calls this the “trance of unworthiness.” Not suffering because it’s true, but because we believe it is.
I recognize this in others, too. Those who feel they need to prepare more before leading an important gathering. Who over-rehearse before a difficult conversation, a lecture, a presentation — outwardly committed, but inwardly still proving something.
They receive a moment of affirmation. Rest briefly. Then go back to filling. The cycle doesn’t stop.
Not long ago, in a group I was facilitating, someone said, I don’t know. And in that instant — without quite deciding to — I moved in. I tried to help. I offered a question, shared something from my own experience, tried to lead them somewhere. It didn’t work. Long after the gathering ended, the awkwardness stayed with me.
When I am only performing participation, something inside me is tense. It is pushing toward an outcome. Already worried about what comes next before really connecting with the person in front of me.
There Is No Escape from Now
I saw the same thing when I changed my ping-pong grip. I had been using the same style for years, and decided to switch to a shakehand grip. Before I even played my first game in the new style, something in me had already gone heavy. I knew I was going to lose. I knew I would have to sit with that process. And that felt hard — harder than I had expected. What should have been a place of learning had quietly become a place of proving.
On the ping-pong table. In meeting preparation. In the moments when I could not bring myself to have a hard conversation — the root was the same. As I am right now, I am not enough.
There is no escape from now.
Or is there? I wonder if some part of me still believes I can start once I am in a better state. Once I am more prepared, more settled — then I will begin. But that kind of waiting always costs the present moment. The satisfaction never arrives. Only the urge to keep filling.
If there is no escape, then only one thing remains. Not trying to get rid of the tension. Just feeling it — and moving anyway, as I am, right now.
What Flows from Enough
Aliveness feels different. The body is slightly softer. Words come simpler. I am not pushing toward a result. I am actually with the person in front of me.
Once, a pastor shared how hard things had become at his small church. Numbers were not growing. Finances were tight. I did not say anything. I just listened. And near the end, something rose in me naturally — not to fix, not to teach. Just my own story. That I was in a similar place. That I was staying, regardless of the numbers. I shared it vulnerably. He bowed his head slowly, deeply. It was not analysis or resources that reached him. It was simply being there.
I know this in my head — that a free, unguarded presence reaches people more deeply than prepared material. But I am still learning it in my body. When I am trying to fill something, the people in the room feel it. And when I am simply there, they feel that too.
What comes from scarcity exhausts itself from the inside.
What flows from enough remains, even after it is given. These two things can look identical from the outside. Their roots are different.
Lately I have been trying something different. Not waiting for the perfect state to arrive. Feeling the tension rise before a gathering — and writing one sentence anyway. Sending one line to follow up on a financial conversation I have been avoiding. One paragraph of writing. One game of ping-pong in the new grip, even knowing I will lose.
Lately, I have stopped trying to change it. I am just trying to see it.
And somehow, after moving like that, something in the body releases a little. Aliveness opens there.
Where in my body is the tension greatest right now — and what am I trying to prove from that place?
In what I am doing right now — where am I playing ping-pong without the ball?
If I were to take one step forward, exactly as I am right now — what would that step be?
Sacred Opportunities for Growth
Sunday Morning Centering Prayer with Lectio Divina
Weekly at 8:00 AM PT · Open to all
Listening Heart Community Gathering
These gatherings serve as a breathing space to complement our Thursday Prayerful Way II. Rather than seeking new instruction, we invite you to a time of fermentation—where we simply stay together, sharing and integrating what has been sown in our hearts.
When: Every Third Sunday | 4:00–6:00 PM PT (7:00–9:00 PM ET)
Schedule & Themes:
May 17: Rooted & Growing
What to Expect: Communal prayer, sacred sharing, and fellowship. (All are welcome)
Cost: Free | Donations welcome
An Invitation to Sacred Flow
As we develop and practice the way of the Listening Heart together, you are warmly invited to join this unfolding journey.
I am grateful for each of you—whether you’ve joined as a gift, paid, or free subscriber.
May this space be a sacred ground where we truly meet one another and are gently transformed together.
You are already here.