THE RED LETTER

Dear Subscriber First Name,

Can kindness be a cure for pain? I had two wisdom teeth out this week, something I'd been dreading. Years ago a young, cocky dentist with big biceps ripped out a tooth, taking half the gum with it. It bled for hours, and ever since I've been terrified of having to have a tooth out. But now I have the kindest dentist, and what a difference kindness makes. She's not kind in a sentimental way — she's kind in a firm, reassuring way. Obviously the six injections of anaesthetic (she told me to close my eyes, I assume so I wouldn't see the massive syringe) meant I didn't have any pain, just a sensation of pulling and the sound of crunching. But I expected the pain to come on when the anaesthetic wore off. It didn't.

This past week I've been reading about the connection between the mind and pain — how the mind creates pain to distract us from emotions we don't want to feel (see Dr Sarno). He talks about a phenomenon from the Second World War: soldiers carried off the battlefield with serious injuries and taken to the field hospital. Knowing they were going to be looked after, and that they wouldn't be going back into battle, meant they felt nowhere near the level of pain you'd normally expect from those injuries. As a civilian, having an accident and going to hospital would come with all kinds of other stresses — but for these soldiers, it was an experience of relief.

My happiness and relief at having such a kind dentist seemed to have the same effect. To be on the receiving end of kindness is a real gift. We don't get to choose a kind dentist, and most of the people in our lives aren't chosen by us at all. But if there's one person who could become a reliable source of kindness in our lives, it's ourselves. This is what's meant by self-compassion. How do I become more kind, firm yet reassuring towards myself? The place to start is by noticing how I talk to myself. Often we don't notice what a hard time we give ourselves — those things are never voiced out loud, and if they were, we'd probably be shocked. Maybe we think we have to give ourselves a hard time or we won't get anywhere. But what if we trusted in the power of kindness? Why not try it this week — make a conscious effort to talk to yourself with kindness and understanding, and see what happens.

THE WINTER BARDO
ONLINE RETREAT

29 Dec 2026 - 02 Jan 2027
5 days to review and reset your life for the coming year

Every year, in that bardo-like week between Christmas and New Year, I feel torn — part of me wants to be on retreat, part of me wants to spend the time looking back over the year that's been and start dreaming about the one ahead.

I want to meditate, to stare out at the snow, but I also want to look through the last year's photos and diaries, and to think about in what creative directions I want to take my life and practice in the coming year.

That's why, this year, along with Dhammasiri, I'm hosting The Winter Bardo Retreat, and inviting you to join us.

What to expect

Over five days, we'll mix meditation and Dharma reflection with an honest look at the year behind us and the year to come.

Alongside essential Dharma teaching, we'll draw on some of the creative thinking out there for how to review and plan our lives creatively — from Oliver Burkeman, Alain de Botton, Mason Curry, and others.

Each day moves between two threads, woven together:

• The retreat thread — seeing our lives through a dharmic lens, through short teachings, meditation, quiet reflection, and opportunities to share with others.

• The review and vision thread — taking stock of where we've been and where we're heading, our relationships, work, health, creativity, and practice.

Approaches:
Expect journaling, collage (digital and analog), letter-writing, and ritual, alongside the more traditional retreat elements.

ON MY RADAR THIS MONTH

Youtube | Homing
After sharing the Alain de Botton episode of the Homing podcast last month (Is Your Home Making You Happy?), I've been working through more of their video interviews. Interviewer Matt Gibberd is brilliant at drawing guests out — and despite home being seemingly exterior territory, guests end up revealing surprisingly personal things. Standouts for me: Dan Pearson and Jinny Blom, both garden designers (you can see where my head is). Join the paid Patreon and you get house tours too; I haven't, but a few are free to watch.

Translations | The Heart Sutra by Sraddhapa
The Heart Sutra featured strongly on our last retreat, and chatting with a friend yesterday, we had the same impression that the Heart Sutra seems to be everywhere right now. A member of the order I belong to recently posted a new translation he's been working on, and I love it. It has a real contemporary edge; another friend said it really brings out the sutra's shock element. If you are new to the sutra, this article by Shenpen Hookham draws out some lovely angles on it.

Books | Knock Wood by Neil Baker
I love this little book — a diary of poems, all written on the same walk: a three-mile circle from the poet's house. It reads like a beautiful stream of consciousness, weaving what's seen, heard, and touched with thoughts and images from past and future. Knock Wood is a real glimpse into the nature of mind: the joy, the sadness, the gravity of life, and all its craziness. It makes you want to walk your own walk, write your own poem, wonder at your own mind. The perfect small gift for a thoughtful friend.

Film | Broken English
Watching Broken English on Swedish TV, having just missed it at the cinema — a documentary about Marianne Faithfull, still being filmed when she died. It's set inside the Ministry of Not Forgetting, a department run by Tilda Swinton. To begin with I felt it didn't really work, but by the end I understood what they were doing — they were curating a fuller picture of someone who, like we all are, is complex and not reducible to a few headlines. Marianne is so beautifully open, often moved to tears as she looks back on her life. A memorable watch.

Art | Tracey Emin
I was complaining about the lack of art in my life when the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Copenhagen, posted that they were showing Tracey Emin's A Second Life, which I'd missed in London. I think of Tracey Emin as the matriarch of the art world, and I just found out that she referred to Louise Bourgeois as the matriarch for her generation. The Heart Sutra mentioned above is associated with a matriarchal figure, Prajnaparamita, the mother of all the Buddhas. I'm really drawn to that matriarchal wisdom, and she embodies it more and more as she grows older, with her foundation to nurture young artists. If you too missed it in London, here's a second chance.

A QUOTE I’M THINKING ABOUT

May we all channel the matriarch, and meet ourselves with a firm and reassuring kindness.
Vajradarshini

P.S. After writing this the tooth pain did come on later, as did a little fever, to be expected. But even so, I’m sure the kindness made all the difference.

Hello, I’m Vajradarshini — a British Dharma teacher living in the south of Sweden with my Swedish wife, Dhammasiri. Red Ladder Studio is a place for creative, down-to-earth Dharma practice. From here, we run retreats and workshops, and I also teach internationally, both online and in person. You can also rent The Guesthouse here (named after Rumi’s poem), for your own small retreats and solitaries. I’m glad you’ve found your way here!

Links
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