The monks and spiritual prophets call it the world of unfear, a spiritual approach to shedding the original fear that often keeps us awake at night or early morning. Fear is not hard to find in the age of political divisions and awful news of violence, and of Mother Nature’s newly destructive and terrifying storms and fires.

For most of my life, I have awakened to things that stir up fear and sorrow. Everyone – me and each one of you – has experienced suffering in the past, and we seem wired to recall often the trauma it has caused us. I call it watching the films of the past.

A spiritual or peaceful life requires a different way of dealing with fear. I have found such a way, and it has been successful. I want to share it with you. I am no saint, as is obvious, but I am working on my spiritual life to be more peaceful and move to the world of unfear. It exists.

My pursuit of a spiritual life has been a meaningful gift to me. At first, I thought being spiritual was curious and complicated, all about depth and grinding revelation. For me, it has been simple. Spirituality is the ability to find joy in life and not live by or for fear. I can, if I wish, and I do, wake up in joy and hope. That is what spirituality is doing for me.

As a child, we were almost all frightened and vulnerable at times. Sometimes, I was abused. I was afraid all of the time.

I did not know how to protect myself and often failed well into middle age. In my mind, I usually continue to be hurt and abused again and again, even though I am an adult now, and no one is abusing me but my memories. The painful memories are the ones we revisit.

I see this fear as a kind of movie, images stored in my consciousness and woven into my soul. Every time the film is running, I suffer again.

Mindfulness was always one of those terms that puzzled and troubled me; I never quite grasped what it meant or how it might work. The truth is, I can be mindful at any moment in my life and at any place. And it does whittle fear down almost to invisible. I am exploring the world of unfear.

For me now, a naturally anxious person, fear is an echo, a geography, a space to cross. It isn’t my life anymore. I’ve even discovered the damage “fear” words can cause, just like the damage “old talk” can do.

We are what we think and grew up thinking and were taught to believe,  but I’ve learned that how we feel is a choice, not a permanent injury. I can’t predict the future or change the past. The only part of my life I have some control over is now.

I am aware of fear. Choosing my words is essential; they lead to my thoughts and reflect them. For most of my life, every time I got a hefty bill for something, I was terrified. Did I need to pay right away? Can I hold the payment for a  week or two? Will I be able to pay it at all?

I understand that these are fear words and fear reflexes, born in childhood and carried through life if not tended to.

When I get a big bill now, I do not panic; instead of asking how much time I have to pay it, I ask how I will figure out how to pay it on time. I get to work, not panic.

I get big bills all the time, like everyone, and it is essential to be aware of them, but I know I will figure out how to do it – I’ve been doing it for years – and fear is an echo from the past, not the present. I am good at figuring out ways to pay my bills, and so is Maria. Panic has nothing to do with it and does no good. Money has its place, but it is not the only place.

This process brought me to the overused and fuzzy term “mindfulness.”

Mindfulness is simple; it’s all about reminding me that the present moment is always right in front of me, always available to me. I don’t need to live and relive things that happened long ago. I don’t want my life to be scarred and wasted by fear. I don’t want to throw away the time I have left in fearfulness. I can choose a different way.

The monk Thich Nhat Hanh wrote this in his book Fear:

“Suppose someone slapped your face twenty years ago. That was recorded as an image in your subconscious. Your subconscious stores many films and images of the past, which are always projected down there. And you tend to go back and watch them repeatedly, so you continue to suffer. Every time you see that picture, you are slapped again and again and again.”

I remember being slapped 15 years ago, and I thought of it often. I stopped dwelling on that picture, and the images and the suffering and hurt went away.

I realized it was time for a different picture. I am no longer in the past; I live in the present moment, which is essential.

The place of fear is deep in our unconsciousness. Every night, I go back to that place, and it causes me suffering.

The future I worried about was and is nothing more than a projection of fear and desire from the past. Seeing that has changed the tenor of my unconsciousness. Instead of projecting everything that frightened me, it now shows me everything I love and treasure. Instead of suffering in the night, I rejoice in the joy of life. Sometimes, the paths cross, and it isn’t apparent.

More and more, Joy is what I see on the screen in my mind. Joy is a natural human emotion; fear is a response to hurt and pain. I have something to say about this.

That is the point of the spiritual life, I think.

To choose joy, not fear. There is happiness in joy; there is little or none in fear. What a waste.

“There are simply some things in life that are meant to be enjoyed,” writes the famed spiritual author Joan Chittister. “There is something about joy that is as holly as suffering.”

If I think about the people in public life who disturb me the most, they are those who are incapable of joy. Left or right doesn’t bother me; it doesn’t matter,  but the people without joy are genuinely full of despair, rage, and danger. They are the people who would harm our country and turn their hatred on the innocent and unsuspecting.

People often confuse faith and spirituality with asceticism; they evoke a sour spirit and judge normal and healthy things, like taking a day off or walking in the woods instead of slaving in an office.

The genuinely holy people I have met know that life is to be enjoyed as well as disciplined and solemn. Spirituality calls on us to be happy and controlled, full of what the monks call “the juice of life,” and not stripped of good times in the name of holiness.

I doubt that I never once in most of my life awakened to the joy all around me or embraced the sanctity of being happy.

I realized late in life that suffering and joy are choices, not chores locked in cement into our consciousness.

The films in my head can be joyous as well as fearful and sad. Joy is not an obligation; it is the point of the spiritual life.

In pursuing a spiritual life, I learned that it was alright to be happy, to edit the films, and to re-imagine them. Fear is in my DNA, I realized; it is what I learned. But so is happiness, and I have more and more changed those films and permitted them to offer joy and sadness. Some of my DNA will never change. Some already have.

My suffering was in the past, long ago. There is nothing I can add to it or do about it. I want to see a different image in the morning. That is my choice, and to my surprise, it was so easy to choose joy over suffering.

As I learned in my spiritual work, joy is also hardwired into the human condition, into me.

I choose joy and life in the kingdom of unfear.