Are We There Yet?

My daughter just graduated from Hampshire College (squee! so proud!), and as always I was struck by the word "commencement." As Barbra Streisand says in The Way We Were, "that's a funny word for the end." Of course, commencement ceremonies are called that because the graduates are about to begin the next chapter of their lives. So although it marks the end of an era, it is also just the beginning.

Another word for this is transition. I love transitions because within them we can see our habits of mind and body so clearly. I often encourage my Alexander students to bring full attention to transitional activities, such as walking through a doorway, up or down stairs, moving from car to walking or the other way around. It can be a challenge to practice body-mind unity during an activity, especially at first, but it's pretty easy to shine the light of awareness between actions.

Doing this brings about radical change. Why radical? Because it's the last place we show up. We are always thinking ahead, moving toward something, or away from something. Who brings intention to reaching for the door handle and opening the door? The point (we think) is to get on the other side of the door. So when we intend to be present during transitional moments, we transform habitual "endgaining," as F.M. Alexander termed it, and are awake for the means by which we are acting.

Mindfulness, whether in formal meditation practice or otherwise, shows us how addicted we are to the future. Anyone who meditates sees right away that the mind likes to plan, organize, and control what it anticipates will be coming. This tendency has a helpful adaptive quality, and our ability to scan the horizon for future encounters is part of our evolutionary heritage. But when this is the only way we operate, we suffer.  It is deeply unsatisfying to be constantly looking ahead for happiness, hoping that what we really want can be obtained "someday." This hamster wheel of desire (samsara in Buddhist parlance) keeps us chasing dreams and fantasies, all while missing what is happening in the here and now.

You already know this. You can think of an example from your life right now, can't you?  It's like the little kids in the back seat of a family car trip, asking "are we there yet?" It's like me, obsessively checking my peony plants to see if the blooms are out yet. I caught myself doing this yesterday, staring at them, being kind of critical about how long it was going to take until they opened up. As if their only value is the flowers they produce, and can't they hurry it up a bit? Seriously, how nutty is that?

Yet this is how we are, how we so often relate to our experience of life. And this is why mindful guidance repeatedly reminds us, "there is nothing to do, nowhere to get to, nothing to become." That is absolutely true, if you are in the moment. Yes, the peonies will bloom, but what is even more true is that, in this moment, they are blooming. They are as perfect now as they will be when the blooms are fuller and more fragrant. When I notice how I want them to be in a different state than they are, I can learn everything I need to know about the ways I create and increase my own suffering. Is "suffering" too strong a word for such a small dissatisfaction? Maybe, but multiply that by the hundreds of times a day when I want things to be other than they are, and that adds up to an unhappy state.

Being there during transitions helps with this. Try choosing to bring present moment awareness to something you do every day, like the transition from finishing a meal and getting on with the next thing, or the moments between reading an email and replying to it. Keep it simple, without analysis or expectation. Can you be there, not chasing the next thing but really in transition?  If you can, you will discover the truth that everything is flowing, changing, and dynamically balancing.

Are we there yet? Nope, and we never will be. We are here, now. That's all, and that is enough.

Giving Thanks

Living is tentative and uneasy for many of us right now, especially in the U.S. Gratitude helps so much. It's like a magic energy that alchemically transforms scarcity into satisfaction, half empty into half full. Luckily, we have a whole day dedicated to giving thanks.

Today I am grateful for:

My passion.  When I resonate with something or someone, I’m all in. I may not always be disciplined or consistent, but I am wholly dedicated to whatever inspires me, and I enjoy bringing my total self to the endeavor or the relationship. I give my all. I show up, and keep showing up. For my ability to turn desire into dedication, I’m thankful.

My family.  I’m lucky to have a husband who keeps loving me and growing in companionship, and two absolutely beautiful daughters who are kind and funny, smart and insightful, emotionally sensitive and socially aware. My father, who at 90 continues to seek understanding and healing, has given me a strong spiritual foundation for life as well as an appreciation for nature and the beauty of this world. My brother taught me how to be strong and resilient, and to trust my intuition. My nieces and nephews astound me with their ability to forgive and to develop unconditional love. They are also super creative and persevering in all they do, which gives me hope for the future. Thank you.

 

My spiritual family.  These are my closest friends, advisors, mentors, and cheerleaders. They listen when I ask, are not afraid to call me on my foolishness and wrong thinking, encourage and pat me on the back, give me gifts and let me give to them in return, and generally help me remember to play and be goofy while I still can. Maybe we’ve known each other since high school, maybe we just met last year, but we connect authentically in the heart space (see #1 above). You know who you are. Thank you.

My gifts.  I am an experienced, talented hands-on healer, an engaging and skilled teacher, and a decent writer and editor. I enjoy connecting people with one another and creating networks of learning and support, and I can organize events with the best of them. I am never happier than when I’m planning a workshop or writing a lesson plan or refining curricula. Nerdy but true. My singing and dancing is mediocre but on a good day I can engage in them with gusto and abandon, which is half the battle. For the gifts I was born with and those I’ve worked hard to develop, I’m thankful.

This life.  I feel so grateful to be drawing breath right now, this very minute. My dharma teacher, Mark Nunberg, tells me that there are only two things to ask when I sit to meditate:  1) Am I interested in what’s here right now? Can I cultivate some curiosity about how it is? 2) Do I care about this life which has been entrusted to me? Can I cultivate some compassion for this being?  For my ability to remain interested and caring, both on and off the cushion, I am thankful.

Wishing you and yours a happy Thanksgiving Day and the ability to feel genuinely, deeply grateful for all the many blessings of this human life. Claim them. They are yours, and no one else can know

them and live them like you can.

Namaste.

Surviving Skillfully

For many years now, I have been learning and teaching that mindfulness is a skill. It is not a state of bliss, or wisdom, or mastery, or even clarity. These states may result from mindful living, but mindfulness itself is a skill set that we apply with intention to meet whatever is, however it is, in the moment.

This is simple, but it's not easy. That is why there are a variety of practices that we can engage in to foster and develop our understanding of the skillful means available to us. A short list might include formal meditation (sitting, standing, walking, lying down), mindful movement (qigong, yoga, Alexander technique, tai chi, aikido, etc.), communication practice (NVC, peer counseling, compassionate listening), and reflective writing and art-making.

In a recent newsletter I discussed the acronym RAIN, and how it guides the process of turning toward our experience in order to be with it mindfully. RAIN is most useful at times when one feels overwhelmed with emotion, or confused, or otherwise thrown off course somehow. (It works beautifully in ordinary moments too, but we don't typically feel the need to navigate those moments as carefully.) To recap, RAIN stands for:

R -- Recognize
A -- Allow
I -- Investigate
N -- Not Personal, Nature

Many teachers have offered this RAIN guide. Tara Brach uses it quite a bit in her teaching, and has several examples of how it can work individually and in relationships. I have used it successfully many times, as a way to utilize the skill of mindfulness that I am cultivating, and I'd like to share an example of how it is of great use to me right now, today.

Perhaps only a few of you know that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and, as a young adult, date rape. Even as I type that sentence I am using RAIN.

• I am Recognizing the strong sensations that arise in my body, accompanied by thoughts like, "Don't say that publicly. Find another example!" Feelings of embarrassment, shame, fear, and vulnerability are here. 
• So I Allow them to be present, don't fight, accept to whatever degree I can. It's actually okay to be with those feelings and thoughts, because 
• When I Investigate, I find that I have felt this way many, many times, and essentially these are just insubstantial thoughts, and physical sensations in the body. And they are changing. They have a pulse, a texture, a duration. Like everything else we pay attention to in meditation (breath, sounds, etc.), these strong and mostly unpleasant feelings arise, stay for a while, and then change or disappear. 
• I don't need to get caught in the experience, I can know it as Nature arising. I've just shared an intimately personal truth about myself, which breaks the rules of my conditioning, big time. Of course these thoughts and feelings will arise. It may sound odd, but the truth is, this is not happening to me. But I can be with it as it happens.

Okay, to be honest, I'm still working on that last one. It is difficult to stop identifying with my experience. Yet all the great spiritual teachers remind us that we must. Joseph Goldstein says, "the Buddha summed [everything] up in one essential teaching: Nothing whatsoever is to be clung to as I or Mine. This is not a philosophical statement, it is something for us to practice, to realize, moment to moment. This is the practice of freedom."

As a survivor of sexual abuse, the past several days have been severely challenging. Beginning with the release of the recording of Donald Trump bragging about how he can get away with sexual assault because he is a celebrity, to the onslaught of reactions to it, the jokes and discussion on social media, and culminating in that violent war of words we called a "debate," I have been strongly triggered and retraumatized. Maybe you have been too. Chances are good that about 30% of you reading this are also survivors. The rest of you know someone who is.

And I can live through these upsetting, truly hideous personal reactions because I have a skill set called Mindfulness. I have gathered and used many tools for 30 years or more, picked up along the way in psychotherapy, bodywork, 12-step groups, religious practices, and other sources which have helped me heal and restore wholeness. But daily mindfulness practice is really paying off right now. I don't like being triggered, but it no longer needs to run my life or even be a problem.

An acronym like RAIN is a hook to hang our hats on. It's a go-to process that we can access (dare I say cling to?) in difficult moments. It prevents us from reacting unconsciously and engaging in old harmful habits. Even better, it helps us wake up and see when we're reacting out of our old unconscious habits, and stop. 

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Interestingly, the name of one sexual assault hotline is RAINN, and if you need someone to listen and help you, please call 800.656.HOPE (4673).

Why I Love MBSR

As you must know by now, I am raising money to pay for a big teacher training course next month at the Center for Mindfulness at the UMass School of Medicine.

PLEASE CLICK HERE TO MAKE A GENEROUS GIFT

Many (most?) folks don't know what Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) is, so it's hard to know why, other than the fact that you really really like me, you should make a donation or otherwise support my training.  So here's some basic facts and a few reasons I adore this program and have received great benefit from it.

1. This is an 8-week program that has been helping people defuse their stressful suffering for nearly 40 years. 
2. It was created and developed by Jon Kabat-Zinn, at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. Jon wanted to test whether the mindfulness meditation he was practicing could be applied directly to healing and an increase in overall wellness.

   

   MBSR Founder Jon Kabat-Zinn

3. Program participants are often referred by their doctors or psychotherapists, but the course has become so successful and is offered in so many places that word of mouth brings in people with all sorts of needs and interests.
4. Participants practice meditation or mindful movement (yoga, qigong) for 45 minutes each day, guided by the teacher via MP3 recordings. MBSR is a wonderful way to establish a regular meditation practice.
5. Mindful communication, education about the physiology of stress, and an exploration of sensory perception are also included.
6. Other mindful methods have branched off of MBSR, such as Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy, Mindful Birthing, Mindful Eating, and so on.
7. I have done most of my MBSR training right here in Philadelphia, at the Mindfulness Institute at the Jefferson-Myrna Brind Center of Integrative Medicine. The Jeff program doesn't certify teachers, which is why I'm continuing on at UMass.

So why do I want to teach MBSR? Why add a whole new program to my practice, one with a lengthy and expensive training? Some of the reasons have just been spelled out, and I'll add a few.

• MBSR is not the latest fad, it has been around for a generation now, and tens of thousands of people have completed the course and been helped by it. 
• MBSR works. It has been studied clinically multiple times, with consistent, repeatable results. 
• MBSR is adaptable. It offers multiple strategies for addressing stressful conditioning. The program doesn't say there is only one way to wellness. We learn a variety of strategies and learn what works and when. 
• MBSR empowers people.  This is maybe my favorite thing in life: to witness a person's "aha moment." Because MBSR is effective, people who practice in between classes discover that they have agency, and don't have to be stuck. 
• MBSR keeps me honest.  I learned this right away when I trained as an Alexander teacher -- if you want to learn something thoroughly, and maintain a disciplined practice, teach it to others. Like the AT, teaching MBSR  requires that I continue to cultivate mindful living, so that I can model what I ask my students to practice.
• MBSR teachers make boatloads of money.  False. Just Kidding.  

These are just a few of the reasons I love MBSR.  I hope that once I begin offering the course, you or someone you care about will take it. I also hope you will consider supporting my training fund with a gift of any size. You can do that here.

If you don't live near me but are curious about an MBSR course near you, just Google it. Seriously, this thing has legs! You are likely to find one at a local hospital, college, or movement studio.

Namaste. Wishing you wellness.

Drop By Drop

While I was on retreat earlier this month, I became keenly aware of how change happens. The fact that it is always happening -- that impermanence is the most reliably prevalent thing we can experience -- is not news to me. (I quite often forget that I know it, however.) But I was not so familiar with how major shifts in habitual thinking and being happen. It is typical to become a little disheartened at some point on a long silent retreat, and it's especially easy to feel discouraged in everyday practice. It can seem like nothing much is changing, that the encounter with greed, hatred, and delusion is never-ending. In daily life it can feel like my reactivity is always operating, no matter how deep and calm my meditation is, in spite of my intention to be mindful.

During meditation practice I noticed an image arising over and over again: a drop of water falling on a stone in a river. I understood that awareness was telling me to keep at it, that with each sit or walk, with each breath, I was moving toward liberation. Continuity, discipline, momentum -- bit by bit water wears away the stone. Each drop is as important as every other, each contributes to an eventual change of shape.

The Alexander Technique is like this too. At first, lessons are mostly about recognizing what is actually going on, how one is doing things, what habits of movement and tension are present. Once the habits are known, different choices can be made, exploration can begin, new ways of thinking are cultivated. But of course this doesn't last very long; habit is strong, and perhaps at first it is only possible to take a few steps before the old familiar pattern takes over once again. If we can accept that this is the way of it, we will progress in a steady fashion, which leads to thorough change.

Thus the sage advice to "begin again and again." Each time we choose to perform an action with awareness and ease, not allowing the unconscious habits to dictate our behavior, we carve out new neural pathways, so that the next time our body-mind will recall the open and easy way, and old habits are less likely to interfere. This builds a kind of underpinning that becomes more powerful the more we practice. Sometimes it is then possible to have a big change in a short period of time. It feels like a major shift in consciousness or sensory experience just happens, all at once.

Ayya Medhanandi Bhikkhuni describes how this works, in The Dharma of Snow:

"...we need to be able to feel our humanity, to feel our nature from the inside. Not superficially but from within, where the invisible factors of mindfulness, clarity, faith, energy, concentration, and wisdom can dismantle and dissolve years and years of deluded ways of perception, of relating to life. That’s what this practice brings about, given enough patience and diligence and surrendering to the process. It brings about a spiritual transformation. It’s invisible. We don’t know it right away, but after years we begin to see. We see the changes in each other. We see the changes in ourselves. It’s quite remarkable."

I find this essay deeply encouraging, a true validation of my commitment to daily mindfulness practice. I much prefer complete and lasting change that takes time, over quick changes that disappear like soap bubbles.

So no discouragement, at least not for long. Every time we wake up, we wake up a little more.
Namaste.

Leaping Into Mindfulness, Part Two

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes... Including you. -- Anne Lamott

When I promised to report back on my day of mindfulness, I imagined sharing lessons learned, significant inner experiences, and maybe even a little insight. My expectation was that I would gain something which could then be given. That's not how the day went, and although it was successful in every way, I didn't emerge with anything tangible. That's because there's no "there" there. There is nothing special to get, have, do, or be. In certain respects it was an ordinary, unremarkable day.

I'm frequently asked about the value of meditation, about what a person can get out of it, so it's an easy trap to fall into. As a teacher, I need to consider "takeaways" for my students. We think that by sitting or walking in formal practice we are building up to something or accumulating spiritual credit somehow. We are conditioned to think this way, especially in the U.S., where everything is a commodity, part of the American Dream mentality that having more equals being more. In recent years this has become especially true of "mindfulness." One of my three words for 2016 is prosperity, so I have been watching to see how my ideas of scarcity, abundance, and economic exchange operate in my life. I'm intrigued by how it shaped my expectations in this instance, to see my assumption that I'm "getting something" out of meditating, and that it is a thing that can be given to others.

It's complicated. Regular daily practice definitely has a stronger impact on my life than when I was only sitting now and then. The discipline to meditate even when I don't feel like it has been hugely beneficial, carrying over to other instances in my day-to-day where I don't want to participate but now choose to stay with what is happening instead of resisting or running away. I am becoming more skilled at focusing, I now have "tools" for managing my anxiety, rage, grief, and despair (also joy and enthusiasm and faith). I treat myself with more respect and kindness than before. Sometimes this spills over into how I treat other people.

These are just some of the effects of regular meditation and mindful movement practice. Yet, like the Alexander Technique, the point is not to gain but to lose, to let go of what's in the way. When I sit or walk or do Qigong, if I approach it as a way to get something (like peace of mind) or get rid of something (like tension), I will struggle. Rather than being with whatever is arising, I have an agenda for what is supposed to happen and I need to keep checking on my progress. Thus my desires are running the show. Meditation becomes the way I can see that operating and drop it. This is the practice. Yet even knowing that, I still get caught in the belief that I'll get something from the letting go that I can then share with others. This makes me smile at myself.

Here's some highlights (okay, takeaways) from my experience of an at-home day-long silent meditation retreat. There's nothing new to me in any of this, and I'm so grateful for the reinforcement of lessons I keep learning as I go.

1. Cultivate No-Time. During the first sit at 6 am I noticed a lovely feeling of expansion and freedom, and realized how luxurious it felt to know I had the whole day ahead for practice. When I sit most mornings, there's a subtle sense of urgency, a need to stay on schedule. I'm often sending messages about efficiency and productivity, like I'm saying "get 'er done!" Since then I have allowed myself to tap into the experience of no-time that meditation brings. How can I cultivate the luxury of spacious awareness, even in a short meditation?


2. Can't Unsee That. I love walking meditation. Walking in my own house, not so much. All I could see was the mess and the dirt and the repairs that need to be made. Even with eyes lowered, even when anchored in the present moment, I felt inundated by the stuff I normally choose to ignore. Just for balance, I began noticing the beautiful things too: the colors, the light, my daughters' artwork, the feeling of the rug under my feet. It sounds like a stale proverb, but it is harder to walk in your own house than in someone else's.


3. Fundamental Support. I ordered a new zabuton to match my awesome memory foam zafu, and it arrived just as my mid-morning guided meditation with my teacher Mark was ending. I appreciated the lovely difference it made in my comfort (as compared to a blanket on the rug). It wasn't due for a few more days, so I felt supported by the universe in my intentions for the day.


4. Cleaning Into Mindfulness. I scheduled a work period into the day, which expanded from 45 to 75 minutes because it was so enjoyable. That's right. Cleaning toilets and washing floors felt good. As in pleasurable, physically pleasant. Turns out the secret to enjoying household chores is simply to show up and be present while doing them. I apply my Alexander Technique in these activities, and it removes strain and increases ease. Scrubbing a sink becomes an opportunity to awaken. 


5. Inertia and Momentum. I hit the same energy roadblocks I always hit. I was sleepy after lunch, but that was anticipated; my schedule called for a walk along the canal. Still wanting to sleep when I returned, I stuck with the plan and sat for some guided metta practice. I hoped the specific nature of this type of meditation, where I consciously send wishes of loving kindness to myself and others, would keep me alert. It did not. Torpor and sluggishness won out and I took a nap, which had also been built into the schedule, knowing myself as well as I do. Upon waking, I enjoyed some Qigong practice and rebalanced all that sluggish energy. That gave me momentum to keep going through dinner time and into the evening. I was surprised at how a big part of me wanted to quit at this point, with only a few hours to go. I saw how habituated I am to hitting the internal "off switch" in the evening. I reminded myself that I wasn't working or "on," so there was no need to turn off.

Because nothing much of consequence happened, because I was in my everyday environment, because I got quiet and attended to simple things like breathing, walking, and washing up, I was able to notice how much of what I typically think of as "my life" is made up stuff.  That is, stuff that isn't actually happening, except in my mind. Since Leap Day I've continued my experiment with awareness, to keep learning how to take it off the cushion and out into the world. I forget to experiment a lot of the time, and I'm not always successful when I do remember, but wow -- thinking sure likes to create a lot of drama and unnecessary nonsense. Of course that's what the mind does, that is its nature. Doesn't mean I have to believe it.

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Are you curious about how a day of mindfulness practice might benefit you? If you live in or near Philadelphia, consider joining me for Moving Into Mindfulness on April 9. If that's not possible, invite me to teach in your region. Or contact me privately and I will help you create your own personal silent meditation retreat.

Namaste.

Leaping Into Mindfulness, Part One

After the Oscars, Before Super Tuesday

Lately I've been pining for a long retreat at Insight Meditation Society (IMS) or somewhere. I get such amazing results in my practice when I have the time and space to do nothing but meditate and do mindful movement. The 9-day silent retreat works in a powerful way to stabilize my attention and lead me into a depth of awareness that daily meditation cannot. Alas, it will be late April before I can get back here:

So I decided to try something I read about or heard from someone like Tara Brach or Sharon Salzburg or Sylvia Boorstein: a one-day silent meditation retreat at home. I chose Leap Day, February 29, because I figured, what makes more sense than to celebrate getting an "extra" 24 hours of time by practicing nonstop silent contemplation of the present moment?

This can succeed because I'm an empty nester, my husband leaves very early on Mondays to teach in New York and doesn't get home until later in the evening. I can turn off the phones, set an away message on my email, and follow a schedule very similar to the one I follow when I'm at IMS. Of course my meals won't be prepared for me, and there won't be a crew to do my dishes, but I have made meals in advance and will cook and clean mindfully (and there's a work period in the schedule). I've arranged my time in 60- or 45-minute segments, alternating between sitting and walking meditation, with periods for meal prep and eating, housework, mindful movement like outdoor walking and Qigong, and even a nap.

The midmorning sit is with guidance and in the evening I'll listen to a dharma talk. I can do this because there are literally hundreds of recorded meditation sessions and teachings at Dharma Seed, a priceless resource for curious yogis and meditators. I will also mine the 31 video podcasts from last October's Mindfulness Summit, which I have archived. There are so many options, I'm going to download a few to my Kindle and then use that for audio and video delivery. Other than that, no electronics allowed! I'll be going off the grid after the Oscars tonight and won't return until early on Super Tuesday.

I realize that one of the other reasons this is possible is because of my privilege. I have a job with flexible hours, I have a safe home, I have good health, I have the ability to give myself this day of self-care. I am grateful for my secure situation in life, and the first blessing I will recite tomorrow is one of praise and thanksgiving.

At this writing, I have about 6 more hours to speak, use my phone and computer, watch TV (the Oscars are like the Superbowl around here), and live "normally."  After the retreat is over, I'll post Part Two and report back on how it all goes.

Does this sound like something you'd like to try too? What would you need to put into place in order for it to be possible?

Namaste.

The Grateful Days

Each day in November I posted on Facebook something for which I'm thankful. I found it easy most days, but occasionally I needed to choose to feel grateful, which always produced something significant enough to name. I noticed that the act of choosing gratitude led to a sense of lightness and ease, and more connection to my immediate environment. My intention was to strike a balance between the general and the specific, neither too shallow nor too heavy duty, so the list contains a range of reasons to be thankful.  These are the 30 things I came up with.


1 & 2 - My two lungs

3 - The right to vote      
 
4 - Health! Health Militant! (Oliver Sacks)

5 - Leading midday meditation each Thursday

6 - My kids and their generation of activist-warriors

7 - Love songs

8 - Yoda fortune cookie: "Do or do not. There is no try."

9 - My warrior nature

10 - My Alexander Technique students

11 - My job at Central Philadelphia Monthly Meeting of Friends

12 - Bucks Quarterly Meeting

13 - Moving and leading others in movement

14 - The people who joined me for Moving Into Mindfulness

15 - Love Saves the Day, a universal truth

16 - The little objects of comfort on my kitchen windowsill  

17 - My amazing husband, J. David Brimmer

18 - Ben & Jerry's

19 - Favorite movies like "O Brother Where Art Thou?" and the love of good friends

20 - Feminism

21 - Interdependence

22 - A beautiful sunset and the ability to see it

23 - A warm fire on a cold evening

24 - Hot and cold running water and modern conveniences

25- Teachers in the classroom, making a difference

26 - Companionship along the way

27 - Mild temperatures, a gentle walk with my family

28 - Doing nothing. And naps!

29 - Choosing to be thankful produces gratitude

30 - The wise ones who have come before to show the way


I have myriad reasons to be thankful, and this exercise leaves me feeling humble and very, very lucky. As we move through the coming weeks of increasing darkness, may I be grateful for everything, just as it is. May I trust in the abundance that surrounds me without needing to see very far ahead. May I let go of my agenda and rely on mindful, whole body sensing to navigate.

Advent, the Christian season of preparation and expectancy, has begun. Here is a poem from an Advent book by Jan Richardson, Night Visions:

There are other senses,

you tell us, 

and when the darkness

obscures our choices,

we must turn

to the other ways of knowing

you have given us.

In the daylight

we can get by on sight,

but for the nighttime

is our hearing,

is our tasting,

is our smelling,

is our questioning,

longing touching.

A thousand messages waiting

for our sensing

you have given us,

O God.

May beautiful expressions of gratitude light your way as we move toward the Winter Solstice. May you know the ease of well-being.

Days of Awe

I don't know much about Yom Kippur, but I do know it is the holiest day in the Jewish year, the culmination of a 10-day period that begins with Rosh Hoshanah, the new year. This period is called the Days of Awe. They end with repentance, sacrifice, and purification. Today is the Day of Atonement.

I don't hear that word much, unless I'm reading the Bible or other religious book. Webster's definition includes "reconciliation" and "satisfaction" as descriptors. When I Google "atonement," I get 3 basic items: Yom Kippur, Christian reconciliation with God through the death of Jesus Christ, and the novel and film, Atonement (which is amazing, please see and/or read it when you can).

All discussions of atonement remind us that the original English meaning was literally, "at-one-ment," the bringing together of beings who have become separated. Harmony, peace, and unity are attained. Wholeness is restored.

Restored. That is crucial, because it implies that wholeness and harmony are already present, are the way we're meant to be in community with one another, and with the Divine. (Please substitute whatever word works for you: God, the Force, the Universe, the Way, Nature. The finger that points at the moon is not the moon.) In assessing our mistakes, the harms we have done, our unconscious cruelty and lack of compassion, we are recalibrating ourselves back to how things really are. If we have gotten lost along the way, or traveled down some roads that take us farther from our felt connection with all living beings, we can change direction. Your internal GPS will announce "recalculating," as you move into a restored way of relating to your life.

So atonement doesn't manufacture anything, doesn't produce some special state or mood. It eliminates what is interfering with right relationship. It makes right speech, right action, more likely.

I'm not sure what "awe" means to Jews when they consider the Days of Awe, but to me it points to the amazement that I can be brave enough to look at my failures, selfishness, lack of faith, potential for mean small-mindedness, and my dumb mistakes and say, "Yes. I did all that. I'm capable of some despicable behavior. I am at fault and owe several people apologies." I can see all of it and neither flinch nor be destroyed by it. I can face my frailties, arrogance, fear, and darkness, and when I do, it dissolves. It shows me my growth potential, and it is a blessing to see it. Awareness can hold it all.

The days are getting shorter, the darkness is growing. This is a time of increased looking within, tending the fires for the long cold nights ahead, keeping vigil with the heart-mind. Once I have restored unity with my fellow humans, gotten back on track with the Universal Way, and come home to myself, I move in a fresh direction, full of awe at our innate ability to be One With Another, One With All.

Meditation for today:  May the coming days of ripeness and release bring me the courage to let go of what has been, and may I cultivate the curiosity and fortitude to turn toward whatever is here now, just as it is. I give thanks and praise for unknown blessings already on their way.

Namaste.

Silence: The Loudest Thing in My Head

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance. -- Khalil Gibran

Silence is so freaking loud. -- Sarah Dessen, Just Listen

I'm about to embark on an annual 9-day silent meditation retreat at Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts. This has become the cornerstone of my life and ministry. It is spiritual bootcamp, and nothing feeds me like this experience does.  But mention to anyone that you're going on a multi-day silent retreat, and see what responses you get. I'm always surprised at what I hear: "retreat" sounds good to folks, "meditation" is intriguing to most, but "silent"? That seems to stop them cold.

I can't even stay quiet for 9 minutes, let alone 9 days.
     I would go bonkers if I couldn't talk to other people.
          That sounds a little bit boring.

Perhaps it's my years as a practicing Quaker, but to me, the silence is not a problem. In fact, it's the least troublesome aspect of retreat life. It's a huge relief for me -- someone who essentially talks for a living -- to stop speaking. And since we all maintain "noble" silence, where eye contact is avoided and personal interactions are reduced to the bare minimum (nodding instead of saying "excuse me," for instance), I am also relieved of the burden of listening to others. Picture, if you can, 100 or so humans sitting and walking meditation from 5 am to 9 pm, eating together, doing yoga or Qigong, cleaning or cooking together, all without conversation. 

The challenges of being on retreat in this way are supported by the silence, not made more difficult. Because, except for no talking, it's not very quiet. "Silence is so freaking loud." When all the external chatter falls away, I can notice the internal noise more easily. Just as when I sit or stand in balance and I can feel the constant motion, as I alternate sitting with walking meditation practice I see how strong my story line is, how I feed certain thoughts and try to reject others, how my habitual assumptions are operating.

One friend remarked that this retreat must be so peaceful, so blissful. Well, yes and no. I do experience the bliss of directly experiencing reality in a way I don't when I'm in everyday living. There are times that I sense the peace that passeth all understanding (turns out this is the ground of all existence, but that's a different blog post). Mostly I just feel the struggle, the greed, the tension, the rationalization, the repulsion, and the delusion of my life. 

Sounds fun, doesn't it? 

It is, actually. What could be more interesting than investigating your self? Aren't you the most fascinating and important person you know? Who can you truly know, other than you? What is it to be alive, anyway? Believe me, it's the opposite of boring.

Staying with the present moment all day, every day: that is the challenge of a silent meditation retreat. Silence is just the condition we cultivate so that we can show up without ceasing, turn toward what is arising with precision and curiosity, and relieve ourselves of the weight of continuous social interaction. So silence is easy. Continuous, embodied, present moment awareness is not so easy. 

Each year I find the prospect of this retreat a little daunting, but I have come to recognize that it is a gigantic gift I give myself (and all who are connected to me). It's one way I honor myself, because it cannot be done without self-compassion, without turning it all over to the power of love. Pema Chodron describes this as "placing the fearful mind in the cradle of loving-kindness." 

Within that cradle, there is the possibility of radical acceptance, of meeting life just as it is, and being okay with that. Helen Keller, who certainly knew something about silence, said, "Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content." 

Namaste.