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.

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.