Category: Mindfulness

Making Our Practice Personal

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“No one can ever explain to us how to have an experience. If they could, we would all be enlightened by now. Our task as practitioners is to bring the teachings to life in a personal way. No one can tell us how to do it.” – Elizabeth Mattis-Namoveil

Over the years of my meditation and Dharma practice, I’ve witnessed certain trends and themes emerge. The exact same thing has occurred with my teaching and writing, patterns and tendencies surface and then they begin to reveal themselves to me. One key and yet quite simple thread that keeps making itself known is my sense that no one can truly teach us how to practice, that we have to discover this on our own. Another consistently emerging strand that goes along with this is the ever increasing necessity for each of us to cultivate an intimate relationship with the unique inner landscape of our own hearts and minds. This relationship, in a nutshell, is the key to us softening the habitual cycles of our suffering and to awakening to new levels of freedom, wisdom and care.

My particular journey down the many paths of the practice has been filled with stops and starts, illuminations and disengagement, clarity and delusion, a closed and then an open heart. My journey’s been informed by so many serene elements of the Buddhist tradition, by so many deeply inspiring teachers, but it really started to gain momentum, and truly unfold, once I gave myself permission to let go of “the rules” and start making my practice personal. At the most basic level, I’ve begun to discover that we’re not here to perfect our understanding of the four foundations of mindfulness – as beautiful and resourceful as this teaching can be – we’re here to open our hearts to our own experience of the human condition. We’re here to find a way to navigate this life with as much grace, acceptance and love as is available. And, in my experience, no one can truly teach us how to do this. We have to walk our own unique path down the many roads that are presented to us. To find a home within the Dharma, we have to make the practice personal, unburdened of expectations, and intimately our own.

Matthew Brensilver, a core teacher of mine, once expressed that “The basic question of what it’s like to be human sounds so pedestrian as to be useless. But it’s actually an important question that I don’t think we can adequately answer until we get still and quiet. So we ask: what is it actually like to be human? How does it actually feel at the level of our awareness to be alive? And how can we relate to that in such a way that we’re making peace with the imperfection of our human condition?” Continuing on this same theme, Pema Chodron writes, “If you ask how in the world can we do this, the answer is simple. Make the dharma personal, explore it wholeheartedly, and relax.”

Over the past few years or so, I’ve kind of broken the practice down into three primary domains:

1.) Being a human animal is a wild and mysterious ride.

2.) The teachings of the Dharma are vast and sublime.

3.) You have to find your own path to your heart.

Suzuki Roshi, in his seminal book Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, shares that “It is almost impossible to talk about Buddhism. So not to say anything, just to practice it, is the best way.” Some part of me feels a true kinship with this line of thinking. Yet, at the same time, I’ve encountered a deep and profound experience of the heart of the Dharma through hearing it articulated by others. One of the core tenets of this path is that things are not dualistic (this or that, either/or) but fluid, unfolding, expansive and beyond the defined boundaries of language. So, in the end, you really just need to get in there and play around! See what works for you. See what touches your heart. The teachings are a road map full of treasures but they are not the destination, or the end point, in and of themselves. What we’re cultivating is our own sense of humanity and wellbeing. The Dharma is universal but our relationship with it is deeply personal. And, in my perspective, improvisational; a call and response with the intimate moments of our lives.

One of the core principles of improvisational performance, that has also been adopted in organizational settings, is the concept known as “Yes, and…” A way to approach this guideline on the stage is that one improviser should accept what another improviser has stated (this is the “Yes”) and then expand upon what is being offered (this is the “and…”). In a business or other organizational setting, saying “Yes” encourages people to listen and be receptive to the ideas of others. In our experience of our own practice, saying “Yes” to the present moment, accepting the truth of what is being presented, provides us with a wide range of intimate possibilities.

Rachel Denyer, a co-founder of People Storming with a background in organizational improv and behavioral psychology, shares that “In improv we have to pay attention to what is going on inside the exercise or the scene. It is only by paying attention that we can truly understand what is happening and identify places to add value or support.” She further explains that in improv they are always looking for opportunities to start anywhere. “Starting anywhere essentially means jumping in or starting in the middle. Through improv, we are encouraging creativity and spontaneity. If you have an idea in the present, you don’t need to spend time refining it or evaluating it. You can just jump in with the offer and see where the scene or discussion takes you.”

In my experience, these same concepts are essential elements in the path of our practice and are available to us at any time. Whether in formal meditation or in the flow of our daily lives, we can always wake up to the present moment, choose to say “Yes” to the truth of our experience, “and” then jump in and explore what’s being offered. An initial “Yes…and” starting point may simply be to pause, to take a breath, and then lean into our hearts. Over time, the invitation can unfold and we can trust in our capacity to meet this moment with an open, wise and compassionate response. But it’s not an all or nothing engagement, a this happens and then that response is needed; the path is about developing an intimate relationship with our inner life and being attuned with its reverberations. The path of our practice is at once universal and deeply personal. It’s yours to be lived, felt and brought to life in an intimate way.

The Healing Balm of Nature: Intimacy with Life

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With the seemingly constant barrage of news of political unrest, racism, violence, and climate emergency, amongst the everyday challenges and joys of our individual lives, how do we find steadiness within the midst of this life? As I’ve been exploring this question, it has brought insights and new practices into my world that I continue to experience as blessing.

As you know, our practice, as is true of all of life, is always a dance. It is fluid, not static. Some seasons we lean more fully into formal seated meditation, other seasons yoga or qigong may move to the front burner. There are times in which our practice may lean on mindfulness and times when lovingkindness practice feels most helpful. Over the past 17 years, I’ve learned what an intuitive process this practice can be, if we’re receptive to listening inwardly to what we truly need in this moment.

A couple of months ago, my son and I were out on the coast, enjoying a favorite hike to a replica of an indigenous village, a picnic in a meadow amongst the shelters, and time climbing around in fallen down trees. Between plentiful winter rains, the sun was out this day, and we could feel the warmth and much needed Vitamin D sooth our beings. But, what was truly different about this day is that we had plenty of time to hang out in this meadow as long as we wished. No rush to get home at a particular time, no “we better get going”. As they say on meditation retreat, we had “all the time in the world” to be with this. And, so, we sat on a fallen down tree in the sunshine, and just did nothing, nothing at all, except drink in the sounds, the touch of the light breeze on our skin, the trees, the bark and the sun, as long as we wished.

This “as long as we wished” probably ended up being about an hour and half, but the impact of this wide, open space of time was tremendous. I felt my nervous system, which had been experiencing low running anxiety the previous week or two, let go into gravity and re-attune to the heartbeat of tree and Earth and sun. We didn’t talk much, other than pointing out a Steller’s jay or the green moss. My son, seemingly in a dreamy state, played with a stick, running it along the bark, the sound particularly alive in our ears. I could feel his nervous system dropping in, too. This permission to “just be” with this moment in nature was a healing balm for body, mind and heart. We left that meadow warm, rested and refreshed. Clear. Present. And it was in that moment that I committed to making this a weekly practice for us, at least for a season.

How does intuition, perception of time and intimacy with the natural world play a role in your practice? What practices support you (or might support you) in staying grounded and centered within the midst of life? What daily or weekly rituals support you in avoiding heart shut-down and keeping the heart open, receptive, and kind? What practices help to soothe the nervous system, rest the body, and renew the spirit?

May the Earth and all Beings know safety, healing, joy and deep peace.

Who’s Keeping Score?

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“Falling down is what we humans do. If we can acknowledge that fact, judgment softens and we allow the world to be as it is, forgiving ourselves and others for our humanity. The Buddha’s First Noble Truth – that suffering exists – is, in itself, a permission to be human and not demand more of ourselves than we’re capable of. Our compassion arises from our very fallibility, and love takes root in the soils of human error.” – Lin Jenson, founding teacher of Chico Zen Center

This is the time of year in our American culture when many students (young and sometimes old!) have just recently graduated from one educational institution or another. It’s a time of ritual and ceremony as one chapter of a person’s life comes to an end and another chapter begins. It’s a time when we gather to celebrate accomplishments, hard work, and the overcoming of obstacles; a time when we set our sites on the hopefully bright future ahead.

Once upon a time in our American story, these events took place primarily on high school and college campuses, but nowadays we frequently find ourselves at middle, elementary, and even preschool graduations! And while I find these rites of passage to be deeply meaningful, I sometimes question if they’re feeding our individual and cultural need to be “good,” to be “successful?” If they’re supporting a cycle where we measure our internal self worth through external accomplishment? It’s a layered inquiry, with many possible answers and interpretations, but it guides me in the direction of something I would invite us all to explore: our relationship with our “failures.”

And in this investigation of our relationship with our “failures,” in the spending of some quality time simply acknowledging our own humanity, I invite you to reflect upon this question: Who’s keeping score?

There’s a teaching in Buddhism known as the Eight Worldly Winds, pairs of opposites that we can all get swept away in. The Buddha, in an ancient Pali text known as the Lokavipatti Sutta, named these opposite winds as follows: gain and loss; fame and disrepute; praise and blame; pleasure and pain. In this teaching, the Buddha shares that these winds are “inconsistent, impermanent, subject to change,” but that we often spend a majority of our time welcoming the pleasant and rebelling against the unpleasant. We spend a great amount of energy inflating and/or deflating our ego’s sense of itself.

Sound familiar? Again: Who’s keeping score?

When we’re swept up in these winds, what is it we’re after?

In a 2014 commencement address that Pema Chodron gave to the graduating students at Naropa University, Chodron turned the concepts of “success” and “failure” inside-out by stating that failure is actually an underutilized skill. That failure can be “the portal to creativity, to learning something new, to having a fresh perspective.”

So, when we’re caught up in the often habitual response of labeling ourselves as “good” or “bad,” when the worldly winds of “success” and “failure” are blowing strong, it may be of benefit to simply widen the lens, soften our hearts, and get a little curious about what’s going on? It may be of benefit to gently meet our strong emotions and great expectations with kindness, compassion, and a small (or large!) dose of Who’s keeping score?

Mindfulness: Going Beyond The Current Trend

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It seems mindfulness has become the tour de jour in 2015. It is everywhere. Parade Magazine called mindfulness meditation the number one health booster, the hottest well-being trend of our time. It is now used by the U.S. military to prepare soldiers for war and treat them for PTSD when they get back. Companies like Google are using mindfulness to enable employees to work harder for longer hours. A recent headline I found in Forbes magazine sums up the whole trend:

“Overworked and Overwhelmed? Use These Mindfulness Secrets to Restore Balance In 2015.”

The article opens with the following words, “Stress and burnout are all-too-frequent for executives…. But feeling overworked and overwhelmed not only reduces engagement and productivity, it also erodes happiness and personal health. What to do? Mindfulness is the answer.

Some of the benefits of mindfulness touted in the article include such attributes as flow, completely absorbed in work, elevated, a little bit of swagger, transparency, a sense of humor, calm, clear, confident, intentional, and laser-like focus.

There’s nothing wrong with any of this, of course, but from a Buddhist perspective the purpose of mindfulness goes much deeper. Most of the techniques used under the rubric of mindfulness in the popular culture focus on the peace that comes from a concentrated and calm mind, which can bring a lot of relief from the stress we face in our everyday world. But calming, concentrated meditation alone will not necessarily bring us wisdom, promote ethical behavior and ultimately lead to liberation from suffering. While concentration is a cornerstone of mindfulness practice, it can also be used in the service of the ego, for achievement and competition, to dominate others and to be selfish. It will not necessarily give us a perspective on ourselves, our suffering and the suffering we may cause others.

If we simply focus on entering calm peaceful states and staying there, we don’t gain any insights into who we are and all the neurotic stories and lies we can tell ourselves that fosters the illusion of a separate permanent self. In essence, by simply making the mind calm, without paying attention, we miss everything about us that makes us human.

Pema Chödrön puts it this way, “The most fundamental aggression to ourselves, the most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves, is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect to look at ourselves honestly and gently.”

Vipassana (Insight) meditation is really a balancing act between mindfulness and concentration. Mindfulness grows by using the lens of a concentrated mind to look at whatever is passing without judgment, realizing and accepting what is the truth and then letting go. Bhante Gunaratana writes, “Mindfulness is cultivated by a gentle effort. Persistence and a light touch of the senses. It is cultivated by constantly pulling ourselves back to a state of awareness, gently, gently, gently, over and over again.”

Mindfulness leads to wisdom, not by trying to achieve anything, but by simply investigating how things really are for us in the present moment. It does not involve trying to analyze, blame, or fix anything. Instead, we face our thoughts, emotions and body sensations with a kind and detached discernment. Investigating this “self” that continues to arise and pass away in all its many forms. As Gil Fronsdal writes, “We learn to live with openness and trust rather than with a self-image and all the self-criticism, aversion and pride that can come with it. In mindfulness practice, none of our humanity is denied. We are discovering a way to be present to everything – our full humanity – so everything becomes a gate to freedom, to compassion and to ourselves.

Mindful Communication: The Gift of Wise Speech

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The Buddha singled out wise speech as one of the important factors for awakening. It is part of the eight fold path, leading to the cessation of suffering and the realization of self-awakening. Like other parts of the path, wise speech requires effort, mindfulness and spiritual wisdom on our part to avoid harming others as well as ourselves. It is one of the most profound practices we can undertake off the meditation cushion and one of the greatest gifts we can give others. As Joseph Goldstein writes, “The care it takes to avoid harmful speech creates a vast playing field of mindfulness in our daily lives.”

Wise speech is rooted in learning to avoid four unwholesome verbal actions that cause harm to others and ourselves. These are lying (false speech), using harsh or aggressive language, divisive speech (backbiting and gossiping) and frivolous (or useless) conversation. Or put in positive terms, wise speech means speaking in ways that are trustworthy, comforting, harmonious, and worth taking to heart. When we practice these positive forms of speech, our words become a gift to others. The benefit of this practice is that people are more likely to listen to you and respond in kind.

One way to practice wise speech is to listen to our internal monologue. What is the tone of voice we use within our mind? Do we have a tendency to build ourselves up or put ourselves down? How often do we complain, compare, and judge ourselves? It is likely that your internal and external talk run in parallel tracks, so if we can hear and improve our internal monologue, it will help us hear and improve the way that we speak with others.

The more we practice wise speech, the more we see that the way we act shapes our experience and the world around us. If we can take some time to investigate the feelings behind our words, we may begin to uncover hidden or confused motives behind our speech. Self-righteous words may be a cover for anger. Angry words may be a cover for fear. Gossiping may be an attempt to try and reaffirm and strengthen our feelings of self-worth. Sometimes we engage in frivolous banter to cover up a feeling of unworthiness or a need for approval.

The point of practicing wise speech, however, is not to beat ourselves up. As meditation instructor Dr. Shahara Godfrey states in an interview published on Spirit Rock’s website, “the whole point is that the practice gives us the opportunity to try again and again. And we will make mistakes. Yet, how can we be kind to ourselves in a moment when we know we have made a mistake? I think the beauty of the practice is that we get an opportunity to practice Wise Speech over and over again with so many different people and in so many different situations.”

Exercises for Practicing Wise Speech

Here are two exercises that you might find useful for cultivating wise speech in your daily life.

Say Only What It True and Helpful: A succinct summary of wise speech in the Buddha’s words could be paraphrased as “say only what is true and helpful.”  With this in mind, see if you’d like to pick one day a week (or month) to focus on speaking only words that to the best of your knowledge are truthful and beneficial to those on the receiving end of your words. This requires mindfulness to see what is really true for us in the moment. Unless we are aware of our true experience, it is hard to be truthful in our speech.

Give Up Gossip: Choose a time period of perhaps a day or a week.  Then commit to not saying anything about other people unless they are in your presence. Whenever you find yourself tempted to gossip, try to recognize the underlying motive.

For each of these exercises take some time at the end of the day to reflect on your experience.  Notice the sense of integrity and strength that comes from holding to the truth, treating people with respect, and refusing to succumb to hurtful talk. Also notice when you have temptations to stretch the truth or gossip. See if you can discern some of the hidden agendas behind these impulses. The point of these exercises isn’t to criticize ourselves, but to simply notice what words arise out of our mouths and investigate the subtle motives behind them. This is an opportunity to attend to the habitual emotions or thoughts that may block us from using our words in a more truthful and harmonious manner.

With practice, our speech can grow wiser and our hearts become lighter. We begin to see the suffering that unmindful speech causes ourselves and those around us. We see how unmindful listening creates a feeling of separation between us and others, and constricts our heart. As our speech becomes more mindful, compassionate and kind, we will sense greater harmony in our lives and promote greater peace among all beings in this world.

Judgment vs. Discernment: Moving From Preferences to Wisdom

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When I first began practicing mindfulness meditation, I was surprised by the constant chatter of thoughts running through my head. What I found most disturbing about all this noise was that the majority of my thoughts were full of self-judgment, criticism and doubt. My first inclination was to try and stop these voices, or at least to ignore them. But the more I tried to do suppress them, the louder they became and the worse I felt when they inevitably reappeared.

Feeling discomfort with the judging mind is not uncommon. We come to meditation hoping to get relief from our distress and end up feeling more distress when we actually start to become aware of our thoughts. We’re taught that mindfulness involves cultivating non-judgmental awareness of what’s happening in the present moment, and yet here we sit full of judgment. I believe that part of our confusion around working with judgments comes from our western tendency to see the world in terms of duality – to judge our thoughts and experiences as right or wrong, good or bad, smart or dumb, etc. By seeing our judging minds as something negative, we take our judgments personally and see them as a reflection of ourselves.

It is not that all judgments are bad.  There are general agreements about what’s right and wrong, such as not harming others and not stealing. Such agreements are important for us as social beings to function as a society.  So there is a place for judgment. Often, however, we artificially make up these categories of good vs bad on the basis of our own likes and dislikes, as a way to navigate through the world. We divide things up politically, religiously, socially, racially, etc. and conclude that those in my camp are right and those in the other are wrong. When something falls outside what we deem acceptable, we judge it harshly. When it falls within that shifting structure of acceptability, we judge it positively. This goes for our critiques of the outside world as well as our thoughts about ourselves.

Our judgments about how things should be often exacerbates our suffering. For example in considering our relationship with our parents, if you still feel anger towards them that you haven’t worked out, you may have a lot of judgment around that anger. You may feel that having anger at your parents is clearly wrong. The judgment you have around this anger will itself cause you to suffer, perhaps dearly, because you feel so strongly that anger shouldn’t be here. But the truth is, it is here.

There is a Buddhist teaching attributed to the Chinese Zen patriarch Jianzhi Sengcan call Faith – Mind that opens with the lines “The great way [towards liberation] is not difficult for those who have no preferences. Like not, dislike not. Be illuminated.”  You could say, this is true of judgment. When we can suspend good and bad, high and low, all we’re left with are arbitrary divisions of life.  When we can just see these division as the way things are, we begin to develop true wisdom. This is the realm of discernment.

When we move from judgment to discernment our view changes. With discernment we begin to investigate and know what thoughts, feeling, or actions lead to happiness and what leads to suffering. The point is to try and wake up to what is suffering, what does it feel like, and to begin to see what leads to suffering. Also, what is real happiness (not what we think is happiness) and what leads to happiness. It is through discernment that we begin to know these things on a felt, experiential level.  Judgment does not have this ability to do this.

To see the difference, consider the following example.  You’ve just eaten a nice meal. Maybe you’re a little full, and you see there’s cake for dessert. Judgment goes cake – “good.” Then judgment goes, no I shouldn’t eat that cake, I’m already full, it will break my diet. Eating that cake is “bad.”

Discernment goes, cake, hum, mindfulness – I think I’d like that cake. Desire that’s the mind. Let’s now check in with the body. How’s the body feeling? How’s the stomach feeling? Ugh, kind of full and uncomfortable. What’s it going to be like if I eat that cake? More likely my stomach will be much more uncomfortable, very unpleasant.

The difference is that it’s not right or wrong. Discernment just knows that eating this cake is going to lead to suffering. This is much different than thinking I am a bad person if I eat that cake.

As our mindfulness practice deepens, we want to come more and more from discernment and less and less from judgment. Discernment starts with the suffering we find ourselves in, allowing us to see how our attachments are its fundamental cause, and then provides us the space to let go. Overtime, we learn to let go of our attachments through insight, by seeing into their impermanent nature and their inability to provide any kind of lasting satisfaction.

As our discernment grows, we gain the ability to grasp, comprehend, and evaluate clearly the true nature of ourselves. We begin to wake up to what is suffering and what leads to suffering in our lives. We gain insight into what is real happiness and what leads to happiness. Judgement does not have this ability to know this because it is concerned with protecting, supporting, or compensating for the ego. With discernment, we are no longer so concerned about protecting the ego. Instead we turn towards the difficulties in our lives with curiosity and compassion. Overtime, this honest turning towards the way things are provides us with the insights that propel us toward greater wisdom.

The Gift of Loving-Kindness

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There is a belief, I’ve often heard, repeated that meditation practice, and metta or loving-kindness practice in particular, is self-indulgent. That by focusing so much attention on ourselves, we are withdrawing from the problems of the world. This view, however, ignores the fact that without a sense of self-love and compassion for ourselves, our actions in the world can often end up doing more harm than good, even if our intentions are noble. As Sharon Salzberg writes “Generosity coming from self-hated becomes martyrdom. Morality born of self-hate becomes rigid repression. Love for others without the foundation of love for ourselves becomes a loss of boundaries, codependency, and a painful and fruitless search for intimacy.”

Loving-kindness and compassion are the mental states at the root of wise action. Given the state of the world today, and the immense challenges and emotional difficulties that can arise for us as we face these challenges, deepening our meditation practice by cultivating metta is one of the most effective actions we can take to help alleviate the suffering of others. Practicing metta strengthens our ability to bring greater compassion and awareness to everything — every moment, person, situation, emotion, thought, experience. The more we are able to be present, clear and non-reactive to the way things are, the greater the chance that our actions will help others, rather than bring harm.

Donald Rothberg writes in his book The Engaged Spiritual Life, that “our times call for both spiritual and social commitments. There is the irony of attempting to overcome self-centeredness, hatred, fear and confusion through meditation practice while ignoring the cries of the world.” It is the cries of the world that call us to begin the process of self-transformation. Without transforming the world reflected within us, there is no telling how our actions may unconsciously affect others. The gift of metta is that it can transform our minds so that we are able to act in ways that benefit ourselves, as wells as others. This is a gift we give to the world.

Loving Ourselves Takes Courage

Like many western practitioners of Buddhism, when I first started practicing loving-kindness meditation I found it most difficult to focus this energy towards myself. I can remember being on retreat and having no problem practicing the metta phrase for others – my friends, my mentors, people I barely know, even some of the more unpleasant people in my life – yet, when I’d try and direct that love towards myself, I’d balk. I’d often feel guilty, anxious and annoyed. The practice seemed so pointless and completely self-absorbed.

What I’ve learned over the past ten years is that without self-love, much of the energy I put into helping others is completely co-dependent. I felt pain and loneliness inside and was trying to heal these wounds by playing the saint. As I’ve worked with the metta phrases over time, directing them towards myself as well as other, I have felt a shift in consciousness and a greater sense of acceptance. I fee l like I’m less likely to hurt others out of a desire to have my “needs” meet. I still slip up, but that’s why they call it a practice. We move forward slowly, learning to love ourselves more, bringing greater awareness to the layers of pain and sadness that may surround our hearts, and then allowing our light to radiate out into the world.

Metta and Wise Intention

Metta practice can help us cultivated wise intention, part of the eight fold path leading to the liberation of suffering. It does this by helping us overcome negative and unwholesome thought patterns by bringing awareness to our intention to foster greater goodwill, compassion and kindness towards ourselves and others. Silently directing phrases or “well-wishes” to ourselves, a benefactor, a dear one, a neutral person, a difficult person, and all beings helps us to “water” the seeds of joy, peace, mindfulness, understanding, and love that already exist in our minds. This in turn strengthens those thought patterns that lead us to take wholesome actions in the world.

Neuroscience tells us that setting an intention ‘primes’ our nervous system to be on the lookout for whatever will support our intentions.  In his book “The Mindful Brain”, Daniel Siegel talks about the effect paying “attention to intention” has on our brain and how this affects our experience of our surroundings. He writes, “Intentions create an integrated state of priming, a gearing up of our neural system to be in the mode of that specific intention: we can be readying to receive, to sense, to focus, to behave in a certain manner.” In other words, when we pay attention to our intentions, we are more likely to notice and connect with the relevant actions, opportunities and people that will make our intentions come to fruition.

As we pay attention to our intention to cultivate greater goodwill and compassion by practicing metta, we are training our brains to connect with the wholesome thoughts that can bring us greater happiness. We are also creating the conditions that allow us to let go of unwholesome thoughts grounded in greed, hate and delusion that bring greater suffering. That is a gift to the world. That is the power of metta.

Instructions for Practicing Metta Meditation

For those new to metta, below is a guided loving-kindness (metta) meditation by Sharron Salzberg. May you be happy and peaceful.

Cultivating A Relationship With Stillness

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In my experience, one of the most poignant benefits of walking a spiritual path is the opportunity to cultivate a relationship with stillness. In the early years of my practice, stillness was like an unknown continent on the other side of the earth; a foreign land with a mysterious terrain I barely even knew existed. Before I entered the practice, my orientation to life was often like that of a shark: swim constantly, I thought, or else you’ll die! I was often in search of a set of experiences in the outer world that would fill what the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins refers to as the “god-shaped hole” in my heart. In the end, this wasn’t a very sustainable way to live, not if what I was truly seeking was a rich, grounded and meaningful life.

The early years of my practice also featured a good amount of fumbling around as I learned to walk – or should I say crawl? – on this new terrain. I was gaining exposure to an entirely new way of being that, in its formal structure, often centered on the concept of doing nothing at all. On my first silent retreat, my restlessness felt so large that there were many periods of sitting mediation during which I thought a freight train was going to explode right through my chest! Yet something kept bringing me back, something intuitively told me this was the path I needed to follow no matter how excruciating it may feel. Because, the truth is, that even on that first retreat I was able to touch moments of stillness that revealed a whole new way of experiencing this life; a way of being that wasn’t constantly pushing me towards the next thing but was allowing me to rest in the stillness and intimacy of not needing to do anything at all.

I can clearly remember a moment a year or two after that first retreat, I was at a Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction training with Jon Kabat-Zinn at the Mount Madonna Center outside of Monterey, when the full beauty of stillness truly landed for me. During this seven-day training, Jon incorporated three days of silence. During that time, I can recall sitting outside the dining hall one morning after breakfast, there was about a half hour before we were to meet again in the meditation hall, and I had absolutely nowhere to be and absolutely nothing to do. It was a clear, warm spring morning and I simply sat down in a chair in a small courtyard, overlooking the redwoods and Monterey Bay, and did something that was quite shocking: nothing. And not only did I do nothing but I enjoyed doing nothing. I wasn’t thinking and I wasn’t not thinking. I was simply sitting in a chair overlooking the lush green valley below me. I was simply feeling the warmth of the morning sun on my skin. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

As my practice has evolved, I’ve come to a personal understanding of stillness and it’s difference from silence. For me, silence is the absence of noise and distraction while stillness is an embodied quality of being. Silence is something I may be able to influence by going on retreat or by finding quiet spaces and places in my life in which to practice, reflect, or simply rest and relax. Silence can be beautiful and deeply nourishing but it’s not something I can always control. Stillness, on the other hand, is an inner quality that I can nurture and cultivate; it’s a refuge I can always return to because it exists within my body. In a challenging meeting at work, with intense emotions and divergent perspectives swirling all around me, silence may be something I desire but is not available in that moment. However, I can drop into the sensations in my body and seek refuge within a stillness that exists there. I can rest in the interior stillness that follows a few slow deep breaths. Stillness is a resource that, for me, exists both in and out of retreat, both on and off the meditation cushion.

Even in my formal sitting practice, I find a distinction between silence and stillness. For example, while my mind may be very active during a particular meditation – moving from the past to the future, from remembering to planning – my body is actually resting in stillness. While my mind may be far from silent and filled with “traffic,” my body is like a car pulled off to the side of the road. And, when life gets noisy and full of bumper-to-bumper intensity, it’s this car-by-the-side-of-the-road stillness that I seek out within myself. It’s a quality I can call upon no matter what’s taking place in the world around me. Over time, my body has learned to cultivate this relationship with stillness and it has been an unexpected, and deeply nourishing, aspect of my practice.

Car Alarm Lovingkindness

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As I move through my daily life, I know that one of my motivations to stay steadfast in my practice is to support my capacity to respond to the moments of everyday life with more patience, wisdom and care. I have the direct experience of how my practice lessons my suffering and, thus, the suffering of those whom I come in contact with throughout the day. I also know that I am practicing for the inevitable moments when the alarm bells will ring.

I had just one of those “alarm bell” moments recently: While at the gym, relaxed in the let-it-all-go end-of-yoga-class resting pose, I heard my name and “please come to the front desk” ring down the hall. Before I could get there, front desk staff found and informed me that my car had been broken into in the parking lot. My purse was in the trunk.

Fortunately, though my trunk was opened, somehow my purse wasn’t stolen, I was able to quickly change out my bank accounts, and everything turned out fine. What was challenging was my internal experience– a nervous system kicked into survival mode despite a false alarm.

On the day of the event and in the days following, the seeds I’d planted (over years) in my lovingkindness practice produced fruits that lessened my suffering. I had compassion for myself and, on a day following the event, in a moment when I was acknowledging the suffering of the man who broke into my car and sending him well-wishes for healing and peace, the fear running through my mind and body dropped– we were both human beings experiencing suffering, both human beings wanting healing and peace. It was all ok. This level of ease did not last, as a nervous system calms down in its own time, but that moment of no longer experiencing the man who broke into my car as “other” set my mind/heart free. This is the healing power of lovingkindness.

How might our lives change if we were to cultivate the capacity to turn unconditional friendliness, unobstructed well-wishes toward ourselves throughout our daily life? How might this lovingkindness towards our own being then ripple out towards others? Surely, we will each have multitudes of opportunities to inquire, to receive and know our direct experience, as we continue to walk our path.

May all beings be well.

May all beings know healing and peace.

‘Tis The Season To Take Refuge

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Each holiday season, as winter approaches, I often find myself drawn to reflect upon what supports us in staying centered within ourselves throughout this busy season. While the world swirls in gift purchases, holiday events and social plans, I often find myself longing to move inward vs. outward, to balance the busy with the quiet, to reflect upon and recommit to the values and intentions I choose to live from, this holiday season and beyond.

If it fits, I invite you to carve out some quiet space this week to explore what helps to center, nourish and support you throughout the holiday and winter season. In Buddhist terms, “What will you take refuge in?” Or, said another way, “What activities or practices help point you back to awareness, your own inner goodness, the way things actually are, the truth of interconnection?” Practices might include certain helpful views or personal mantras that you hold in your mind. Perhaps something like, “All things are of the nature to change… this, too, will change” or meditation teacher Sylvia Boorstein’s mantra, “May I meet this moment fully, may I meet it as a friend.” Our personal mantras, like the whisper of a quiet wind on a summer’s day, can be gentle, kind reminders to the mind to lean back into our refuge again and again.

Other practices and wholesome activities might include: exercise, talking with a kind friend, practicing generosity, enjoying time in nature, meditation, yoga, experiencing your body and sound as you sip a cup of tea, being mindful of your sense experiences while doing the dishes or preparing a meal, noticing the goodness in others, taking in the sound of the birds outside your office window, connecting with a spiritual community that supports your spiritual practice, gardening, taking a few deeper breaths each time you come to a stop light, etc.

If you currently have a refuge practice, you might explore whether it still fits or what deepens your commitment to it. What do you take refuge in now? If you don’t have a current refuge practice and would like to create one, you might explore what your intention is for this season. Your intention might even become the mantra you whisper to yourself: “Peace, peace, peace”, “Let” (on the in breath) “Go” (on the out breath), “Just” (on the in breath) “Here” (on the out breath), for example. What will you take refuge in?

May all beings know peace and their own inner goodness.
May all beings be well.