Meditation Practice

An advanced Buddhist Meditator instructed a portion of our Yoga Teacher Training this weekend. She led us through three short meditations, an experience so enjoyable that it has only strengthened my desire to embrace meditation as a form of play and prayer. ( I say play because I don't want to approach meditation with goals and agenda - it's counterproductive.)

During the first session, I was so focused on calming my mind and following the breath in and out of my nostrils that I didn't notice my legs slowly, very calmly, falling asleep. When the gong ended our 15 minutes, I tried to unfold myself only to find that I had no sensation whatsoever from the pelvis down. Complete absolute numbness. I had to move my legs with my arms. No pain, no tingles, just nothingness from half of my body.

Which proves what I've suspected- my legs are way more advanced than my mind!! :)

It was an interesting experience. I stayed very calm and feeling came back gently over the next few minutes as I let myself stretch out.

The three Poisons that lead to suffering, according to Buddhist teaching:
1. Desire (as in greed, longing, dissatisfaction, and also clinging and attachment)
2. Aggression (violence, but also Resistance which is a subtler form of violence)
3. Ignorance (not knowing or recognizing, but also Ignoring)

Sitting in meditation doesn't achieve the goal of wiping the mind clean or stopping thoughts. Thoughts simply don't stop. What it can do is teach us to have that bit of space, that Equanimity of mind that lets us stay a bit more balanced as the chaos of life arises.

Meditation

How long to sit for meditation?

As I am very restless, here's what I tell myself -

When we meditate, we experience the Now, only this moment, always this moment, the Now.

That one single moment holds everything, Infinity, all of time and space within it.

Therefore, what does it matter how long meditation lasts by external time measures? Even one minute is enough to experience the timeless state of Now.

Poetry, Then

Poetry, then, is not an answer
But only a process
A drawing down into the self

During hypnosis I drift my
Conscious mind down, down
To the silt-silked bottom
Of a tranquil lake

Having myself lie, still and serene
With the great calm weight of the
Water pressing full around me

Like poetry

I wear glasses now
With an intellectual look
That others admire

And every day I ask myself

Who am I?

8-26-07


(After reading an interview with
new Poet Laureate Charles Simic.)

Nibbling Olives with God

So another day, another yoga class. My goal this week is daily attendance. After a wonderful class with many twists, downward facing dog, upward facing dog, frog pose, crow pose (darn it!), and my improved kick-ass tree pose as practiced on the sunny shore, we stretch out for relaxing Savasana.

As always, I’m eager to find out what my experience of this relaxation will be. You’ll remember that yesterday my body faded away. No such luck today. Body’s still there, whispering little reminders. Mind’s still there too, ticking along like a happy little wristwatch. Here, there, everywhere go my thoughts. Tick, tick, tick.

Oh, well. I breathe and accept it. The instant I do it all deepens for me. Suddenly, I am plunged through my inner self into the vast limitless expanse that lingers there. God is waiting for me.

“Oh, so delightful to see You!” I think.

God gives his usual wry and loving wordless reply.

“Yeah, yeah, You are always here. I’m the one who forgets to visit. Okay, I get it.” God doesn’t mind if I roll my eyes, or get a little attitude sometimes. He’s pretty forgiving.

Today, God is like… God. Traditional. Male, benevolent, paternal, wise and kind. Often my conception of God is of a willowy red-haired woman who wears flowing, green gauzy dresses that set off her creamy skin. She is ageless, beautiful and lives in an indescribably charming cottage in the midst of a lush, flower-filled garden. We like to chat and eat homemade cinnamon rolls in her welcoming parlor.

Today, God wants to go somewhere. He takes me out to a nearby bar and orders martinis. I love this bar; it’s classy, well appointed, and vaguely European in a cosmopolitan way. God has (of course) good taste.

It’s just what I need too. Just a chance to hang out in the comfortingly dim light, watching the glowing end of cigarettes, and grooving to the music that wraps around us like a warm haze. God likes His music with some bass. It’s a little loud for me, but I’m not about to complain.

I sit there and sip, and groove, and relax. When our drinks are gone, we nibble our olives and smile at each other. “Delicious,” I say, “Thanks so much.”

Across the studio, the music fades and the teacher chimes the copper bell three times. I come back into my body on the mat, chuckling as I roll up to easy pose. Namaste.

Yoga at the Edge of the World

For like the fourth Sunday in a row, my family goes to the beach for the late afternoon and dusk. I cannot help myself. I have become the kind of person who sits on the shore, right at the water’s edge, and does yoga.

I worry somewhat about this. I don’t want to look pretentious, laughable, or more likely, crazy. I even ask my husband, Do I look okay? I reassure myself that I must look passably socially acceptable because I have the perceptible normalcy of spouse and lovely children going for me.

In any case, my ego worries are not as strong as my irrepressible urge to celebrate the glory of the beach. What better than with my favorite and most heartfelt kind of prayer?

There is no yoga surface as intriguing as sand. You haven’t done standing poses until you’ve done them on shifting sand in the moving sea. (Yeah, technically, I haven’t done them either because I always fall. But that’s so not the point.)

Also irresistible to me is doing poses atop the rough rocks that dot the shoreline. I did some kick-ass tree poses, made all the more awesome by the rugged uneven rock below my feet, the constant churning of the water, and the danger that if I lose my balance and fall, I am not only going to be completely embarrassed as onlookers rush to my aid, but I am also going to seriously injure myself on a lower rock. Nothing makes you focus on balance in the present moment like the awareness that both your body and your pride are in peril.

Sitting in lotus on the unforgiving yet so comforting surface of a broad sun-warmed rock, my breath and the rhythm of the ocean are one. The horizon …and me… and you… are everything.

Away From Body

Maybe because I am so tired, during final relaxation I achieve a state of body-lessness. I feel myself floating around and that just-before-sleep feeling washes gently over me as my body’s heaviness relaxes down into my mat.

I don’t fall asleep. I remain aware and conscious, but with almost zero sensation from my body. Just pure energy of me.

It reminds me of the deep relaxation and detachment from physical senses that I’ve experienced through hypnosis. It’s very relaxing to feel myself as a disembodied consciousness.

Also very paradoxical, because usually in yoga I work to be less in my mind and more in my body. I love yoga. I never know ahead of time what I will experience.

Man, I can’t wait to start my teacher training and go even deeper.

Broken Beer Bottles

(Note- I actually wrote this on January 23, 2008. It's been hanging around waiting for me to get this blog up and running.)

I treated myself to a trip to the park today. I love the park. I go there for a double reason – to be immersed in nature and to be immersed in my Self. Walking the trails through this particular park soothes me and helps me think. My exploration becomes a walking meditation, a large-scale labyrinth that I am unfurling with my motions as my heart unfurls its emotions.

Trees grow, wind blows. Birds chirp, call, and circle in the sky. Squirrels hop from tree to tree. Various nooks hold benches that invite me to sit and reflect.

One spot I adore is a concrete hexagon terrace overlooking an orange grove. This morning, I notice that someone has been partying here again. That tends to happen. Apparently, I am not the only one who finds this spot the perfect place to hang out.

I can tell partiers visited because they have shattered their discarded beer bottles. The broken shards of glass trouble me. They contrast with the atmosphere of peace and growth. One time I threw away two dozen bottles that thoughtless rowdies had hurled down among the orange trees. The soft earth kept them from breaking.

These couple of bottles had no such luck. They have fragmented into hundreds of pieces against the hard stone. I am about to walk on when I realize that there is something I can do. I can pick the fragments up.

I have a little internal debate, listing all the reasons that I don’t have to take on this chore. Yes, it will be hard, Yes, it will take a while. Yes, I should be careful. No, I don’t HAVE to take the responsibility.

But I choose to.

I kneel and begin to tidy up. Slowly I bring my attention to the task. I begin to practice being mindful. The first challenge I notice is that I am impatient. I try to get away with only picking up the biggest pieces. I am skipping on to the next one before I have even finished with the one in my hand.

I access gentle compassion and tell myself to slow down. Take your time. You have nowhere else to be, I say. I pick up each piece slowly. I notice their shapes, their textures. Some are brown squares; others splintered into knife-like shards, miniature amber icicles. Truly, they are beautiful. I consider that people from the long-ago past would have viewed these crumbles with awe. What I conceive of as annoying trash would have been a miraculous substance.

I watch my hands. They are amazing. I feel my cupped left hand, patiently receiving each new chunk. I watch my fingers move on my right hand. I am so grateful to have full use of both of them. If I move slowly and with attention, there is very little danger of cutting myself.

I shift my awareness to my posture. I am in a crouch, knees bent. Because I am right-handed, I have a good placement with my right leg. My foot is directly under my knee and I can lean, reach, or swivel. But when I notice my left leg, it is not so happy. My knee is well ahead of my foot and it feels cramped and overworked. I would never adopt this pose in Yoga. Why should I do it here as I work?

I plant my feet firmly and straighten my legs into a hanging forward bend. This is much better. Now my body is symmetrical and I have good range of motion for my hands to work.

It takes some time, but I gather three handfuls of broken glass. When I am done, the damaged bottles are gone.

Later, someone will come back here and drink again. And they will smash their bottles. I know this.

That’s not the point. The point is that for this little while, I paid attention. The point is that I made a positive difference in the external world and myself.

The point is that I said Thank You to the park that I love, and I got gifts in return.

Is There an X in Here?

The steamy swirl of my morning shower bathes me in self-reflection. As I luxuriate in the soft, fragrant lather of botanical soap and shampoo, I check in with myself. It’s a wonderful rejuvenating time when I process through emotions or set intentions for the day.

This morning, I reflected on ways my life has changed and ways it’s stayed the same. So what? I thought. It is what it is. Before it was something else. And before that it was some other thing else. And before that… And so forth.

But now it is here. I am here, in these roles and daily routines. I loved those other times and roles in my life. Now I can love these. I can simply let now be where my attention is. And thus my happiness.

In class yesterday, P. wanted us stretch our arms and legs off the corners of our mats while lying on our stomachs. She had a bit of difficulty describing that. Oh, I thought, she means make yourself into an X.

X marks the spot. X shows the spot where I am. Here.

Then I was there. Now I am here.

The Truth Is...

When I first realized that I wanted to be a writer, completely lacking any self-confidence, I learned quite a bit about how to approach writing from Natalie Goldberg’s excellent books – three about writing – Writing Down the Bones, Wild Mind: Living the Writer’s Life, and Thunder and Lightning- and one book – Long, Quiet Highway – about her spiritual work in the Zen Buddhist Tradition.

I learned a lot about writing. What I didn’t realize is that I also learned a lot about Zen Buddhism. Later, when suffering poured upon me, it was this foundation that helped me to accept it without submerging. I had gleaned a sense of how to sit in the emptiness, and how to hold the silence. I still fight, of course, but I continue learning.

Anyway, from time to time, I’ll post an excerpt from Goldberg’s books. I think you’ll like them:

“Loneliness

My great teacher, Katagiri Roshi, is sick now and I am very sad. I think about the six years I was with him in Minnesota. I want him to be well again for himself. I realize he has already given me everything. I do not need to be greedy and think I can get more from him. My job is to penetrate what I already know so that I live it day by day. So I am not separate from it.
When I finished writing Writing Down the Bones in Santa Fe in 1984, I went to visit Roshi in Minneapolis. I showed him the book. I said, ‘Roshi, I need a teacher again. The people in Santa Fe are crazy. They drift from one thing to another.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t be so greedy. Writing is taking you very deep. Continue to write.’
‘But, Roshi,’ I said to him, ‘it is so lonely.’
He lifted his eyebrows. ‘Is there anything wrong with loneliness?’ he asked.
‘No, I guess not,’ I said.
Then we talked of other things. Suddenly, I interrupted him. ‘But, Roshi, you have sentenced me to such loneliness. Writing is very lonely,’ I stressed again.
‘Anything you do deeply is very lonely. There are many Zen students here, but the ones that are going deep are very lonely.’
‘Are you lonely?’ I asked him.
‘Of course,’ he answered. ‘But I do not let it toss me away. It is just loneliness.’
So there you have it. There are days I think, how did I get into this writing? But here I am. And the truth is I wanted it.”

Lost in Thought

Thinking mind can be quite obtrusive during yoga. Today while I was lying on my back finishing up bridge pose, my mind wandered away into its own thoughts, and I missed the next instruction. I heard people moving so I glanced around. The other five students were stretching out their arms and placing the soles of their feet together. So I did too, hoping the teacher didn’t notice that I lagged. After several breaths, P. told us to switch our legs so that the other leg was crossed on top. The only problem was that none of us had our legs crossed!

So I guess nobody heard the first instruction correctly.

Maybe we were all off somewhere else in our thoughts…

Locked Out

(Written in January 2008)

This weekend I was planning to attend a workshop taught by my yoga teacher. The topic: Finding Out What You Really, Really Want for the New Year. It promised to be a soul-searching session of self-discovery and deep reflection where we would set intentions to achieve desired goals.

Yep, I was planning to attend. I was planning it all the way through reserving a spot, paying in advance, and waking up early on Saturday morning. Even though I had developed one of those heavy, congestion-rich colds the day before, I dragged my tired, sluggish body out of bed, dressed, and drove to the yoga studio.

To find the door – gasp – locked!

I was six minutes late. I peered inside at the empty front room; I tried the knob again. I was locked out.

Locked out of finding out what it is that I really want to do. This year. And in my life.

I tried knocking – no response. I tried calling the studio phone as I peeked through the plate glass window. The ringer must have been silenced.

I had to face the fact that I just wasn’t getting in. I stood there next to the jaunty red door, lost and forlorn on the cold, grey sidewalk and almost cried. I had been so excited. I had so eagerly hoped for my true self to be revealed under the clever guidance of my teacher. Now I was just on my own.

The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I was supposed to figure out by myself what it is that I want.

Or perhaps I am simply not yet ready to know.

I took a deep cleansing breath and weighed my options. The increasing morning sunlight warmed and comforted me. Returning to my car, I decided to use my unexpected free time to explore a meditation labyrinth at a nearby church. A big fan of a different labyrinth, I’d recently heard of this one and wanted to compare them. I found it smaller but charming. The rough stone circle nestled peacefully into a well tended garden.

I entered with quiet breath, my hands placed reverently in Namaste. Picking my way carefully along the uneven slate path, I enjoyed the brilliant green of the moss borders, the fresh kiss of the breeze. Tiny birds like clockwork toys flitted about in the low-hanging trees.

On reaching the center, I raised my face to the golden light and did round after round of Sun Salutation. Peace and calm settled over me as I moved with breath. No rushing, nowhere else I had to be. Flush with calm gratitude, I uncurled my way out of the maze.

I still don’t know what I want out of my life. But at least I wrote this.