The Dakini Speaks
© Jennifer Welwood

My friends, let’s grow up.
Let’s stop pretending we don’t know the deal here.
Or if we truly haven’t noticed, let’s wake up and notice.
Look: Everything that can be lost, will be lost.
It’s simple — how could we have missed it for so long?
Let’s grieve our losses fully, like ripe human beings,
But please, let’s not be so shocked by them.
Let’s not act so betrayed,
As though life had broken her secret promise to us.
Impermanence is life’s only promise to us,
And she keeps it with ruthless impeccability.
To a child she seems cruel, but she is only wild,
And her compassion exquisitely precise:
Brilliantly penetrating, luminous with truth,
She strips away the unreal to show us the real.
This is the true ride — let’s give ourselves to it!
Let’s stop making deals for a safe passage:
There isn’t one anyway, and the cost is too high.
We are not children anymore.
The true human adult gives everything for what cannot be lost.
Let’s dance the wild dance of no hope!
 

 
When I first heard this poem some years ago, it sounded bleak. Dance the wild dance of no hope? With a passion for beauty, creativity, singing, dancing, and music, I simply could not relate. I also couldn’t resolve the spiritual and creative parts of me that sometimes felt as odds with one another. Dhamma retreats that involved sitting, walking meditation, then more sitting and walking mediation for hours and days on end felt dry, as if something were missing. (Maybe this is why I insist on writing, sometimes singing and dancing on silent retreats when no one is looking or listening.)

Now, change and uncertainty have taken center stage. The Dakini speaks, and I am listening. Have I truly missed the deal here? I’m starting to wake up and notice. For me, uncertainty is so unsettling because of my patterns of control. Though I’ve told others this pandemic is not a sprint, but a marathon, I find myself at many imaginary finish lines hoping the race is over.

I want to travel, eat at my favorite restaurants, go on retreat, get together with family and friends, see patients in person, have my hair cut and colored, and not virtually! And I recognize these are minor inconveniences to have, as many others are suffering in real and devastating ways.

So how can I not act so shocked and grieve certain losses fully like a ripe human being? It helps to acknowledge these “losses” with honesty, without spiritually bypassing the true feelings of impatience, anger, sadness, fear, and overwhelm that may be present. The ripeness includes a clear, wise mind asking, “What’s happening now?” and a spacious, compassionate heart asking, “How am I relating to this?”

It’s important for me to remember that this practice is not perfect. Judgements and resistance still arise. All my habitual patterns of control (blaming others, blaming myself, food and retail therapy, meticulously cleaning, strategically planning) are implemented one after the other in the name of protecting the self. And so many things influence the fight-flight-freeze reaction and the tend and befriend response: physical, emotional, economic stability, practice history, etc.

Most days, I find that I am somewhere in between both physiologic processes. A quivering belly, rapid heart rate, and tense muscles are met with earth connection, warm breath, and fluid understanding of not acting so betrayed. Impermanence is life’s only promise, so what COVID-19 is teaching me is not new. I was just in denial.

Just as Toto pulled back the curtain to the great Wizard of Oz revealing an ordinary man, can I strip away the unreal and live with the real, giving myself completely to this one true ride? I’m tired of making deals for a safe passage. If there isn’t one, and the cost is too high, what does it mean to dance the wild dance of no hope? If there is no ground, what can I stand with, stand for?

I don’t have perfect, complete answers to these questions. Like many of you reading this, I’m still sensing my way into ‘answers’, trying to be as patient, honest, compassionate, and open as I can be along the way. Two words, concepts arising in meditation and life practice over the last few days are wholeness and goodness. Despite feeling broken, imperfect, and disconnected at times, I recognize that my purpose as a physician, meditation/movement practitioner, parent, and writer is not to cure everyone, but tap into an energy of healing that happens whenever the heart-mind is truly present and listening. And goodness isn’t a Pollyannish ignorance of the severe and overwhelming destruction caused by this pandemic, but stories of care I’m seeing, experiencing, and hearing about each day.

If impermanence is life’s only promise, then let my response be wholeness, goodness, and care, knowing that it is imperfect. What will your response be?
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As you sit, stand, walk, and lie down with this ground of uncertainty, what is still true for you? The Buddha said, “Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.” May you connect with what is still true for you. May this guide you, support you, nourish you in the days and weeks to come.

(This post was inspired by Sebene Selassie, Sharon Salzberg, and Vesak.)

Find a sacred, quiet place where you can listen to this guided meditation. It's approximately 24 minutes long and set up in three parts. You can choose to pause at any point (will be clear when listening) or listen to the whole thing, trusting your body, mind, and heart to know what feels most nourishing.

Have a journal/paper, pen/pencil (or laptop), and art supplies nearby, in case you want to dive into the reflective journaling, artistic expression right after the meditation. You may also choose to wait, taking any necessary breaks between the meditation and writing/art.
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Writing/Art Reflection

Writing Elements

-Timed writing.  Set a timer for a certain length of time (20-30minutes). Try and write for the full length of time.  Keep the pen moving on paper like a skater on ice.  This will encourage you to keep exploring, even when you feel stuck.  That being said, sometimes the kindest thing is to stop writing if you are feeling overwhelmed by something or feel as if your exploration is complete before time is up.  Writing continuously helps to bypass the left, logical, linear mind and the inner critic to access our creative, intuitive side.

-Nothing will be graded.  Let go of grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc.  Give yourself the permission and space to write in a manner that supports your exploration.  If it’s helpful, imagine you are having a conversation with a kind and supportive friend.  Feel free to say whatever you want to say.  You may even choose to write in your native language.

-If you get stuck, you can always write ideas down like a grocery list.  They don’t have to be complete sentences.  You can also rewrite part of the poem or writing reflection question that stands out to you and see where it takes you.
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-Trust yourself.  If you’d like to write about something other than the writing prompt, feel free to do so.  This is your time to explore in a manner that will best serve you.

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THE BIRDS OUTSIDE MY WINDOW SING DURING A PANDEMIC
 by Lee Herrick (deep bows of gratitude for permission to use this poem)
 
What we need has always been inside of us.
For some—a few poets or farmers, perhaps--
it’s always near the surface. Others, it’s buried.
It was in our original design, though—pre-machine,
pre-border, pre-pandemic. I imagine it like the light
one might feel through the body before dying,
a warm calm, a slow breath, a sweet rush.
There is, by every measure, reason for fear,
concern, a concert in the balcony of anxiety
made of what has also always been inside of us:
a kind of knowing that everything could break.
But it hasn’t quite yet and probably won’t.
What I mean to say is, I had a day dream
and got lost inside of it. There were dozens
of birds for some reason, who sounded like
they were singing in different accents:
shelter in place, shelter in place.
You’re made of stars and grace.
Stars and grace. Stars—and grace.

 
Writing Reflection:
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Have you felt a sense of belonging near the surface or buried for you? Though it was in our original design, which do you identify with more? A concert in the balcony of anxiety, knowing that everything could break, or dozens of birds who sound like they are singing, Shelter in place, shelter in place. You’re made of stars and grace?
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(Have you felt a sense of belonging or separation? Who/what has influenced this sense of belonging or separation?)
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Art Reflection:
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How does Greta Dietrich’s artwork inspire heart connection? How would heart connection, a sense of belonging look like for you?


Dyads: If you decide to share this experience with someone who has also taken the self retreat as above, set up a day/time when you can safely, virtually connect. Decide who will share first, while the other simply listens. (You can choose to set a timer for sharing 10 minutes each, or keep this more spontaneous. Each person should be given the same respect of time.) The one sharing can read what was written, share the process in his/her/their own words, or a combination of both. If you would like to share part or the mediation experience or art process, this is also welcome. The listener listens with his/her/their whole body, mind, and heart without the need to say or do anything else. After the speaker is done, the listener thanks the speaker for the vulnerability it took to share. Then roles are reversed. After both parties have the chance to share, the dyad may choose to move to an open dialogue about the process, or not.

May this offering be of service. I'd love to hear how it goes for you. Donations accepted to support the Southwest Indian Foundation (Navajo Nation).

​It’s not going to happen to me. It happens to older people, people with end stage cancer, daredevils who take risks. The tears I’ve been shedding these past few weeks are for other people who have died from COVID-19 complications, others who are affected socially, emotionally, economically, and physically by this pandemic. Not me.

A few days before my birthday, I started to feel pain in the chest wall. A slight tickle in the throat foreshadowed an ominous cough. But without shortness of breath and a fever, I wondered if this was anxiety or the beginnings of a diagnosis the whole world is keen to keep at bay. Were all those tears for others, or were some to help water seeds of understanding for this life?

With years of mindfulness practice and contemplations of impermanence, one would think I’ve considered the possibility of dying. I’m embarrassed to say that this heart-mind lives in a protective bubble of delusion. Even when my aunt, who was like a mother to me died from a poorly differentiated unnamed cancer six years ago, I still didn’t believe it could happen to me.

Till now. This virus has an eerie way threatening everything. A regular day at work in the outpatient setting with business casual clothing is now replaced with scrubs, tennis shoes, and sometimes full HAZMAT ensemble. A casual trip to the grocery store requires gloves, a mask, hand sanitizer, six feet between patrons, and timing to avoid long lines. Walks in the neighborhood on a sunny spring day feel strangely quiet, as if the outside air will kill on contact.  Zoom has become the virtual safe space where it’s all happening.

As physicians, we dance with illness and wellbeing on a regular basis. We even have end of life discussions with particular patients where prolonging life may sacrifice quality of life and personal wishes. But how often do we contemplate our own mortality?

What’s happening locally and globally is tenderizing this heart- mind like never before. There is a visceral (as opposed to cognitive) understanding that I will not live forever. This body may one day become immune to Covid- 19, but it cannot escape death as it’s natural end.

If you knew that your time on earth is limited, who or what would really matter? Would it be the white hairs showing through darker ones on video visits or zoom calls, or a heightened sense of touch from loved ones sheltering at home with you? Would you still answer “fine” to all the questions from colleagues, family and friends on how you are doing, or would you pause and follow the question to see where it leads?

I believe we have a responsibility to contemplate our own mortality, or at least begin to ask the hard questions. Our patients are facing the fear of sickness and death daily, hourly, every second, in every question asked and every look of a brewing storm just below the surface of feigned tranquility.

How do we find a middle way between anxious overwhelm and blatant denial? Perhaps it starts with opening to what is here, one slow breath, one small step at a time, not trying to predict an unknown future or take shelter in a past that no longer exists. When distracted by thoughts of wishing it were different or that you were elsewhere, the gentle invitation is to return to the present moment with as much kindness, and as little judgment as possible, to notice what’s happening inside your body and heart.  If the present moment is too triggering or overwhelming, it’s skillful to open in baby steps with lots of support.

The energy and effort required for this practice are not the same as striving for good grades, extracurricular activities, and letters of recommendation required for college, medical school, and residencies. You don’t get more points for overperforming. It takes a certain humility and courage to let go of labels, ideas, concepts to touch the bare truth.

Mark Nepo writes, “We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time.

When we hesitate in being direct, we unknowingly slip something on, some added layer of protection that keeps us from feeling the world, and often that thin covering is the beginning of a loneliness which, if not put down, diminishes our chances of joy.

It’s like wearing gloves every time we touch something, and then, forgetting we chose to put them on, we complain that nothing feels quite real. Our challenge each day is not to get dressed to face the world but to unglove ourselves so that the doorknob feels cold and the car handle feels wet and the kiss goodbye feels like the lips of another being, soft and unrepeatable.”
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As we slowly unglove our hearts from all the protective armoring, may we skillfully connect with ourselves and each other, honoring the grief and gratitude arising along the way.

​​Whether you are caring for patients, clients, family, pets, others, the Earth, take some time in silence to recharge and connect with your deepest intentions for being alive. You are not an unlimited resource. Thank you for your care.

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"Spring Flowers" by Bonnie Bertrand
​(click on image to enlarge)

The breath does not ask why this
body is in the shape that it is.
Like the wind, it kisses all parts 
of the terrain with impartial care.
The body sits, stands, walks, lays down 
always in relation with the Earth,
Her tears falling as spring rain,
our tears falling for the lives we can’t save.
Some days the sun peaks through 
dismal COVID clouds threatening 
to blanket and suffocate us all.
When smiles are masked,
hugs and handshakes forbidden,
the eyes still communicate compassion.
Spring flowers still push through 
cracks of uncertainty 
despite a destiny of decay.
May all that we’ve lost seed the soil
for all that can still be gained,
benevolence and interdependence
standing together, six feet apart 
frantic hearts at the front lines
fighting to protect what never dies.

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​Dear Healthcare Workers,

Change is inevitable. With the current pandemic, change at work (and elsewhere) is likely faster than you ever expected. How can you meet these moment to moment changes, acknowledging the thoughts and true feelings underneath them? How can you remember the body that is holding so much right now? Who or what can you count on in challenging times? What does connection, collaboration, and self-care mean to care for others?

If these questions resonate, then perhaps you will find this guided mindfulness meditation for healthcare workers useful.

Thank you for caring!
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As a front-line family physician, I’m used to offering compassionate care to patients, and listening to the care team at work. I’m used to holding space for meditation and reflective journaling classes, supporting family and friends in ways that feel wholesome.

And sometimes it’s overwhelming. With the recent pandemic, the constant barrage of news, work email updates, protocols constantly changing, and questions, there has been little time to contemplate what’s happening within.

This body is also in greater pain than normal. After several months of physical wellbeing with PT and engaging in movement practices I love (yoga, hiking, walking, Qigong), the body has decided to speak (scream at times). I’m sure it’s contributing to the overwhelm with fear eclipsing the things I usually see and remember.

Over the years, I’ve cultivated a strong lovingkindness and compassion practice to face challenges. But somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten to pause for fifteen seconds six times a day to really let joy’s sunlight reach all the dark places within me. To help me remember, I joined an Awakening Joy course.

For a few days I was diligent with the practice, opening like a sunflower to moments of gratitude throughout the day. The pain in the sacroiliac joints and gluteal muscles was improving. Yeah, I thought. I’m on the right path!
Then the body screamed. I’m doing the PT daily. I’m trying to take it easy physically. Where am I going wrong??? In a state of despair and overflowing tears, I reached out to people who could help me remember what I was forgetting. The incoming texts/emails of care and support definitely helped me to remember a few things.

1.) I must put my own oxygen mask on first before I can take on the suffering of others. This means meeting my own suffering with compassionate care and asking, What’s needed now? I’m not always in a quite space to listen, so it’s important to take this time when possible, pencil in an appointment for myself, like I did this morning. 

2.) S.O.S.  I heard this acronym through a prerecorded webinar my work offered titled “Managing the Unknown”. When you notice that you are on information overload, and the brain, body and heart cannot take any more, STOP what you are doing. Stop clicking on more news links online, more email. Stop engaging in conversation that is echoing doomsday. Stop immersing yourself in more secondary trauma. OBSERVE the thoughts and feelings within with kindness. If that’s hard, imagine a kind, supportive being/presence with you. Stay here as long as you need to really listen internally. SWITCH to something that is positive and nourishing – a cup of tea, a conversation with a friend, music, a walk, journaling, humor, etc. (I’ve also heard this as  S.T.O.P.: Stop. Take a breath.  Observe thoughts and feelings. Proceed with something nourishing. 

3.) Stay informed so that you have the latest information from the CDC, WHO, your local state, county, and health care professionals AND ask yourself what else you need to hear so that the scales are balanced. It’s easy to listen to statistics, worsening conditions, and conversations around you that accentuate the negative. What do you need to hear that’s positive? Where can you find this? It might be an inspiring quote, book, movie, song, story, prayer, etc. If you are having a hard time looking, ask others! Try this one on:

"My friends, do not lose heart. We were made for these times. Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good. One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul.”  
-Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Jungian psychoanalyst, author of Women Who Run with the Wolves. 

4.) Which brings me to my next point. Be a calm presence where you can be. Today I had the opportunity to speak with a relative overseas, a local business owner, and a stranger while shopping for groceries. The questions that used to sound like massive missiles attacking were surprisingly welcome. The conversations included some of what I am sharing here. If staying calm is not possible (it’s not expected, even for me), then can you be generous in other ways? Can you call someone who is currently quarantined, or check on them in other ways that do not place yourself at risk? Do you have an extra toilet roll, hand sanitizer, can of food that you’re saving for The Apocalypse? Do you know of neighbor you can share this with, someone who is restricted financially, physically, or by some other means?  Generosity cultivates abundance of heart and mind, widens survival of the fittest perspective into one of interdependence. Just be sure to wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water for at least 20 seconds, and don’t share if you’re sick.

5.) Impermanent/Imperfect/Impersonal. Physical pain and global pandemics can feel permanent, imperfect, and personal. It sure feels perpetual, messy, and personal to me right now. But if I take a closer look, there are moments when the body isn’t raging, even parts that feel neutral or pleasant. There are times when corona virus is not the main news infecting body, mind, heart, and spirit. It was not the main news when I dropped my daughter off or picked her up from school, on a mini retreat this morning in sitting and walking meditation, while brushing my teeth or taking a shower. 

It can also help to remember that others are affected by what’s happening, just as you are. Knowing that so many lives have been affected, what can you keep doing regularly to maintain some sense of normalcy? (If you or someone you know has been significantly harmed physically, emotionally, financially, etc. please grieve the way that you need to. ‘Normalcy’ may be the last thing you need to hear/read.) Maybe it’s the way you comb your hair, brush your teeth, sip morning coffee or tea, go for a walk/run, meditate, eat, work, hug/kiss healthy family members, sing, dance, or any number of things you normally do (and are still doing:) Though change is inevitable, it’s healthy to maintain contact with who/what is familiar. It can nurture a sense of safety in times like this.
 
 
 
surrender
to a beating heart
an unsettled belly
a hand on each one
just sensing
just breathing
prana providing companionship
through every future unknown
 
 
This post is not written to negate the true feelings that are here: fear, anger, loneliness, despair, etc. It isn’t a spiritual bypass to a happier place untouched by illness or suffering. (If you know of such a place, let me know!). I needed to sit with all the paralyzing thoughts, feelings, and physical manifestations of them. I will likely be sitting with them for some time. Surrendering to a beating heart and unsettled belly, I placed a hand on each one, just sensing, just breathing, prana providing the companionship that was so desperately needed. I know that this simple act is not enough to heal the world, but it is certainly “mending the part of the world that is within my reach” through every future unknown.
 
May these reflections be of benefit to all beings everywhere without exception.