Dear Piriformis Muscles,
 
I hear the burning call of anger
The quivering fear with each step
Disappointment and impatience asking
Where do we go from here?
 
I’m sorry I mistrusted you
Left you all alone
When you needed me most
Needed someone to understand
 
I’m here for you
For as long as the healing takes
Here to hold you, support you
Grateful for your special part
 
In keeping this body whole
 
For the last month, I’ve heard the burning call of anger, the quivering fear with each step, disappointment and impatience asking, “Where do we go from here?”.

Eleven years of mindfulness and compassion practices weren’t enough. I needed help. “Help me understand what I’ve forgotten, what I need to know now!”

Who was I calling out to, and why wasn’t self-compassion working?

As the piriformis muscles continued to burn and ache with each step, I turned to supportive family, wise friends, and healers who might help me remember. This is what I discovered.

Honesty. I can’t heal what I can’t feel. I’m so used to having a plan, knowing the answer, using spiritual practice to bypass what’s asking for direct attention here and now. Why feel if I know what will heal? The problem with this logic is that I can’t possibly know what will heal, until I’m honest about the anger, fear, disappointment, and impatience present. Until I’m really willing to listen to them, let them be as they are, and show me what is standing behind them. They are not roadblocks to compassion, but doorways.

This is what I’m feeling right now. It’s OK. It’s not bad or wrong. There’s space for these feelings.
 
Compassion. Compassion is the softest thing I know that cushions the hard edges of reality. It’s what I often use to shield my heart against the extra arrows of self-judgement. It’s easier to practice compassion for someone else who is suffering, and feels selfish, self-indulgence to include myself in the circle of compassion. Over the years, self-compassion became the parent, partner, best friend I was seeking, the ally who never let me down.

 I care about this pain. Others have bodies that break down and disappoint them, too. It’s not my fault.
 
Patience. I’m still surprised by how often I use self-compassion to bargain with life. Look, I’m being gentle and kind. Why is the burning, aching sensation still here? Why do I still feel stiff like the Tin Man? Isn’t self-compassion the oil needed to lubricate this stiffness so I can move pain free? Patience asks me to wait, to let the answers come in geological time. Sometimes, I’m not sure I can wait that long, but am always surprised and humbled by the outcome when I surrender to the elements that shape each and every experience.

This won’t last forever. Everything changes. May I be patient with the impatience.
 
Gratitude. When physical, emotional pain strike, it’s like a large, dark stain on a beautiful dress, a hole in a perfect picture, the uninvited guest to a party. Help! Bring my old life back! The negativity bias deletes all memories of these piriformis muscles supporting the birth of a beautiful child almost thirteen years ago, meditation and yoga postures that have offered profound joy and peace, hikes that have brought me closer to the womb of the Divine Mother than ever before.
​
Thank you for carrying this body, for supporting each brave step as best as you can into the future unknown.
 
Trust. If old age, sickness and death are inevitable who or what can I trust? Why even try to celebrate the 10,000 joys if sorrow is just around the corner, waiting to shadow the light? I’m not sure there is a simple answer to these questions. For me, it’s a partner who wonders what I am trying to prove, recommending I take Advil and rest the body that is being pushed to continue the elliptical and yoga stretches despite obvious signals of discomfort. It’s a teenage daughter who offers glimpses of care and concern by gently patting my behind despite raging hormones and peer conditioning. It’s a mother who cooks and offers to do the dishes when she sees me wincing in pain. It’s a friend who recommends a gentle chiropractor because she knows what I want in a healer. It’s other friends who offer up compassionate listening presence like the sweetest dessert when I have forgotten how to offer it to myself. It’s a chiropractor who alleviates my fears by reminding me of the body’s intuitive capacity to heal itself. It’s Qigong helping to move stagnant energy and encourage flow. It’s wild turkeys on a hike reminding me that life still goes on, a dim sun with so much potential to burn through the fog with love, the Great Mother promising to always be there no matter how this body ages or whether I have direct access to Her.
 
The people, places in my life will come and go, but there will always be someone, something to remind me of what matters most.
 
May this reflection inspire all beings everywhere without exception. May we learn to stay with our own experience, so we can support others on their healing journey.

​water
flowing,
         falling, 
freezing, 
m e l t i n g,
taking on the shape 
of what's needed
to heal
 
Today I was listening to the sound of water falling in the shower.  It was hypnotizing, melodic, soothing.  When I am in flow with life, it's easy to be kind to others and myself.

But when things feel hard, I freeze. It takes more conscious effort to be kind. It's easier to become reactive, adding more wind and fire to an already volatile situation. And these elements don't help thaw my self-righteous, hurt identity.

Leslie Booker's talk on Embodied Wisdom reminds me how all thoughts and emotions have elemental manifestations in the body. When the force of these elements are strong, unskillful actions can burn and blame others or myself to obtain quick results and relieve discomfort.

In contrast, skillful action is motivated by patience, curiosity, openness, and a desire to foster connection. But I cannot feel supported by the ground beneath me or flow with my surroundings without learning how to tame the fire and wind energies within.

I must take refuge in someone or something larger than myself (meditation, nature, journaling, talking to a trusted teacher or friend). When the wildfire is contained in the heart's afterglow, my frozen self begins to melt. Tears fall, and wise action is no longer a foreign concept, but embodied by an earth child who has grown into the avatar of Kaveri, a woman flowing to meet her source, to know her True Nature. There is a sincere wish for all beings to be free.

May our elemental natures take on the shape of what's needed to heal. May we embody skillful action in ways that are most meaningful to us.

footprints carved in sand
erased on demand
where are you going
the tides ask

the slate wiped clear
we all start here
elemental
to understand 

Walking along the North Shore of Kauai at Black Pot Beach, I notice my footprints trying to leave a trace of who I am.

"Where are you going?", the tides ask.  "I'm headed towards my first Dedicated Practitioner's retreat!" I respond with enthusiasm and certainty.

What does that even mean?
 
I used to think this name, this body, this incarnation was fixed, static.  This is who Kaveri is.  This is what Kaveri's body is supposed to do.  An unanticipated cold and sciatica flare have humbled me.

As I read the egreetings, I am introduced to different names, places, occupations, ages, gender identities and sexual orientations of spiritual family members who will undoubtedly shape the next few years of my life. Who am I in the midst of all these beings?  How would I like to introduce myself?  Who are you all in between names, titles, words?

As waves wipe the slate clear, may i empty this mind of preconceived notions.  We all start here in this moment, together.  May our footsteps dissolve into the elements, to touch alternate shores of understanding.

Thank you for beginning to tell me who you are.  May the unveiling also be an undoing of separate selves...

Image by Johnnie Lawson