Yoga from the Neck Down
 
Sensations speaking, 
not caring if I injure myself 
or look like an expert yogini to others.
Pleasant, unpleasant, neutral
like relatives knocking on the door.
Let me in or I’ll blow your house down!
Tensing against or bowing,
allowing in each asana,
opening the door to the heart
knowing I can always say
no thank you
when it doesn’t feel safe,
when metta for the one who is breathing
is yet to be known and named.

 
In yoga class we welcomed parts of ourselves that felt separate, unwanted, like an orphan abandoned by disturbed parents. I embraced Sadness, a child left behind by circumstances and raised with the South Asian conditioning of honoring family over the individual. Add on a chatty Buddhist inner critic, and I was sure to blame myself when things went ‘wrong’ with others.
 
In Parami, Ways to Cross Life’s Floods, Ajahn Sucitto asks, “Does your energy come from interest and aspiration, from willingness of heart? Or is it caught up with trying to climb the wrong mountain?” When thoughts and feelings are directing an unpleasant interaction, it’s tempting to believe the story movie mind is projecting. I can’t tell you how often I’ve replayed scenarios, wasting precious energy and time trying to create Leave It to Beaver, Brady Bunch, Family Ties episodes or Facebook videos to replace the ones that are actually happening. How can this being (who is a mindfulness ‘expert’) fail so royally at fixing things. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough.
 
I decided to try something different in class today, to practice yoga from the neck down. If unpleasant sensations arose, I didn’t jump to the conclusion that an irreparable injury was imminent. When feeling strong and grounded in a pose, I didn’t assume the pose was perfect and everlasting. If nothing was calling for immediate attention, then a river of breath became the object of awareness as it meandered though the body and surrounding landscape.
 
These sensations felt like relatives, sometimes perceived as The Big Bad Wolf, physically and energetically knocking on the door to this body and heart. My tendency has been one of two extremes: barricading the door with everything I’ve got or opening wide and completely losing balance. What would it mean to fully appreciate the tensing against or bowing and allowing in each asana (pose)?
 
Sucitto writes, “We can never arrive at the imagined perception, but we always experience the results of our intentions. So the important thing is to examine, clarify and stay in touch with our intentions — not our imagined goals.” I can now make space for Sadness in my life, showering her with loving presence and the promise that I will never abandon her. She is key to understanding life’s sinusoidal pattern, that the distance between peak and trough is shorter when intentions are known and implemented.
 
May I be patient and kind.
May I listen to understand.
I have the right to retreat from unpleasant conversation when I don’t feel safe.
 
At first glance, these intentions may sound like they are for others. But when I read them again and listen internally, I can sense what is needed externally, knowing I can always say, “No thank you” when it doesn’t feel safe, when metta for the one who is breathing is yet to be known and named.
​
This isn’t Leave It to Beaver, Brady Bunch, Family Ties episodes or Facebook videos. It’s Real Life, and I want to participate fully, asking, investigating. What happens when I try to control things? What happens when I let go?
 
What happens when the energy of wise intention and discernment is implemented?

Fools gold or the perfect diamond. The ego swings between deficiency and excess. What is the middle way between these two extremes? How does one uncover the True Nature inherent to all sentient beings?

I find my own life pendulating between both sides. At one end, other mindfulness teachers attract a larger audience while I’m screaming on the inside for attention. My daughter idolizes my husband and looks past me with irritable tolerance. I am not welcome in certain homes and hearts because there is something wrong with me. 

At the other end, I am a unique healer who offers compassionate, healing presence, a writer who articulates sincere reflections from the heart better than others. If someone else displays these traits, they are a threat to my very existence.

Over time, even a swinging pendulum will evolve towards a state of equilibrium, a still point. Where is this place of stillness for the ego? What is my name here? Who is writing this blog piece right now?

Mind and heart agree to meet in this moment. Mind agrees to project poignant memories free of a solid self. Heart agrees to the virtues of compassion, patience, trust. Bodhicitta awakens.
​
No teacher or student, no mother or daughter, no insider or outsider, no healer or patient, no writer or reader.


The Peace of Wild Things 
by Wendell Berry 


When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
 in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
 I go and lie down where the wood drake
 rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
 I come into the peace of wild things
 who do not tax their lives with forethought
 of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
 And I feel above me the day-blind stars
 waiting with their light. For a time
​ I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.


Sometimes in nature or meditation, while writing, parenting, holding space for patients and class participants, or engaging with others, the bobbing ego rests. There is no need to move towards a state of deficiency or excess, but rest in the True Nature pattern intrinsic to the fabric of all life.

May 2018 be the year i come into the peace of wild things, resting in the grace of the world, sensing hearts beating, meeting, blossoming open like lotus flowers still anchored to muddy egos, yearning to be free.

Balance, ©

You don't have to be perfect,
just present for the gift of insight  
each time you breathe into this moment.
The top ten hits can fade into silence
as you listen for another song-
one you've always known
but conveniently forget
when joy wrestles with sorrow.
The tipping point between peaks
and troughs of experience 
was never controlled by others,
but the balance inside your own heart.
 
Do you ever get tired of listening to your top ten hits, songs you play repeatedly sending the same subliminal message of victimization and entitlement?

He doesn’t care about me. She isn’t trying as hard as I am. My body isn’t supposed to feel this way.

It’s easy to blame someone else for your disappointment, or point the finger within. After all, your life would be perfect if he/she would stop saying this or doing that, if you could whip yourself into the shape of perfection.

What insights do we miss when we are too busy scurrying around like mice to fix someone else or ourselves? What covers do we use to hide vulnerability, to push discomfort down so deep that we are shocked when it resurfaces.

Where did this come from? I don’t recognize it.

And if I do recognize it, why on Earth would I ever want to engage? Isn’t it easier to blame?

The Song of Silence is our greatest ally. It’s where we can press the pause button and quiet the core beliefs. Joy was never wrestling with sorrow. Both were always dancing, taking turns to share the spotlight.

Balance comes when we recognize that the tipping point between peaks and troughs of our experiences was never controlled by others.

You are not the reason for my absolute joy. You are not the reason for my absolute sorrow.

Is it possible that all beings simply mirror your capacity for both ends of the spectrum?

Whether he cares about you or not, whether she is trying as hard as you are or not, whether your body is cooperating or not, your heart alone carries the capacity for equanimity.

This is not an ideal to perfect, but a possibility to practice. In the relative realm, we crash into each other and demand payment for damages incurred. In the absolute realm, we are all jewels in Indra’s net and speak/act accordingly.

You must understand what it means to live between the balance of these two realms, “to let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final. Don’t let yourself lose me.” (Rainer Maria Rilke)

Who is this me? As you practice breathing into each moment, touching each vulnerability and bathing it in the blessing of loving awareness, may you find “an unshakeable freedom of heart”. (heard from Dori Langevin) May you pause long enough for silence to disarm doubt, till the balance inside is the me you recognize.

After the first Dedicated Practitioner’s retreat, I’m deeply humbled by my opinions, especially in the context of ethnic, economic, educational, sexually eclectic, gender, age-related, and able-bodied diversity.

I watched how comparing mind categorized my views as inferior, ignorant, in need of something more than what I had.  I felt like an outsider standing in a cold blizzard watching others through a window gathered around a warm fire in intimate conversation.  At other times, I labeled my views as superior, so sure of where I stood on solid ground.  I wanted to stay with people who promised comfort and connection through common perspectives based on shared experiences.

Post retreat, I realize how my experiences in small and large groups there echo my experiences in everyday life.  I tend to size where I stand compared with others.  Compassion naturally arises for this comparing mind because I know I am not alone.  Others experience this, too.

According to Shakil Choudhury, author of Deep Diversity, “We tend to tilt towards those most like ourselves and away from those we perceive to be different.  When we feel included, we tend to soar.  When excluded, we tend to underperform, second-guess ourselves, and in extreme cases, get sick.” (pg.25)

I remember when my mindful parenting and yoga mentor, Jackie Long was pregnant with her son.  Fumbling with my daughter’s care for the first few years of her life, I desperately wished I could push the rewind button for a second chance at parenting.  I yearned to embody Jackie’s maternal wellspring of wisdom and grounded loving presence.  Jackie’s words at that time were clear and kind.  “You admire me because you are looking in the mirror at yourself, a part you don’t recognize.”

Now, having a better understanding of Right View, I realize that no being is isolated in their magnificence or modesty.  We all carry the potential for each extreme.  Perhaps the Middle Path begins with awareness of our intentions and how they inform and inspire our actions.  I don’t need to emphasize expertise or deny knowledge/intuitive wisdom that can help heal myself and others.  When my ego is inflated, I can invite the person with a pin willing to pop me gently.  When I’m feeling stupid, I can remember my potential to learn.
 
We weave stories through one another,
dancing patterns of dread and delight.
No single colored strand is responsible
for holding the whole tapestry together.
Still, when one end of fabric frays
surrounding threads unite to stitch
the frazzled edges with kindness,
till each fiber is strengthened
by the eclectic, elegant design.
 
We weave stories of expertise and ignorance through one another.  Know single being knows it all or can possibly hold the whole tapestry together.  But when one person dominates or feels deficient, others surrounding him/her/them can unite to meet this being with kindness, curiosity, and peaceful engagement till all members of the group are strengthened by the eclectic, elegant design.

The tapestry is only as strong as each individual thread.  It is also quite fragile, blood-stained with ancestral stories, bright with the healing faith of our collective potential.  May we recognize the divinity inside one another.  May we honor the sacred within.

(Note: For questions to spark personal reflection regarding racial differences and enhance self-awareness, see Deep Diversity, pg. 44.)

The Stairs at Battery Crosby, San Francisco, CA by atmtx photo