​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!
​

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.

It needs the right temperature to bloom 
To open to its surroundings 
In full disclosure without apology 
For the time it took to recognize 
It’s power and purpose 
For the time it took to grow
​
I used to think there were only 
Two realities for this lotus heart--
Stuck in the mud of suffering
Or fully open to the sun
And never contemplated 
The possibility of still blooming


After reading an article from The Mindful Self-compassion February newsletter, I was struck by these words:

“And so, for today, I practice self-compassion by congratulating myself on how far I have come – and I refuse to beat myself up over how far I have yet to go.”

How often do I hold myself to a higher standard, some ideal that’s hard to perfect?  If I’m stuck in the mud of suffering, I must have done something wrong. I forget that causes and conditions affect certain outcomes that are beyond my control. And if I’m in full bloom, radiant and joyfully open to the sun, there is a subtle expectation that it must always be this way. No other version is worth acknowledging.

As I was having dinner with a dear friend this week, she pointed to the jasmine bud in my teacup. I stopped paying attention to it after pictures were taken and we were savoring dinner and sweet conversation. “Look. It’s still blooming!”

It’s helpful to remember that just as the jasmine tea bud needs the optimal temperature to bloom, so does this heart-mind. It takes time to understand each moment and what it requires. There are times when skillful speech and action are the norm, and times when I’m triggered by old patterns. To open to my surroundings in full disclosure without apology, to feel power and purpose at the core of my being, I need to remember there are more than two realities.

I am not a static being, but forever changing. There is forgiveness for forgetting that I am still blooming.

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?

In mindfulness practice, I’m invited to fully embody the moment, to move from a thought-based to a sense-based experience. Present moment, wonderful moment. It’s where ultimate peace, freedom, and contentment reside. It’s easy, right?

Wrong! Over the years, I’m humbled by the pitfalls of practice, the holes I still fall into despite a clear cognitive understanding. Maybe the problem is thinking too much.

When things are pleasant, I want to grasp. “It’s mine! Get your own moment.” I try to memorize exactly what was said and done to create the perfect experience. If I can write a wise blog post or meaningful poem, if I can remember that enlightening conversation, I won’t fall into the same hole again. I won’t suffer. I forget how holding on to anyone or anything is like trying to hold water with a sieve or capture a moment in the wild on camera when nature’s flora and fauna refuse to keep still.

When things are unpleasant, I want to escape. “It’s not mine. Get away!” I’ll start to fix the situation with judgments, as if I can correct what’s wrong by erasing a little bit of this person’s character, embellishing the scene to my liking, or adding to my own character that’s flawed. After a few years of practice, I might sugarcoat uncomfortable thoughts and feelings with metta or blanket them in wisdom disguised as delusion, aka spiritually bypassing what truly needs to be felt.

When things are neutral, I want to check out. “It’s too boring. Where’s the remote to change channels?” Fantasy becomes an alternate dimension where I feel more alive. The only problem is nothing is tangible enough to last, and I always have to wake up. If I’ve missed large chunks of reality, it takes more time and energy to catch up, fill in, and make sense of the missing parts.

So how can I train the senses and mind to stay with pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral experiences skillfully without repeating the same, habitual patterns of pulling, pushing away, or projecting?

With grasping, I feel the tension of a tight fist mudra, how the contraction transmits through the forearms, arms, up the neck and forms a viselike band around the cranium, spotlighting the desired object, shrouding signs of impermanence all around me. It’s painful to hold on so tightly. Opening the hand allows fingers to trace the contours of change – rough, smooth, and in between textures without sustaining rope burn. Joyful moments take on a more vivid quality because they are not pressed flowers trapped between the pages of one story, but blooming, dying, and seeding the soil for new stories to emerge.

With aversion, the belly churns acid as volcanic eruptions of undigested contents voice the discontent of anger and fear. The chin and the heart feel heavy with embarrassed hurt. Demons from the past haunt the present and direct an uncertain future.  It’s helpful to welcome all thoughts and feelings as honored guests, bow to them, and recognize that what I am filtering through the sense doors is all conditioned. This is most evident when I am with someone who does not perceive an occurrence the same way. Like a Rorschach ink blot, we see two different things. Acknowledging my ego and views, a window can open between this heart-mind and the outside world to let other realities in.  

This process takes time and can’t be rushed. Honesty means naming what I’m feeling without denial, without spiritually bypassing the alchemical process for fool’s gold. Like a savory dish I’m hungry to eat, it also needs to be seasoned with self-compassion and common humanity, the remembrance that others experience challenges, too. It’s soothing any physical manifestation of discontent in the body with a kind breath, bathing it in loving awareness. It’s understanding that life is not just targeting and making an example out of me.

Another helpful ingredient is patience, not forcing its presence, but reflecting on those who have been patient or things that took a long time to create. Speeding up the lifecycles of certain processes could damage the beauty waiting to be born. Patience walks hand in hand with energy and wisdom, knowing where I can positively shape and influence an outcome, and where I’m building sandcastles, crossing my fingers and holding my breath that the next wave won’t demolish futile efforts. These aren’t innate virtues, but ingredients I’m experimenting with to find what’s flavorful enough to satiate, and what’s bitter to perpetuate craving.

Poet, philosopher, and cancer survivor Mark Nepo says, “To be broken is no reason to see all things as broken.” Joy is a beautiful heart quality when I’m perceiving the glass as half empty. When I sense joy is missing, I picture children on a treasure hunt or playing hide and seek. Their sheer curiosity and effervescent enthusiasm inspire me to intentionally look for connection, what is strong enough to penetrate parts of me that still feel broken, as if to say, “Here’s a sprinkle of stars connecting the dots to a constellation of healing you cannot see, but feel. Don’t give up just yet.”
With neutral moments, it’s helpful to notice when I’m checking out. What am I wanting from an alternate reality that isn’t here? Why? How is this reality providing the sustenance I seek? If not, am I seeing clearly?

Perhaps the greatest ally on this path is faith asking me to ground in the groundless, knowing that the tectonic plates beneath my feet are always shifting. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on solid ground or sinking in quicksand. Both are illusions created by the magic show of wanting this and not liking that. When I am less hypnotized by what’s pleasant, recognizing the unwrapped potential gift in what’s unpleasant, and doing my best to stay awake in what’s neutral, the present moment is not only acceptable, but preferred.

It’s where I will meditate and make love, practice medicine and maternal presence for all, embody and exchange elemental energy in hiking, yoga, and Qigong, sensing stagnation and free flow. It’s where I’ll write with invisible ink because I don’t own the words I’ll soon forget, where I’ll sing for all those who can’t hear the music. I’ll embrace this design, knowing that a kaleidoscope turn will reconfigure the pattern into something I no longer recognize, starting again with the question, “Is this pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral?”.
 
Present moment, wonderful moment. It’s where ultimate peace, freedom, and contentment reside. May this practice, understanding, and reflection be of service to all those who have influenced this journey and beyond…

Unanswered, Unfinished

Hip rotations in one direction and then the other
The sacrum suspended between two sides
What will promote healing and connection?
What will strain the sacroiliac ligaments
Gluteal muscles contracting in anger, fear, sadness
Delusion, disappointment, desperation?
Will forgiveness be enough
To bridge the gap of misunderstanding 
Support spinal alignment
To walk away from the past
Give spacious birth to this moment 
Trust in the blessings and benevolence
Of a bright future?
 
Questions unanswered, the poem unfinished 
And I still practice
Through electric shocks and tears
Sounding the Lion’s Roar from within
This heart is wide open
This heart is ready for anything 
 
 
Dori Langevin invites the Kairos House Sangha to engage in gentle hip rotations during Qigong practice. My hips sway from one side to the other, allowing the sacrum suspended between two iliac bones to trace concentric circles in the horizontal plane. After fourteen years, the sacroiliac ligaments and gluteal muscles release tightly held questions and emotions.

This moment is never enough. There’s always something wrong with others, myself, the time, the place, the weather. I’m even trouble shooting a future I cannot control. But maybe it’s better than here, now, this.

I sense that the lower left back and gluteal muscles send electric shocks through the body from time to time as a wake-up call. “This is your life, your family, your work. Will you keep focusing on what’s missing, or relax into who and what is here?”

Will forgiveness be enough to bridge the gap of misunderstanding with my family, myself? Will it support spinal alignment to walk away from past patterns? Will it give spacious birth to this moment, and stop comparing it with a contracted, unconscious birth fourteen years ago? Will it trust in the blessings and benevolence of a bright future?

I’m more comfortable with leaving this post untitled, the questions unanswered, the poem unfinished than I’ve ever been before. Even through the electric shocks and tears of discomfort, I know I will never stop practicing, sounding the Lion’s Roar from within. As long as this heart is open, it is ready for anything.

 
The Heart’s Radiance

Open a window, let the air in
The shadow side to the heart 
Has been closed for too long
Bow to the cold weather 
Invite the chill in
You can still bundle up
Removing one layer at a time
When you are warm enough
And can feel the sun
 
Practicing forgiveness and gratitude through a body scan in seated meditation posture, I notice tight sensations in the midback. It’s asking me to stay a while and listen.

I’m not fond of the cold weather here in Spokane. It’s mostly cloudy with a mix of rain and sun, not warm enough to open a window and let the air in. But the midback, the shadow side of the heart has been closed for too long.

What if I metaphorically bowed to the cold weather and invited the chill in? I always have the choice to bundle up, removing one layer at a time when I am warm enough to feel the sun.
 
*****
 
It’s cold outside, but I bundle up and commit to each morning walking meditation period. I’m not going anywhere, getting anything done, which is frustrating. This isn’t even ‘real’ exercise! But I stay, noticing footsteps over soft pine needles and damp earth, the sounds of birdcall or the bell, subtle variations of cold sensations, and many thoughts with a common theme, “Why the hell am I out here when it’s so warm indoors?”.

One day while wearily pacing back and forth approximately ten to twelve feet between two ponderosa trunks like a caged animal, I pause to feel the sun peeking through the clouds and winking down at me. “I’m still here. You can’t always see or feel me, but I’m there.”

Later in the day during a brisk walk after lunch, the sun’s radiance is palpable. I remove my raincoat, gloves, and unzip a fleece. It’s easier to shed the outer layers of vulnerability when it’s warm outside, and much harder when it’s cold inside the heart.

May the heart’s furnace be fueled with helpful resources, not only for my own repletion, but for the repletion of others, all beings, this Earth.
 
 
Going Home
 
Watching the sunset from the plane back to SFO:
 
a scoop of rainbow 
sherbet ice cream 
melting over the horizon
good night sweet sun!
now a red streak
between day and night
wakefulness and dreams 
the taste of something solid 
soaked up by a sponge moon
sentinel stars keeping watch
while the sun sleeps
till it rises as honeycomb
and the sweetness begins again

​​Woke up with a pounding headache
Stayed up late last night
Come sit on the zafu
With everything as it is
Thoughts chasing the future
Replaying the past
It’s always better somewhere else
Or is it
Belly tensing against today
What do I need to do
What will the weather be like
Should have stayed asleep
For a better meditation
Waking up later
To practice again
It’s ok sweetheart
Welcome home
Just as you are
Finding the breath as ally
Soothing the body
Gathering swirling thoughts
Collecting them as mementos
For the heart to hold
Getting quiet
Sitting like a mountain
Unmoved by the weather outside
Breathing in oxygen
Breathing out carbon dioxide
Symbiosis with trees
Appreciation
Breathing in his suffering
Breathing out compassion
Breathing in her struggles
Breathing out support
Breathing in their confusion
Breathing out understanding
Breathing in the joy
Of this practice
Breathing out the wish
May others experience this too

Meditative, Qigong Healing
 
Sitting upright, supported by Earth
Warm breath of compassion
Forgiveness, wisdom
Releasing holding patterns of dis-ease
Permanence, a self in control
Clear recognition only gentleness heals


Then standing, feeling the exchange
Of energy between this body
And its surroundings
Invisibly connected to all life
The possibility of universal benevolence
Always a choice despite chaotic patterns
 
The last week and a half were challenging. From viral gastroenteritis to a cough and cold, from asthma like symptoms to worsening muscle strains, from irritation, impatience, disappointment, and exhaustion, it felt like illness was taking up permanent residence in the body. There was so much self-identification with dis-ease states and the mental formations they invoked. There was also a frantic rush to swat the emergence of each new symptom with a medication as if it were an annoying fly that would never go away. Killing it was the only choice.

​Or was it?

As I start to regain some mental clarity and physical strength, it feels important to reflect on what created more suffering, and what eased the suffering. (The word choice of suffering is very personal. If it rubs you the wrong way because you may have a heavier, incurable illness or stress that feels more significant than what I am sharing, feel free to substitute suffering with another word.) Identifying with any symptom, dis-ease or mind state was painful. Trying to overcome it with wholesome mind states like kindness, compassion, even joy was also deceptive, because I wasn’t allowing true feelings like irritation, impatience, and disappointment to throw big tantrums. I wasn’t allowing the fear to be felt, the dark cloud of doubt to be seen and known. The choice to reach for certain medications for relief was wholesome, but there was a subtle aggression against the body for misbehaving and falling apart. The belief in permanence of it all was so strong, that the urge to control the situation felt paramount.

When I chose to feel the cough and compromised breathing with gentle compassion, surrendered to supine meditation posture and gravity, released a known timeline for healing, and reached out to others for loving, healing energy, something changed. There was less identification with an invincible or dysfunctional, in control or chaotic, mindful or mindless, compassionate or critical being. Most days there was a certain percentage of each one.

We live as if everything is black and white, a dualistic mentality that does not allow for shades of gray or degrees of uncertainty. We are healthy or sick, balanced or crazy, paying attention or clueless, kind or vengeful. Is it possible most of us might just live in between the two extremes, always trying to build a reliable house on one side so as not to fall into the abyss between two cliffs of ego?

The need to know, to have things planned and figured out is strong in me. It’s a survival mechanism based on causes and conditions. Now there is recognition, compassion, forgiveness, wisdom to cushion each fall into the abyss of becoming.

The karma of now always offers two choices, suffering and the end of suffering. Robert Frost wrote that two roads diverged in a yellow wood. If you are anything like me, you might see trails in the wood well-trodden in the past from deeply ingrained patterns. There aren’t just two roads, but many paths.
​
Through meditation, Qigong, wise friends, writing, or whatever your support systems might be, may you feel connected to all life, the possibility of universal benevolence always a choice despite chaotic patterns.