You can’t simply dictate the heart. Lovingkindness, goodwill, and compassion naturally arise from our meditation practice, but feeling compassion is not the end of the path. The next step is love in action.

The disarming power of metta (lovingkindness) and karuna (compassion) is this onward-leading interplay of appropriate responses. This great medicine of the heart and awareness has the capacity and the power to nurture your inner life, creating belonging like nothing else, revealing more of our humanity, more of our kindness. And as we deepen into the nonself nature of interbeing, leading to the sure heart’s release, it’s that inner and outer transformation grounded in the power of our dharma practice and awareness that can lead to engagement. It’s ultimately knowing that love liberates. Maybe with this type of engagement with the world, we can effect collective change.

With our practice firmly grounded in the noble eightfold path and embodying metta and karuna, there are many ways to express love in action on a day-to-day basis: reaching out to friends and family to support them, seeking support, and voting. It’s beginning the day with the intention of noticing our projections we have of others. It’s becoming familiar with our habits and patterns and conditioning so that we can uproot them. It’s serving the community in a variety of ways, whether that’s direct frontline action, making calls, writing letters, or writing checks. It’s starting where you are with what you have.

Feeling compassion is not the end of the path. The next step is love in action.

One of my favorite childhood memories is of my grandfather, who was a deacon at a church. He would give what was called the report on the sick and the shut-in, as they called it at that time. He would start off like this: “Our brothers and sisters are shut in but will not be shut out of our hearts.” This church program that he led was called The Good Samaritan, and the Good Samaritans were those folks who served those who were sick, who were in need, without resources, food, money, who could no longer come to church because of old age or because they were living in a senior home. Some were grieving and mourning, others incarcerated. There was this team from the community attending directly to these folks, bringing food, cleaning houses, maintaining yards and property, praying for them, singing to them, talking with them, so that they always remained a part of the community and were resourced and connected.

Their names would be read, and all the hands in the church would be connected, touching in this symbolic radiating of goodwill and kindness, allowing themselves to be touched by the misfortune and the suffering of others. My grandfather always said that his role with the ministry was to know them and to embrace them heart-to-heart.

Years after my grandfather died, I received a few of his notes, and one of them said: “One day, I will surely die, and I’ll die having known a good life and having tended to my heart, yet I could still love more. And I would especially love others more. And I would let this love express itself as a concern for my neighbors, my friends, and everybody that I come in touch with over the phone and then my letters to the prisoners. I would let this love permeate me, overcome me, overwhelm me, and then direct me as we attend to the community.”

That’s love in action.

There are many ways to express love in action, and they begin with mindfulness. They begin with awareness. They begin with our ability to touch our suffering and the suffering of others. They begin with the heartfelt wish: May all beings—including us—be happy, and may all beings be free from suffering. May all beings be happy and peaceful. May they be safe and protected. May they live with ease and well-being. And may all beings awaken and be free.

Practice

I invite you to settle in as best you can in whatever posture you’re in. Notice your bottom on the cushion or your back against the chair, unclench your jaw, lower your shoulders, and take a couple of deep breaths. I invite you to come into stillness, closing your eyes if you’re comfortable, and when you’re ready, take a few slow, deep breaths, letting the breath ground you, arriving right here and right now.

Bring to mind someone in your life who’s having difficulty; someone that you care about. Still connected with breath and body, take a moment to sense the nature of their difficulty and what that might be like for them. See if you can look at the world from this person’s eyes, feel with their heart; see if you can get a sense of what it’s like from the inside—what it’s like to be living in their circumstances. Staying connected to breath and body, ask yourself, What’s the hardest thing for this person? What’s most disappointing? What’s hurtful or scary? What’s the most challenging situation this person is living with?

Still connected to breath and body, sense and feel underneath the words that arise from the point of view of that person. What’s the belief here—that I’ll never get what I want? That I’m failing? That I’m somehow unlovable? How does this person feel that experience in their heart? From the inside out, you might get a sense of what, in this place of vulnerability, they most need or want.

There are many ways to express love in action, and they begin with mindfulness.

Now come back to your own presence, but still sensing that you can feel this person within you as you’re breathing in and breathing out, contacting that vulnerability. With the outbreath, see if you can offer a bit of what’s needed. Perhaps that person needs to be cared for, or they wish to be understood. See if you can breathe in their pain, and as you breathe out, offer your presence and tenderness. Offer your care. “May you be held in the arms of compassion. May you be free of pain. May you be well.” Or maybe simply offer: “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

Feel in your heart this vulnerability and sense the possibility of widening your awareness to include all those who might be suffering in the same way, all those who might be experiencing the same rejection, the same feelings of disappointment or failure. Breathe in for all those who are suffering and allow yourself to be touched by their current vulnerability. Breathe out, letting the heartbeat transform their sorrow: “May all beings be free of suffering. May all beings be free of pain and sorrow. May all beings be well. May all beings be at peace.”

Feeling the heart space, recognizing awareness and whatever is moving through you right now—whether that’s tenderness or numbness or tiredness, happiness, or sadness—just let those feelings arise and pass like waves unfolding in this very tender and open heart. Then, when you’re ready, you can open your eyes.

May you be happy and peaceful. May you be safe and protected. May you live with ease and well-being. And may we all awaken and be free.

♦

Adapted from Devin Berry’s Dharma Talk, “Metta and Karuna: Two Heart Practices to Cultivate in Meditation and Daily Life”

The post Love in Action appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Attachment is a mental factor that causes us to exaggerate the good qualities of an object, person, idea, etc., or project good qualities that aren’t there. It then leads to our wishing for and clinging to the object, seeing it as permanent, pleasurable, and existing in and of itself. This practice helps us to reflect on and work with attachment.

To begin, ask yourself: What specific things, people, emotions am I attached to? How do I view them when I’m attached? If that person or thing exists the way it appears to my attached mind, why doesn’t everyone see it that way? Why do I sometimes feel differently about it? What is a more realistic attitude toward the object of my attachment?

Keep these questions in mind as we continue our exploration. In order to take the ache out of attachment, it’s helpful to first consider its disadvantages. For example, it breeds dissatisfaction and frustration because we continually want more and better things, which prevents us from enjoying what we already have. It causes us to go up and down emotionally according to whether we have the object of our attachment or not. It might motivate us to connive, manipulate, and plot to get what we want. Under the spell of attachment, we could act hypocritically or with ulterior motives, which ends up damaging our relationships with others. Attachment might drive us to act unethically to get what we want, to harm others and increase our own sense of self-hatred and guilt. Ultimately, it causes us to spend our lives chasing after pleasures, none of which we can take with us when we die. Meanwhile, our potential to develop inner qualities such as love, compassion, generosity, patience, and wisdom goes untapped. In this way, attachment effectively blocks our clarity and even our potential for awakening.

Another by-product of attachment is anger. When we are strongly attached to something, we become disappointed and angry if we don’t get it or are separated from it once we have it. Think of an example in your life when that has been the case.

Then examine: Why do I get angry? What is the relationship between my expectations and my anger? What did I expect from the person, thing, or situation that it didn’t have or do? Were my expectations realistic? Was the problem in that person or thing, or in my thinking the person or object had qualities that he, she, or it didn’t? What is a more realistic view of that person, thing, or situation? How does this new view affect how I feel and relate to them?

Attachment causes us to fear not getting what we want or need, and losing what we have. Think of examples in your life in which this has been the case.

Then ask yourself: Do I really need those things? What is the worst-case scenario if I don’t get or lose them? Even if I did, would I be completely without tools to handle the situation, or are there things I can do to meet it effectively? What would happen if I gave up being attached to that person or thing? What would my life be like?

When it comes to relationships, attachment can lead to codependence, causing us to remain in harmful situations out of fear of change.

Consider: What am I attached to that makes me remain in that situation? Is that something worth holding on to? Is it in fact as wonderful as my attachment thinks it is? What would happen if I gave up being attached to it? What internal and external tools do I have to help me deal with the situation?

It is not realistic to expect external objects to be a lasting source of happiness.

Contemplate the disadvantages of being attached to those people, things, experiences in your life that you strongly cling to. Think of the transient nature of the object of your attachment and see if you can accept that change is the very nature of existence. Remind yourself that it is not realistic to expect external objects to be a lasting source of happiness. Reflect on the fact that by letting go, we can enjoy our health, our relationships, any wealth we might have when it’s there, and be relaxed when it isn’t.

Next, we’ll consider some antidotes to attachment. The main attitude to cultivate is one of balance: by eliminating our exaggerations and projections, we can be more balanced in our relationships to those things we want or need. Free of grasping and compulsiveness, we can be involved and caring in healthy ways. The points below are meant for repeated reflection. An intellectual understanding alone does not yield the force necessary to stop destructive patterns.

Reflecting on our mortality helps us to see clearly what is important in our life. Take a moment to imagine yourself dying. Really visualize where you are, how you are dying, the reactions of friends and family. How do you feel? What is happening in your mind? Then ask yourself: Given that I will die one day, what is important in my life? What do I feel good about having done? What do I regret? What do I want to do and to avoid doing while I’m alive? What can I do to prepare for death?

Contemplate the changing nature of the body, from fetus to infant, child, adult, to old person. Some guiding questions you can use are: Is my body composed of pure substances? Is it inherently beautiful? After death, what will my body become? Is it worthy of being attached to? Is there some
inherent essence that is my body? Am I my body?

There’s no question that we must take care of our bodies, keeping them clean and healthy, because they are the basis of our precious human life. By protecting them with wisdom but without attachment, we will be able to practice the dharma and benefit sentient beings.

We often cling to our ideas about how things should be done, to our opinions of who others are and what they should do, to our beliefs about the nature of life. We then become upset when others disagree with our ideas. Ask yourself: When someone criticizes my ideas, are they criticizing me? Is something right just because I think it is? What would happen if I saw things the way the other person sees them? How can I let go of the fear of losing power or getting taken advantage of?

If we see shortcomings in another’s ideas, we can express these in a kind way, without being defensive of our own views. Imagine yourself speaking firmly and clearly to state your opinions, but also remaining nondefensive. Remember to keep opening into a wider view.

Imagine receiving all the approval and praise you have ever craved. Imagine people saying or acknowledging all the things you have ever hoped they would. Enjoy the good feeling that this might bring. Then ask yourself, will this really make me lastingly happy? How do praise, approval, or a good reputation benefit me? Do they prevent illness or extend my life ? Do they really solve the problem of self-hatred and guilt? Do they purify my negative karma or make me closer to liberation or enlightenment? If not, is it worth being attached to them?

To develop our sense of being interconnected with all others and being the recipient of much kindness from them, contemplate the help, support, and encouragement you have received from friends or loved ones. Recognize these as acts of human kindness. Reflect on the benefit you have received from parents, relatives, and teachers—the care they gave you when you were young, protection, education. All talents, abilities, and skills we have now are due to the people who taught and trained us.

Consider all the help you have received from strangers: the home you inhabit, the clothes you wear, the food you eat, were all made by people you do not know. Without their efforts, you wouldn’t be able to survive. Then reflect on the benefit you have received from people you do not get along with and people who have harmed you. Through their actions, they give us the chance to develop patience, tolerance, and compassion—qualities that are essential for progressing along the path.

Love is the wish for others to have happiness and its causes. Begin by wishing yourself to be well and happy, not in a selfish way, but because you respect and care for yourself as one of many sentient beings. Gradually spread this love to friends, strangers, difficult people, and all beings. For each group of people, think of specific individuals and generate love for them. Then let that feeling spread to the entire group.

Think, feel, imagine, “May my friends and all those who have been kind to me have happiness and its causes. May they be free of suffering, confusion, and fear. May they have calm, peaceful, and fulfilled hearts.”

Generate the same feelings toward strangers. Spread the feeling to those who have harmed you or are difficult. Recognize that they do what you find objectionable because they are experiencing pain or confusion. How wonderful it would be if they were free.

As a conclusion, recognize attachment as your enemy. We usually think of attachment as our friend, but when we look carefully at our experience, we begin to see how clinging to things actually destroys our peace of mind and destroys our happiness. And when we see this, then that gives us some energy to want to counteract our attachment and not just to follow it blindly.

This article is based on a guided meditation that Venerable Thubten Chodron often leads on retreats.

The post Taking the Ache Out of Attachment appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Equanimity is part of a group of four, which I’ll call the “qualities of the heart.” This group is made up of benevolence or lovingkindness, compassion, joy, and equanimity. Benevolence is a very natural, basic wish for well-being that we have when the heart is not hindered. It’s a basic wish that we have for others or for ourselves, and when this wish meets what is difficult, it becomes compassion—a particular kind of love or care in the face of what is challenging. When benevolence meets beauty or success or goodness, naturally it rejoices; it becomes joy. Therefore, here we already have three of these four qualities of the heart. The fourth quality is equanimity. Some people describe it as a stability of heart or mind that can meet what is difficult without falling apart, or lashing out, or closing down. It’s the heart that is able to be with what is difficult and is also able to be with what is pleasant without fear of losing it, without wanting to defend, keep, or get more of what we have. Another word that comes to mind for equanimity is composure. When we’re equanimous, we maintain access to our inner resources and to our balance of mind.

These four qualities are very important to one another. When they play together, they play well. Lovingkindness puts us in touch with our basic goodness. Compassion is the capacity to see what is difficult and to be with it. Joy calls to us saying, “Hey, come on this side of reality too; come see what is beautiful.” If they were separate from one another, I think they would become diminished. We’d see only what we like or what works for us. But compassion and joy together make space for what is broken, or rickety, or imperfect. And equanimity gives breadth and depth and duration to all these qualities.

I like to think of myself as benevolent, but I notice sometimes that I’m benevolent so long as things go my way. When they don’t work out as I want them to, my benevolence quickly goes out the window. So equanimity supports and strengthens the other three qualities.

Equanimity requires a strong, courageous intention to stay in balanced contact with what we face.

Courage is another quality associated with equanimity. In French the word for “heart” is coeur. Equanimity requires a strong, courageous intention to stay in balanced contact with what we face. It’s the highest quality in Buddhist psychology because it’s linked to insight and wisdom. Equanimity is not just a decision that we can will into being: “Let me be equanimous, right now, in the face of this difficulty.” It’s based on a deep understanding of the impermanent, unstable, changing, unreliable, and conditional nature of reality. Through insight, through meeting these characteristics of reality intimately and living with them with sensitivity to the changing nature of things, we cultivate stability. But first we have to experience the fleeting nature of events and phenomena. Deeply understanding that things do break leads to a stable heart.

The Practice

I invite you to establish your posture and to then bring your intention to the foreground: “I’m really interested in keeping balance of mind; keeping some kind of calm. I’m really interested in seeing if it’s possible to keep the mind stable and balanced and not fall into worry or fear.” Maybe you want to learn how to hold things with composure and courage. Having this intention, this curiosity to see if doing this is possible, take a moment to feel your body. What does it feel like to be in this body right now? Can whatever you feel be OK? Can you know this body and this mind, this heart, just as they are? This is an invitation to practice equanimity. Can whatever is be OK as it is, just for now?

Explore this quality of equanimity by bringing to mind things that are unresolved or that are slightly difficult. You could first think of a friend who is experiencing some challenge in an aspect of their life and see whether you can hold them in your mind with care, with calm. This is the step before trying to find a solution to a problem or taking action. Think of someone who may be experiencing trouble in a relationship or health or work or finances. See whether you can recognize and quietly name what is happening. A phrase that could be useful here is, “This is what is happening for you right now. There is this difficulty in your life.” It’s a factual recognition of what is happening—not turning away, not blaming, judging, worrying; just holding or learning how to hold this truth. “This is how it is for you right now.”

Play with this on your own for just a few moments and finish by bringing to mind a compassionate wish: “May you find inside yourself and around you the resources needed to overcome this or accept this.”

Now come back to the room where you are, this space filled with silence and stillness, and notice the state of your mind. Maybe you got caught up a little with worry—or maybe not. No judgment. Just notice anything that comes up and see whether with the three S’s of space, stillness, and silence in and around you, you can help find balance again.

This time, you can think of one aspect of your life that is unresolved or unsatisfying, troubling maybe—not the most difficult thing, but something that is uncertain or challenging. The intention here is to hold this with calm and balance in a simple and factual way—maybe with the help of this sentence or another one: “This is how it is for me right now. There is this challenge, this difficulty in this aspect of my life,” and just recognizing, very simply and honestly, the challenge. “Can it be OK, just for this moment, that this situation is unresolved or uncertain? Can it be OK, just for now, that I haven’t figured it out?” See whether it’s possible to have this acceptance.

Next, express a compassionate wish: “May I find inside myself the courage, or creativity, or compassion, strength, patience to be with this situation or overcome this situation. May I find inside and outside the resources to help me navigate it.” Let go of the thoughts that may be coming up as you do this, coming back to just being here and now and becoming aware of the stillness, silence, and space.

Equanimity can be thought of as balance, equilibrium. It can be thought of as space or perspective, or as groundedness. It can also be thought of as pliability of mind—the mind that is able to consider something, let it go, and bring something else to mind.

To play with that flexibility, we can now think of someone we know who is doing well. Just to see whether the mind is able to navigate in the region of appreciation, think of someone and name them inwardly. Think and name their good qualities and rejoice in them. Think of their intelligence, kindness, humor, uniqueness. And wish this for them: “May your good qualities protect you. May your good qualities be your contribution to the world.” Notice the state of the mind and heart. It would be very natural if, in tiredness, the mind became stuck and lost track of what was happening. On the other hand, notice if it’s present and vibrant—whatever is there is totally natural. Whatever is there is completely what is.

Finally, a wish for all of us: May our good qualities protect us. May our good qualities—those that we are developing and those that are well established—protect us. May they be our contribution to the world.

♦

Adapted from a talk given at Heartfelt Wisdom: Insight Meditation Retreat with Insight Meditation Society.

The post The Fourth Quality of the Heart appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Since the Buddha’s time, many different ways of meditating on death have been devised in Buddhist communities. In their religious rituals, Tibetan Buddhist monks blow ceremonial horns made of human bones, and they sometimes eat their meals out of bowls made from human skulls. In the temples and monasteries of Thailand, one will often find pictures of skeletons hanging on the wall. They might depict, for example, a middle-class family—father, mother, and child—with half of each body clothed and face smiling, while the other half is a bare-boned skeleton.

In some sense, the act of mindfulness meditation itself could be understood as a practice of dying—to each moment. If you get good at it, your last moment will be easier. Mindfulness meditation can also be thought of as learning to let go of the ideas we have about ourselves, and those may be all that are holding us together in the first place.

Contrary to what most people might believe, meditation on death is not about morbidity or denying life. Many meditators report that contemplating death brings them a renewed appreciation for being alive. Suddenly, this very breath can seem to be enough. After reflecting on death, one’s life needs no other justification than itself.

As you reflect on death, you might acknowledge that it is not only you who dies but everybody and everything. Death happens to people, cities, civilizations, knowledge, and fashions, even planets and world systems. Scientists believe the universe itself will either die in what’s known as a “cold death,” thinning out into nothingness, or in a “big crunch,” collapsing into a very dense point or singularity. Which do you prefer?

In some sense, the act of mindfulness meditation itself could be understood as a practice of dying—to each moment.

When you contemplate your personal death you might also consider that from the perspective of quantum physics, there is no such thing as death. Matter-energy continues to dance on through space-time, moving to its own rhythms, oblivious to whether we call it one thing or another. Everything is alive and continues to live, whether it has your name on it or not. However, that knowledge may not be much consolation, especially if you are very attached to your current name and form.

Nothing is ever at rest—wood, iron, water, everything is alive, everything is raging, whirling, whizzing, day and night and night and day, nothing is dead, there is no such thing as death, everything is full of bristling life, tremendous life, even the bones of the crusader that perished before Jerusalem eight centuries ago.

–Mark Twain, Three Thousand Years Among The Microbes 

Each of us humans goes from womb to world to tomb and, some would say, back to start again. Every ending is also a beginning, and death must lead someplace, perhaps back to life. And, of course, we know that without death for a comparison there would be no such thing as life. Death is indeed one of our best friends. And with friends like death, who needs enemies?

Not to Be: Death Reflection

Without being mindful of death, whatever Dharma practices you take up will be merely superficial. 

 –Milarepa, The One Hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa

Close your eyes and bring your attention inward. First establish mindfulness of your body, becoming aware of its shape and weight, its warmth and vitality.

Bring consciousness to the pulses of your breath and heartbeat, one pulse gathering in energy and the other pulse pumping it throughout your body. Be aware of your strength, and that you can hold your body erect as a result of these pulses.

Next, take a few minutes to become aware of your current state of mind. Check in on your mood and your thoughts. Are you curious, anxious, impatient, contented? Remember that death may come to you in an ordinary living moment, just like this one. Wouldn’t it be ironic if you were making some long-term plans or worrying over some trivial pursuit?

Now begin to imagine that you are in the final process of your dying. Sense that the muscle of your heart is weakening and beginning to slow down. Imagine that in a few minutes your heart will quit beating, your blood will stop circulating, and due to a lack of oxygen and other nutrients your flesh will begin to grow weak. Imagine your entire body growing heavy and lifeless. Meanwhile, your mind, having recognized death at the last minute, will probably be running quickly through scenes from your life, an experience that those who have survived describe as rather chaotic. Finally, all the thoughts and images will begin to disappear like a fading radio dimming out into static and white noise.

As you imagine your death, what feelings arise? Is there an alarm going off in your chest? A systems alert lighting up in your head? If you can truly imagine your death, chances are you will begin to hear some strong signals. Your survival brain speaks loudest when death is hanging around.

It is quite possible that when you imagine the death of your body you will feel deep sorrow or fear. Whatever emotion arises, let it be there in mindful awareness for a few minutes. Let the feeling become as strong as it wants to be, even exaggerate it if you wish. To reactivate this feeling or to make it stronger, once again imagine your body dying.

Bring your awareness back to your breath for a few minutes to reestablish mindfulness. Then turn your attention to your current plans, concerns, desires—the issues of your life at this particular time. Then again return to the feeling that in a few minutes you will die. All of this mental life that you call yours will disappear—all the thoughts, political opinions, financial schemes, jealousies and vendettas, regrets and sorrows, everything you had to get done this week—feel all of that floating away into nothingness. When your body dies, so will your mental life.

Does the fear return? What other emotion accompanies the imagining of your own death? Regret for things not done, life not completed? Experience these feelings, hold them, let them grow, explore them.

You may want to do death meditation lying down. Then you can let your body go limp, sinking into the floor or ground. You can even imagine that you are on your deathbed or in a coffin.

If you happen to feel a sense of happiness or relief during the death meditation, it doesn’t mean you are a self-loathing individual. In fact, as a separate reflection you might even try looking at the upbeat or brighter side of death.

Once again, establish mindfulness and imagine your body dying, only this time realize that after death you no longer will have to struggle with gravity. You will no longer have to work in order to pay for shelter or to feed and fuel this particular form.

What a deep rest it will be! No longer do you have to react to the stimuli of the world (at least not in this form or this world). Furthermore, the demands of your needy, vulnerable, and all-too-human personality will be ended. You won’t have to satisfy it with special experiences, or struggle to make it happy. You will get to take a long rest from reacting to yourself. Although no one knows for sure what happens after death, some reports of near-death experiences describe it as delicious peace. Maybe we have nothing to fear from death but nothing—and nothing is the best thing that ever happens to us.

Before you bring an end to any of the death reflections, be sure to return your awareness to the breath and heartbeat, at least for a few minutes. Once again experience the pulses of life. Feel the warmth of your body telling you that metabolization is continuing; feel the strength of your muscles and flesh, your ability to hold yourself erect and move your limbs. Feel yourself come back to life.

♦ 

From Being Nature by Wes “Scoop” Nisker © 2022 Inner Traditions. Printed with permission from the publisher Inner Traditions International. www.innertraditions.com.

The post Making Friends with Death appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Nowadays, especially in these modern times, we have low self-esteem. There is a lot of self-criticism, and it can be very strong. It may cause us to lose energy and can become problematic for our lives.

But in Tibetan Buddhism, the first practice is appreciation. Having appreciation for yourself, for the world, and for your life is really important. Why? Because we all have basic innate goodness. Our true nature is wonderful!

How can we discover that true nature? One of the practices we can do is appreciation. When we begin to appreciate, we can make a lot of great discoveries from within ourselves. There are unlimited treasures within ourselves.

One of the simplest practices is what we call “the five self-riches.” We appreciate five things about ourselves. This practice has been really beneficial for me, and it was one of my first practices, so I would like to share it with all of you. The five appreciations practice is very simple! In a way it does not look like anything special, but actually these are the most special.

The first one is what we call mingye—being human. That is a great thing, isn’t it? So first, we appreciate this human life.

The second is “having been born in a central place,” meaning that we have been born with freedom, and especially, with spiritual choices. We can have a lot of spirituality available if we really want to engage in that. So we appreciate that.

The third is having our senses. It is amazing, isn’t it? We have eyes, ears, a nose, a tongue, and a body. All of these are actually amazing!

The fourth is that once we have been born in a spiritual environment, everybody has freedom, right? You can choose your own path, and this freedom is wonderful! Appreciate this freedom.

The last one is having basic innate goodness. Actually, at a deeper level, love and compassion, wisdom, and awareness is our fundamental nature.

These are the five things.

Now we are going to practice appreciation by meditating together. Please keep your spine loosely straight. If you want, you can close your eyes. Relax the muscles in your body. Relax your head, shoulders, back, arms, and legs.

Now, please appreciate having this body. It is amazing that we have this body. Appreciate that I’m alive now, and I am breathing. How wonderful! I was born with spiritual freedom. I can choose. I can choose to practice meditation. This is wonderful! The spiritual path is wonderful! And I have my senses. Whatever senses you have, appreciate them. Appreciate that you have these wonderful eyes; ears so you can hear the teachings; a nose so you can smell things; a tongue that tastes wonderful, delicious food; and bodily sensations also.

Appreciate that I have a path to follow in the world. There are great works that were laid out by great beings, and I can follow that. I can go on the right path if I choose to. Again, this is the freedom to choose your path. Appreciate that. I have wonderful basic innate goodness. Awareness is my true nature, love and compassion are my innate qualities, and I have wisdom. Appreciate your basic innate goodness.

Now, please open your eyes, and you can see the world. It is wonderful!

We need to learn how to appreciate like that. Sometimes we say that if we have ten qualities, and nine are positive and one is negative, normally we ignore the nine positive things in ourselves and exaggerate the one that is negative. We only see the one that is negative, and we exaggerate it. But if you practice appreciation and gratitude in this way, you will discover great qualities within yourself!

♦

Adapted from “Am I Not Enough? How to Work with Self-Criticism” on Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche’s YouTube channel.

The post The Antidote to Self-Criticism appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

I have lived with spinal pain and paralysis for 46 years as a result of accidents and surgeries in my teens. It has been a harrowing path at times, but the dharma has provided a clear map for training my mind and heart to work with me rather than against me. This has been remarkably encouraging and has given me great confidence in the Buddhist path.

I’ve gained much guidance from an early Buddhist text, the Sallatha Sutta (Samyutta Nikaya 36.6), in which the Buddha gives practical, accessible, and wise counsel about how to change our relationship with pain.

Asked to describe the difference between the response of a wise person and that of an ordinary person to pain, the Buddha uses the analogy of someone pierced by an arrow:

When an ordinary person experiences a painful bodily feeling they worry, agonize, and feel distraught. Then they feel two types of pain, one physical and one mental. It’s as if this person were pierced by an arrow, and then immediately afterward by a second arrow, and they experience the pain of two arrows.

And of course, in reality, when we are struggling with pain, it can feel as if we are pierced by a whole volley of second arrows that quickly traps us in a web of suffering and despair.

The Buddha also clearly states that the wise person will still experience the first arrow, as physical pain comes with having a human body. But he adds this:

When a wise person experiences a painful bodily feeling, they don’t worry, agonize, and feel distraught, and they feel physical pain but not mental pain. It’s as if this person were pierced by an arrow, but a second arrow didn’t follow it, so they only experience the pain of a single arrow.

I love the way this is so simply stated: that the difference between an unwise person and a wise person lies in how they respond to pain, not in whether or not they achieve an absence of pain. It’s a relief to know that pain comes with life so that we can stop judging ourselves when it arises. But the Buddha shows clearly how the pain of one arrow is infinitely easier to bear than the pain of multiple arrows.

The Buddha very clearly states the cause of the second arrow when he says:

Having been touched by the painful feeling (of the first arrow), an ordinary person resists and resents it. They harbor aversion to it, and this underlying tendency of resistance and resentment toward that painful feeling comes to obsess the mind.

This corresponds exactly to my own experience living with a painful body. I have watched my mind closely over many years and have taught tens of thousands of other people, and I can report from the front line: it is indeed true that it isn’t the unpleasant sensations in the body that cause the bulk of distress. It is the resistance and resentment and the rapid cascade of physical, mental, and emotional secondary reactions that can ruin a human life.

So how can we go beyond this resistance and resentment? How can we learn to let go of these understandable tendencies? And does the sutta’s teaching apply only to physical pain, or can we apply it to other kinds of suffering?

Through my own practice and teaching I have come to see how the core principle of letting go of resistance and resentment applies to any kind of difficulty. Perhaps we can take heart from this knowledge: in the turbulent times we live in, with their widespread social difficulties, climate change, and geopolitical instability, we can’t control the externals of our world, but we can have agency over how we respond and move from resistance and struggle to resilience, courage, and compassion—both toward ourselves and toward others.

How wonderful that such a pure and simple teaching from twenty-five hundred years ago can give us practical guidance in the modern world!

It’s a relief to know that pain comes with life so that we can stop judging ourselves when it arises.

For the past twenty years I have been passing on these precious tools through my work of offering Mindfulness-based Pain Management (MBPM) to others who are suffering. It never fails to move and inspire me when I witness people, sometimes living with great pain or illness, harnessing the power of their minds to reclaim their lives.

A core practice within MBPM is the Compassionate Acceptance meditation. In this practice we learn to open to whatever is present and to cultivate a middle way between practicing denial and avoidance on the one hand and allowing oneself to be overwhelmed on the other. And crucially, we learn to respond to whatever is arising with kindness, tenderness, and love, and to feel into the fluid and changing nature of all experience.

This practice also shows us how letting go of resistance and resentment is not the same as passive resignation. It requires a quality of awareness that is an exquisite balance of being receptive to whatever arises, just as it is, while one also cultivates a creative response. I always say that the behavioral outcome of mindfulness and compassion is choice. Rather than feeling like a victim of circumstances, we can choose a wise and kind response in every moment.

Start by establishing a comfortable posture—either sitting or lying down, whichever posture will be most comfortable for you.

Gently surrender the weight of your body to gravity so the body settles and rests on the bed, the floor, or the chair. Can you let go into a sense of how gravity gently draws your body down toward the floor and holds you and supports you? Can you get a sense of yielding into the surface you are resting upon rather than perching on top of it? If you’d like to, take a few deeper breaths, then let go and release a little bit more with each out-breath. Let yourself arrive in the body and the moment more and more fully.

When you’re ready, allow your breathing to find its own natural rhythm, and allow your awareness to rest inside breathing, inside the whole body, rather than thinking about breathing as an idea. Allow your whole body to be rocked and cradled by the breath—the front, the sides, and the back of the body.

And now, with great tenderness, gently open your awareness to include your pain, discomfort, fatigue, or any difficulty that you’re experiencing. Include it in your awareness with the kind of attitude that you would naturally have toward a loved one who is hurting or injured. If your difficulty is more mental or emotional, see if you can find its echo in your body—maybe tight hands or jaw, or a tight belly—and rest your awareness there. Breathe softly with this experience for a few moments.

If it feels frightening to be with your difficulty in this way, then gently breathe with the fear, coming back to rest your awareness in the breath in the body. And if your breathing becomes disturbed for any reason, then feel free to move into another stabilizing “object of awareness.” This could be the hands, the feet, the bottom sitting on the chair; you can also rest your awareness in sounds. Move back inside breathing if or when you feel ready.

As you open to your experience a little more, notice how you respond to your pain or difficulty. You’ll probably find that you are tending toward a hard, resistant, blocked, or numb stance; or you may be tending toward a sense of overwhelm, such that your pain is dominating your whole awareness. Both attitudes are normal expressions of resistance, and we all tend toward one or the other at different times.

If you notice that you’re a bit blocked or numb, then choose to open a bit more to the painful or tight sensations in your body and very, very gently breathe into the experience. Softening, softening with each breath.

If you start tipping into overwhelm, then choose to broaden the awareness to include other experiences as well: different parts of the body, including areas that aren’t in pain; different sounds, smells, or other senses. Stay grounded and embodied, but choose to place your pain within a broad field of awareness.

Spend time exploring your experience in this way, coming closer to your experience, applying tenderness if you feel blocked or avoidant and broadening awareness if you feel overwhelmed. Always look for the middle way between these extremes through this sensitive and responsive awareness.

As you explore your experience in this way, see whether you can notice how sensations are always changing and how no two moments of “pain” are exactly the same. Maybe as you come closer to your actual experience, you realize, for example, that it’s just your lower back that’s hurting, rather than your whole back as you’d previously thought. Can you apply this precise investigation of experience to whatever your particular difficulty is? And maybe you discover that some of the sensations have aspects to them that are pleasant—things like tingling. Or you may even feel a sense of relief in your heart now that you’re finally turning toward your difficulty and meeting it with kindness and curiosity rather than being locked in battle, struggle, and strain with it, which just leads to more and more suffering and tension.

And what about your thoughts and emotions? Are you having any thoughts and emotions about your pain or difficulty? Can you let them come and go moment by moment—neither suppressing them nor overidentifying with them? Can you let them go as you rest with the basic sensations in the body moment by moment, held by the kindly breath?

Be sure to cultivate an attitude that is patient, gentle, and tender.

Now saturate the breath with self-compassion. As you breathe in, let a felt imaginative sense of kindliness flow into your whole body; and as you breathe out, imagine kindliness flowing out into and saturating your whole body. Breathe with a deep sense of kindliness, care, tenderness, and compassion toward yourself.

Allow the whole body, including any pain or discomfort that may be present, to be rocked and cradled by the breath. If you still feel dominated by resistance, allow that to be saturated by the kindly, gentle breath without judgment. Accept all your experience with great tenderness.

When you feel ready, bring the meditation to a close.

I hope you have found this practice helpful. The central approach of cultivating a middle way between denial and overwhelm, softening resistance, and releasing into flow and kindness can be taken into all the activities of daily life. Moving again and again from fighting to flowing can indeed be a beautiful gateway to freedom.

The post A Gateway to Freedom appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

The unifying thread of my diverse life experiences is the use of language to ferry meaning from the abstract to the accessible. From a young age I translated for my parents, exiles who fled Cuba to the United States with little to no English. As a graduate student, I teased out meaning for biology undergraduates lost in a sea of jargon. Later, I parsed legalese for my litigation clients.

Nowadays, buddhadharma flows into me in Tibetan and pours from me in English into ears more finely attuned to Mandarin or Spanish, French, Danish, German, Russian, Polish, Italian.

Surely there is a currency less volatile than words? Some service less treacherous than translation?

Don’t get me wrong. I love words. I revel in their depth, complexity, and malleability, their silky roll off the tongue. Yet, however expedient they are for communication, words have limits.

Misunderstandings, minor and otherwise, abound in everyday life. We each shade words with meaning shaped by our individual identities, personal history, and cultural influences. Employing words to explain spiritual subtleties—beyond conceptuality and extending across time, space, and culture—amps up the complexity further still.

What to do?

Wording the dharma, as I have come to call it, is a practice of enlisting language to evoke experiences that words fail to describe.

The best of dharma translations and teachings do this with apparent effortlessness, going beyond dry words that may or may not successfully transmit meaning.

You can do this too.

Being multilingual is not necessary, though that skill lends range and flexibility to our “wording.” It also helps us to avoid the main pitfall of being monolingual: assuming we understand the meaning of a specific teaching because we are familiar with the words.

The practice of wording the dharma takes some effort at first. Requiring discipline and an open mind, it yields rewards such as joy, understanding, and a light heart.

Here’s one approach:

1. Choose a word. This can be a dharma term that has grabbed you and held you spellbound—one that inspires and moves you, or one that confounds and nags you. Words that are seminal to understanding the dharma are especially worthwhile: impermanence, suffering, nonself. Craving. Ignorance. Samsara. Awakening.

Practice now. I will use the word renunciation for this exercise.

2. Unlearn the English. Or whatever language offered up your word, wrapped in sheep’s clothing. Disrobe it. Face the wolf beneath the fleece.

Unpack the associations your word carries in your language. Does it elicit a tangible response in your body? If so, where? The connotations may be positive, negative, or worse (because less noticeable), neutral. Release any reactivity and peel back the layers of connotations. You will learn from whatever you encounter.

Free-associate. Flesh out all the nuances the word holds for you. Use a dictionary to explore its range of meaning and etymology.

Practice now. The English word renunciation can carry a sense of loss, austerity, deprivation, or forced sacrifice. I feel the weight of it on my shoulders, hunching me over, confining my heart.

3. Uplift the voice of the source language. Buddhadharma remains a relatively new phenomenon outside of Asian culture. Some of us receive dharma teachings in a language other than our own. Even when we hear the dharma in our native language, the words are often more restricted in meaning than they are in source languages of Buddhist heritage, such as Gandhari, Pali, Sanskrit, Sinhalese, Burmese, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, and Tibetan.

Find the source word in at least two heritage languages: one closest to your Buddhist heritage, and one based in the Indian subcontinent—cradle of the Buddha, dharma, and sangha. Many resources for exploring words in these languages exist: your dharma center, a spiritual mentor or kalyanamitra (spiritual friend), dictionaries, books.

Chew on these words, exploring their meaning. What experience do they evoke? Identify the physical sensations and connotations as in step 2.

Practice now. The Tibetan nges par ‘byung ba means “definite emergence,” and is usually translated into English as renunciation. Nges ‘byung renders the Sanskrit nihsarana and niryana, related to the Pali nissarana and niyyana. These terms carry a range of meanings such as “departure, escape, being freed, going forth.” The Pali canon denotes “renunciation” as nekkhama (often Sanskritized as naishkramya), which adds “giving up mundane things and leading a holy life” as well as the pleasure that comes of prioritizing what serves us in this way. These are literal meanings.

The English term renunciation is a throwback to 19th-century European translators who met classical dharma teachings with religious and cultural perspectives distinct from those of the texts’ Asian heritage and superimposed their notions onto their translations. In the case of renunciation, the result contrasts sharply with the elevating tone of these source terms.

Fabulous! This is a semantic understanding of your word in context.

4. Play. Digest the semantic understanding you’ve developed. Dig into the heritage teachings that explain the literal meaning in context, refining your understanding. Rouse your inner poet. What words in your language reflect the semantic understanding of your chosen word in its source language?

Let the range of source meanings circumscribe a fluid, multidimensional space for your word to inhabit—roomy, but not amorphous. Roam widely within this arena.

Sketch, collage, or describe any images that come to mind, or journal about your experience of the words through your fresh, wide-angle lens. Write a poem, story, or song. Discuss the words with dharma teachers and friends. Or debate, maintaining the quality of fun.

Look at your cloud of words spread out on a page or across your heart. Does one move you and at the same time—this is key—convey the meaning of the source language word? Be mindful not to graft biases onto the source-language word or appropriate it to serve a personal agenda.

Find the English word that sings so clearly that others hearing it can connect with the experiences the source meanings evoke in you. The word may elicit a eureka moment, a sense of discovery.

Practice now. Above all, the source- language terms have a quality of freshness for me, like a springtime opening into new life, green and vibrant. I feel this quality in the solar plexus, like a leap of the heart. There is a sense of rebirth—the darling buds of May opening to the morning breeze. Renaissance. Perhaps the revolution of understanding that accompanies scales falling from our eyes. Lightness, fresh perspective, sunflowers turning to face the sun. A chick hatching from a pastel egg.

Lovely. This is an intellectual understanding of the meaning of your word in its living context.

5. Absorb. Whatever you do, do not stop now! Intellectual understanding, particularly of a seminal yet previously incompletely understood word or concept, can feel great, even liberating. Still, the understanding that contemplation generates is confined to the intellect. Listen for the curiosity enticing you onward.

Now, take up the word you’ve unveiled and lure it from head to heart in meditative inquiry, a practice that combines resting meditation and experiential analysis.

Begin with any awareness practice that you find familiar. For example, settle the mind for a time in shamatha, or tranquility meditation, using the breath as a support. Use awareness of the breath as it enters, fills, then leaves the body to sustain a mental balance poised between the intrinsic lucidity and stillness of mind.

If your mind wanders, shift toward stillness to regain equilibrium. Should your mind become dull, recalibrate by leaning into lucidity. Tricky to describe; physical examples of this inward calibration include the active yet subtle adjustments that keep a hatha yogin upright in “tree pose,” or those that spin the dial on an analog radio to locate a station. In each case, our immediate experience signals if we are toppling or tense, staticky or silent, mentally dull or agitated. Sustained refinement tunes us into the stance, the music, or the equipoise.

From this equipoise, analyze experientially rather than abstractly. Revisit your intellectual understanding to invoke the experience your word elicits. Feel your way to the visceral clarity of releasing misconceptions about the word as received in your language. It is as though something slips into place, like a camera lens coming into focus.

This is experiential understanding, often accompanied by a felt sense in the body, neither entirely somatic nor emotional in character. This may be a subtle inner shift, a gentle shudder, fluttering belly, the shock of surprise, or the like. It is a present-moment experience of knowing, rather than a memory.

When experiential understanding arises, release all words and concepts. Rest mind within that experience, like resting mind on the breath in shamatha. This is akin to mind marinating in the experience, drinking it in. When the experience fades, return to inquiry. Should experiential understanding not occur, pause periodically and rest in shamatha. Alternate between resting and experiential analysis for the duration of your session.

When finished, summarize how your word reflects the meaning and evokes the experience of its source languages.

Practice now. My meditative inquiry offers “reorientation.” Mind turns toward something with lightness and an irresistible impulse to move forward. I experience an opening and quickening of the heart concurrent with a sense of freedom,  enthusiasm, and purpose. It is the dawn of a distinctively new perspective.

Delicious, this experiential understanding of the word.

6. Integrate. Repeat the process with as many words as you wish. You will find that, in practice, the steps are not linear. Allow yourself to spiral among them. Revisit each word frequently in formal meditation to dwell in the experience it evokes. This stabilizes and deepens experiential understanding until it becomes second nature.

Many words in translation—renunciation being one example—are ingrained in the modern language of buddha-dharma despite evident incongruities in the source languages. They are not likely to disappear any time soon.

Wording the dharma yields an integrated understanding that naturally envelops renunciation, for example, in nihsarana, nissarana, nges par ‘byung ba, and provides reorientation.

Now when we hear the word in question we need not grimace, turn away, or place it on a pedestal. There is no need to argue, grandstand, or proselytize. Nor do we have to enshrine our preexisting beliefs, decking them out in dharma clothing.

Be wary, too, of reifying your word. Do not cling to its novelty. Wording the dharma cups words softly to let them fly as our experience evolves. Eventually this practice will help us transcend language’s limitations altogether, in direct realization.

The post Wording the Dharma appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Among the many narratives in the Karmashataka Sutra, a collection of teaching stories, there is a tale of the Buddha appearing as a friend to a young boy who is desperately in need of friendship. The text describes the child, born to wealthy householders, as “ugly in eighteen different ways” and as having suffered intense discrimination on account of his unattractive appearance.

When his parents saw him they were wracked with suffering. “Though a son has finally been born to us,” they thought, “what good is he, with such singular flaws? He’d be better off dead— when night falls, we’ll toss him out and feed him to the dogs.”

The boy’s mother selfishly feared the potential repercussions of their actions—not the painful death of their innocent newborn but the karmic results for her husband and herself. She proposed that instead they raise the baby somewhere outside the city. “Then when he’s grown,” she suggested, “we’ll throw him out of the house to seek his pitiful livelihood.” And this is what they did. They called him Virupa, which means “ugly,” and as soon as he reached adolescence, they banished him.

Virupa had no means of providing for himself. He was forced to spend his days begging for food. Lugging a walking stick and pot behind him, he grew emaciated from neglect. Strangers mistook him for a ghost, and, imagining he would attack them, they beat him, pelted him with dirt, and chased him away. Despairing for his own safety, Virupa hid deep in the forest. He snuck out only at night, subsisting on food that had fallen to the ground from trees in nearby gardens.

The Buddha, in his infinite wisdom, recognized that the key to alleviating Virupa’s suffering lay not only in his receiving food and water but also in his being known. Up until that moment, Virupa had only experienced stigmatization, abuse, misunderstanding, and shame.

Knowing the depth of Virupa’s poverty, the Buddha brought food and drink. But despite the Buddha’s gentle intentions, Virupa was startled by his approach. He had endured too much abuse to believe that the Buddha was anything but another person coming to hurt him. Flooded with helplessness, he started to run. The story tells us that a literal miracle was needed to change Virupa’s perception. To reassure Virupa, the Buddha had emanated into a form even more off-putting than Virupa’s. In this way, the Buddha could slip undetected past his psychological defenses and invite a breakthrough:

The Blessed One performed a miracle that prevented young Virupa from fleeing and caused him to wish to see the Blessed One.“I would like to know who that is,” Virupa thought, and he came walking back. As soon as young Virupa saw the emanation’s extraordinarily ugly features he began to wonder, “Who could this be?” So he went to where the Buddha’s emanation stood. The Buddha’s emanation saw young Virupa and made as if to run away.

Virupa had never seen anything like this. He had not met another person who shared the fear that had lived inside him for so long.

In the teachings on karma, the Buddha is careful never to shame a person for their circumstances. The purpose is not to dwell upon the past but to point the way forward. Virupa saw himself in the Buddha, who had assumed a form similar to his own. No longer isolated, he was able to receive what Buddha said and apply it to his own life without shame.

“Because of my unattractive features my parents threw me out of the house. As I went wherever I could for alms, I was chased away. . . In terror of being beaten by people, I went into the thick of the forest, and there I have stayed—that is, until you came along.” [author’s emphasis]

There are interactions that have unique and special power because they occur between friends. Admissions of shame, confessions of jealousy, and disclosures of trauma, when received with tenderness by a loving friend, can become the basis for change. They flower into empathy, compassion, and insight, respectively. A close friend reminds us that we are more than our mistakes, conflicts, and the things that have been done to us. We are also our freedom, our wisdom, and the full range of our lived experience.

We can be Virupa and receive the things we need from friends. But we can also be the Buddha and use the miracle of friendship to point the way to healing. We can engage our friends in trust, reflect with them about the challenges they’re facing, and nurture them with love and compassion. When two people reach out in mutual vulnerability, love’s power shines in the simplest gestures.

“Let’s be friends and make our way together,” Virupa said. “Let’s do that,” the Buddha said, and he sat down and divided his food with Virupa.

How can we be a good dharma friend to others?

Be open and vulnerable. When you share, you signal to others that you’re open to receiving. Authentic connection is a two-way street.

Know when to wait and listen. Especially when we’re excited about the buddhadharma, the urge can arise to fill a friend’s head with quotes from last week’s teaching. Take a beat; give them space to speak.

Understand that connection can be elusive. Genuine connection can be like a rainbow—to go charging at it, or even to grasp at it, can make it dissolve. Cheerful patience is essential.

Have fun together. There can be a tendency to want to always be “doing the work,” but enjoyment and appreciation of one another are key. Part of being a good attachment figure is being fun.

Let yourselves be friends. It’s OK not to have immediate answers. Let go of the urge to edify or instruct, and know that friendship itself is medicine.

The post Making Our Way Together appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

I remember the first yoga class I ever took. It was hot; it was sweaty. We worked and worked. We pushed and pushed. We tried and tried. At the end of the pose, we came to the ground and were instructed to simply lie flat and close our eyes. The teacher called this pose Savasana. He said it translated to “Corpse Pose.” A place where we die, we end, a place that promised rebirth and a new beginning. He also said it was the most important pose, or asana, in all of yoga. I was completely perplexed. I don’t remember much of what he said after that point because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it was possible to twist, turn, bend, and contort my body, to fight with my muscles and bones to make the “just right shape,” only to be told by my teacher that “lying on the ground and being still” is the most important thing you can do.

As I lay there turning this idea over in my mind, I did hear one final perplexing thing. He said, “Savasana is also likely the most difficult pose you will encounter.” After class, I hurriedly packed all of my things and ran up to my teacher. Exasperated, I asked, “But why is Savasana so important? I mean, we aren’t even doing anything in that pose. Nothing is happening.” He smiled and said, “Keep practicing and come to understand it for yourself.” That was 17 years ago.

Descriptions of Savasana as an asana date back to the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, a 15th-century text in which we find many of the earliest references to the yoga poses that are still practiced today. It is the only pose among all the asanas that is included in every sequence, a hint to its importance. I didn’t know about the Hatha Yoga Pradipika in my earliest yoga days, and even if I had, I still would have been confused by the “non-doing” postures, as I’d come to associate yoga with movement and doing. Despite making the connection that it is, in fact, the one pose included in every class, it took years for me to become curious enough to return to my first teacher’s words about Savasana: “It’s the most important. . . . It’s challenging.” It was then that I actually became a student of this posture and journeyed into the heart of this way of ending.

After a much longed-for and hoped-for pregnancy ended in a painful miscarriage, I didn’t know what to do with myself or my body. I remember going to a class, telling the teacher I was in pain, and her suggesting that I lie down and breathe. Savasana. I knew I couldn’t physically practice, and I also knew I needed to be in a room with other people. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t move one muscle, yet the first moments in Savasana were a mental and emotional fight. I wanted to move. I wanted to do something. I needed to fix it. Fix me. Fix my body. Fix the part I perceived was so broken that I couldn’t even hold a pregnancy, a hope, a dream.

And then it happened—my body stopped gripping. I cried. I surrendered to the earth beneath me. I allowed myself to feel the end, the end of that excitement, the end of that expectation, the end of that pregnancy, the end of the part of me who innocently longed to be a mother and wanted it all to be so easy.

Savasana both challenged me and held space for my endings that day. Savasana became one of my Beloved Teachers.

Ultimately, I have come to understand Savasana as the practice of death, and every ending, big or small, is some kind of death. In Savasana, we practice the death of the ego, death of grasping, and death of all aversion to reality as it is. In Savasana, we practice recognizing that for now, there’s nothing left to do. I’ve also learned that when we are particularly activated with fear, worry, or anxiety related to endings, it’s best that we cocoon and support ourselves in Savasana instead of simply lying down. In that way, we create a place to be held, cradled, and supported through and in this most potent and powerful pose and place. This ending. Savasana.

♦

From Pause, Rest, Be by Octavia Raheem © 2022 by Octavia F. Raheem. Reprinted in arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc.

What You Need to Practice

A yoga mat, 6–8 blankets, one bolster or couch cushion, cozy socks, a journal, and something to write with

How to Set Up
TIME: 5–15 minutes

Create a landing place. Put down a yoga mat and layer two blankets folded in half on top of your mat. This gives you a soft place to land. Then lie down. Place a rolled blanket or bolster under your knees to encourage the thighbones to drop deeper into your pelvis, relieving tension in the iliopsoas, the composite muscle that is the strongest hip flexor. The pelvis will rest more heavily against the ground because of this. If you would like to feel more tucked in, wrap a blanket around your ankles. Place a folded blanket over your belly to release tension and weigh the hips down even more. Place blankets under your arms and hands so that they aren’t touching the floor. Rest your arms by your sides, palms facing down.

If your upper back and shoulders are rolled toward your heart and don’t rest easily on the floor, place a folded blanket or towel underneath your head, neck, and tips of your shoulders so you feel support all the way up the torso to your neck and head. Your chin should be perpendicular to the floor and your throat should feel open and at ease. Cover your entire body with a blanket or two if you would like.

Once You Are in It

Begin by keeping your eyes open and noticing how your body feels. Scan your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

Do this 3–5 times, allowing yourself to notice what you feel and where you feel it. If you are feeling worried or agitated, I invite you to keep your eyes open just a little while longer or even for the duration of the posture. Sometimes, immediately closing our eyes takes us on a trip to Worry Land if we are already a little revved up. If you keep your eyes open, let them be soft and focused on one place. If you are ready to drop in, close your eyes.

Either way, with each exhalation allow the earth beneath you to fully hold each part of your body. Once you feel completely connected to the ground, sense that whatever is in your mind can also be held by the earth and give it to her. Once you feel more space between each thought, take your awareness to the center of your chest. Feel and notice. If something is weighing on your heart, know that the earth can hold that as well. Exhale deeply and give your heart’s burdens to the earth. With awareness at your own heart, offer up an intention or prayer for courage and support with whatever endings you are facing.

Rest your awareness and intention on the waves of your breath.

Stay in the pose for 5–15 minutes. When coming out, bend your knees, roll onto your right side, and rest in a fetal position.

After the Pose

We roll from Savasana to the fetal position. Journal or draw for 2–3 minutes.

Reconnect to your intention or prayer. Hold the words Pause, Rest, Be at your heart. Open to a page. If you are having trouble facing an ending, allow a supportive message to find you.

As we slowly move out of Savasana, we intentionally return and explore our body, heart, and mind as though they are new because, after Savasana, they are. This reminds us that every ending transforms into a beginning at some point.

The post Lie Down and Breathe appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Toward the end of my year in Nepal, two of my friends and I—with nothing but our backpacks—boarded a crowded bus for the long, dusty overland trip to Lhasa, Tibet. We stayed for three months, traveling like nomads all around the country on the backs of trucks, staying in tents, and always aiming straight for the temples and monasteries.

On the walls of the temples we visited, we came across a certain mural again and again. The mural, which was usually in the entryway, depicted a monkey and an elephant traveling uphill on a winding path. It seemed to be telling a story. Eventually I asked one of the temple keepers what it meant.

The temple keeper, a monk clothed in deep burgundy robes with a face beautifully etched with lines, replied that the mural was depicting the developmental process of meditation. The elephant, he explained, symbolized dullness. The monkey symbolized distraction.

“At the beginning of the path, the meditator’s mind is controlled by distraction and dullness, with distraction mostly in charge,” explained the temple keeper, pointing to the bottom of the mural where I noticed that the monkey was indeed leading the elephant by a rope.

“But by the end of the path, the monkey has fallen by the wayside. A monk has joined them and is riding the elephant, who has turned white, symbolizing that both dullness and distraction are tamed.

“The monk,” the temple keeper explained, “is mindfulness.”

Indeed, the image (below) showed the monk gradually disciplining the elephant and monkey with his stick and lasso. In the final scene, at the very top, the path becomes a rainbow upon which a white elephant strolls toward the heavens, with the monk sitting in meditation posture on the elephant’s back.

The image stays with me as a compelling depiction of the role of mindfulness on the path to tranquility. When we first start to meditate, the mind is all over the place. It is like the wild monkey, bouncing from one thought or idea to another. Or sometimes the mind is sleepy and lethargic like the slow elephant. It lacks the sharpness needed to pay attention in a sustained way. Neither state is conducive to concentration, clarity, or ease.

To tame our distracted, scattered attention, we turn it toward an object—the breath, for example. At first the mind will not stay focused for long. It bounces away, distracted by a thought or an idea. Or the mind sinks into torpor and forgets entirely what it was doing. What was it we were doing? Oh yes. Then we coax the mind back again to the breath. This happens over and over, a process called placement and replacement.

The faculty we use to bring the mind back is mindfulness—the monk with the stick. Every time the monk with the stick shows up, the muscle of attention is strengthened just a little bit. We learn to remember to stay on task, simply paying attention to the breath. As attention stays on its object longer and longer, the mind’s restlessness begins to calm down, resulting in a state known as shamatha (tranquility).

This is one way to tame the mind, a cognitive approach to mindfulness. Mental discipline is employed to harness and gather attention, to keep it focused on its object.

But there is an alternative and complementary approach to developing mindfulness. This model is the yogic model of mindfulness. In a yogic approach, attention emerges from deep within the body. In this system, the path to a mindful life is not paved by taming and subduing but rather by surrender. This is the approach that I am calling somatic mindfulness. Somatic mindfulness is the body’s mindfulness, a relaxed, loving attention spontaneously experiencing the present moment through the entire bodymind.

Like the monastic model, this model acknowledges and understands the mind’s distraction, scatteredness, and discursiveness as sources of suffering. But the solution to dealing with this wild mind is not to harness control of it, setting attention back again and again on an object of focus.

When the mind relaxes its grip, the body leads the way. It’s a great relief for the mind, in fact.

Somatic mindfulness is informed by one very simple observation: the mind is distracted, but the body is not. The body is not thinking or ruminating. It is just feeling and being, present, aware, and vibrant. In other words: the body is already mindful.

The turning point in this model that sets somatic mindfulness apart from the more orthodox model comes at the moment of distraction. At the moment of distraction, instead of prioritizing control, a practitioner of somatic mindfulness releases control and allows attention to be drawn back by the body (or by the feeling of breath, which is, after all, a somatic feeling).

Somatic sensation, such as the air in your nostrils or the rise of your diaphragm, re-centers attention. The return is experienced not as a discipline of effortful redirection by a higher executive function but as a natural draw to the body’s steady wakefulness, like iron filings returning to a magnet. Scattered attention represents the iron filings, and the body is the magnet.

Put another way, the model is not one of taming but trust. Perhaps the monk does show up, but the monk does not have a stick. The monk prostrates to and dissolves into the breath. The doorway into a sustained, relaxed attention is to let go of control and find refuge in the body’s immediate present sensory field. When the mind relaxes its grip on the process, the body models sustained attention. The body leads the way. It’s a great relief for the mind, in fact.

If you have been struggling to develop mindfulness, this may come as a surprise. The secret to stabilizing your practice has not only been right under your nose but it is your nose— and the rest of your body, too, for that matter.

If you are new to meditation, this might sound like a subtle difference, to allow attention to follow the body’s lead versus developing mental attention using the body. But it turns out to be an important distinction, especially when it comes to the inner experience of meditation practice over time. Here is a practice of somatic mindfulness that can help you begin to discover your body’s natural attention.

Practice: Surrendering to the Breath

Turn your attention to the breath. Notice its wavelike quality, how the breath rises like the swell of the ocean and then falls like the dip between swells.

Gradually explore the sensations that are unfolding as you breathe. Notice a fresh, alive feeling in your nostrils as you inhale. Notice the gentle warmth of the exhale. Notice the rise and fall of your diaphragm.

See if you can find a balance between paying attention and being relaxed, letting go of tension with every exhale.

At some point, after sitting for a while, you will become distracted and forget you have given yourself this task of focusing on the breath. Your attention will wander. You will become caught up in a train of thought.

Then there is the moment of noticing you are distracted. At that moment, do not make any effort to refocus on the breath. Instead, allow the breath itself to draw you back in. Let the natural sensations of breath moving within your body—the feeling of freshness in your nostrils, the rise and fall of your diaphragm, the expansion of your heart center—draw you back, like a magnet draws iron filings.

Surrender to the natural mindfulness of your body.

♦

From The Wakeful Body: Somatic Mindfulness as a Path to Freedom by Willa Blythe Baker © 2021 by Willa Blythe Baker. Reprinted in arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc.

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