Equanimity as a Method of Problem Solving

My personal problems are so insignificant in the scheme of things, and yet my reactivity can completely consume my energy.  The facts are clear that if I am kind, the world around me is a better place for other beings. The facts are clear that if I am not gripping one opinion above all others, there is more room for change and possibility. The facts are clear that there is enough misery and desperation in the world without my petty emotional attachments and rationalizations.  But even so, I am a human being and my basic design puts me and my emotional upheavals at the center of my universe, until I learn how to see that pattern and shift my weight towards equanimity.

I saw a portion of a PBS Newshour program in which children of displaced families were being treated for the most severe life-threatening conditions of malnutrition, basically babies and children spending their earliest time here on earth starving instead of growing.  One doctor was asked, "who does she blame, or what is the primary cause of this terrible situation?' She answered, "the war." What I saw in a matter of a few moments on television is just the surface of a very deep and deadly problem my species seems to have... the inability to embrace each other with compassion and acceptance. War is the expression of conflict -- acts of war are horrific destructive behaviors towards our own human family, and the very world in which we all live.  The doctor, in spite of the unbearable sadness, devastating cruelty, and endlessness of the situation, is dealing with families, the dying, her co-workers, her community with compassion and acceptance; working flat out to ease the suffering for those for whom nothing can be expected to change for the better, and somehow being an island of equanimity in the sea of chaos.

Every mouthful since that program aired has brought me gratitude, sadness, and confusion. I walked to my local food co-op to buy groceries, passing a flattened baby bird on the sidewalk with a sparrow on a wire above me singing ceaselessly. This little bird baby, like the little human baby who weighs 7 pounds at 11 months old, had a beginning with possibilities. What can I do to change these outcomes?

I can walk more slowly, make eye contact, listen more and speak less, offer more and take less, support those who are in positions to take actions that I cannot take to directly assist others who are suffering, prioritize generosity, do my utmost to do no harm, and most importantly see my own reactivity and self-importance more honestly as distractions.

It hurts so much that communities and governments do not open their borders and coffers and food supplies to their own citizens in need, nor to other people from or in other places, without asking for some kind of power or control in return. What if that power and control is useless in the face of the loss we are living with as a species, as a family? So I will continue to build myself as a safer place for others, developing my practice as a person of no importance who is changing the world by observing my own gyrations as gyrations, and growing compassion and acceptance in every way I can.

A life could be spent making pilgrimages to places where human beings have been unspeakably cruel to each other, but perhaps more can be done by making every place I go part of a path that offers equanimity, compassion and acceptance. And so I will continue being joyful, even as the weight of sorrow becomes part of my normal weight.  Perhaps I can make space for others to find these two parts of the same possibility and act from a state of balance. The image in this post is a painting my father did in a food court in suburban Maryland. He looked for beauty and love in relational spaces. Even though he has been gone 7 years, his vision still comforts me.

Ironing: Present but not Perfect

The season of ironing has returned. The school year has begun, the temperatures have dropped slightly and it is time for me to catch up with the ironing pile of my husband's shirts that has waited through the summer, growing slowly. He has always worn cotton shirts, and somehow over the past 25-30 years, I've taken on the task of keeping them somewhat free of wrinkles.

It was with some surprise that having started ironing the back of the fifth shirt, I could not remember if I had completely ironed the back of the previous shirt. Stunned for a moment, I stood, wracking my brain and then I actually went over and looked at it.  I had indeed ironed it. Where the heck was I when that happened that I couldn't remember doing it? Was I on automatic pilot?

No, not on automatic, but more present in the moment than in recording the results and committing my actions to memory. As I am ironing, I am acutely aware of the texture of the fabric under my hand and the weight of the iron, feeling the heat of the steam rising, the breeze from the window. My eyes, hands and mind are synchronized with my breath and my attention is fully on what I am doing. Or so I thought. In fact, my heart is also holding the person for whom I am smoothing out the wrinkles, in some ways encircling the shoulders upon which this placate will rest, envisioning the arms and hands that will emerge from this sleeve, once it is rolled up, as it always is when my husband is in action.

So how can it be that I am so present, yet I've finished one shirt and begun another without memory and certainty?  Perhaps it is not the goal of my action to remember ironing the back of each shirt. The goal of my action is to act in the moment, transmitting my love for my husband, and this is what engages me. My physical attention is fully in the present moment, observing the weave of the fabric beneath my hand and the implications of the back pleat for my task. Will the shirt be perfectly ironed because of my full attention? Perhaps not, especially since there is quite a pile and I have evolved a speedy treatment! If I wanted perfectly ironed shirts, I would ask my husband to do it as he is the one who attachs to the specificity of physical results. This is part of what makes his woodwork and sculpture so beautifully crafted. Yet even without attachment to perfection, the task is accomplished, and my goal satisfied.

In the moment of ironing, I am accomplishing a repetitive quotidien task, acting out of love, savoring textures and sensations of being and doing, and relaxing my grip on perfection and judgment.  For me this is yoga off the mat, and I am grateful that my attention was called into question by my thinking mind so that I could see my action for what it truly is. How many times in a seated meditation does the mind ask, "what are you doing? where are you?" and answers itself, "I've taken my seat and I am meditating."  This is harder to count than even counting the breath itself!

Life is not a Rehearsal: Each Moment is the Performance

Practicing, whether a musical instrument, painting, asana or other activity of mind and body, is a process of building stamina, skill, pattern, awareness, and technique. Yoga is not different in many ways from any of these other pursuits. A spiritual practice or a modality of scientific inquiry both benefit from repeating the walk along the pathways of the mind, in some ways codifying these movements into a chosen range of adaptations. We shape the way we think, our thoughts shape the way we react, act, feel. It is in this inquiry that we discover our selves and the world again and again.

Even in the practicing, though there are imperfections and sometimes struggles, it is not a rehearsal in order to get it right. The practicing is in itself the performance, but with a different audience or outcome. It is the self that performs, and the self who is transformed by the performance.

There is no moment when you are not your self. Even in moments when you might say, "I am not myself today," you are present only in that moment as the self you actually are, feeling off kilter. Our idea can shift about who we think we are, and we construct the ways in which we imagine we are seen by others.  As with playing music, it sounds beautiful to one person, boring to another, intriguing to someone and intolerable to someone else.  It exists only in the moment that you create it, and though you might record it, it lives then as a recording, played in a moment, reacted to in that moment. It is no longer your life, but a product of your life.

So with this in mind, it doesn't take much to see that what you say, the face you make, the food you put in your mouth, the way you touch another, the place you rest your eyes, all make up the life you actually live. There is no moment out-of-mind, even in the flow of ecstatic creativity that might bring out the music or the art, the breath or the dance, this is your moment. It is in this context that I contemplate the principles of right action and right speech.

Once I was in my dad's painting studio looking at some new work and he said, "Oil painting is like a rehearsal where you can keep going back and redo, or undo, or rethink, and remake; where watercolor is a performance with every stroke of the brush, this is it."

Being present in each moment is like living a watercolor, where each movement of the breath is the performance of life.  Is there pressure in this? I don't feel it that way. I see this spreads out any pressure into a general sense of upholding personal responsibility in all things, including sharing responsibilities with everyone else for the world we are making together, and accepting responsibility for the range of feelings that arise. This is not about perfection, or blocking out the "bad," but rather giving up the idea of "good" and "bad" and being here, in it right now as it is.

Doing What You Are Doing, Step Into Being Who You Are

Acting with clarity and without judgment reflects a constancy of self, an acceptance of best intention, an ability to engage with what is right there to be done with good will. Even unpleasant tasks or what might seem insignificant situations are sustaining if we are not jamming our own switchboards the whole time with judgments and confusion.

When turning clear energy toward a task, there is a sense of flow to it. This could be organizing a meeting, in a cooking or writing project, teaching or taking a yoga class, working through a tax filing, accompanying someone on a task they must do, anything really. This attribute of engagement is not judgmental, this is not a conflicted state.

If I am not resisting what I am doing, there is very little separation between what I am doing and who I am. Quite a difference when there is resistance. The mind chatters about all that is not as it should be, makes constant recommendations about this task, other tasks, other people's actions or choices, what else I could be doing, should be doing, cannot be doing, and generally gets in the way of feeling satisfied with how the time was spent or with the task itself. This takes energy too, and just like physical friction from resistance, it burns up some of the energy turned toward the task itself. Wastes energy. Pulls the action in other directions, and in a very real way separates you from who you are by spinning a web of illusion around your action.

"I did the best I could," is a statement that reflects whatever judgment is in your mind about the task. It can be said with derision, with humility, with sorrow, with pride, with any kind of emotion, really.  The statement is infused with judgment. There could be an unspoken sense of "under the circumstances" that holds a form of apology, or excuse, or blame, or self-judgment. There might be a subtext that describes a wish to have accomplished more, or the idea that someone else would have done more or better.

When you put your undivided attention into a task it isn't about "best" of anything, it is what it is. It can be a big shift to be comfortable with doing what you are doing, and not ranking what you are doing.
This is authentic action, what could be called, "right action." Full on engagement with an open mind, not a judging mind. The way this feels is not compromised by mixed internal messages and scattered judgments of the self or others now or in the past tense. This is being present in the moment, as Thich Nhat Hahn says so simply, "wash the dishes to wash the dishes."

Doing what you are doing without internal conflict releases energy towards the task that otherwise gets subverted into judgments and resistance. Doing what you are doing builds the muscles of mindfulness that keep you present in the moment in which you are actually living. Doing what you are doing literally turns everyday life into a moving meditation, of focused attention and open possibilities of being who you are.

Trouble In Paradise: Separate Will or Best Intention?

One of the first challenges in opening the mind is releasing the grip on "I, me, mine." Once this begins to take hold, it seems to me that clinging to tit-for-tat and ego-based judgments loses the light and leaves us in darkness when we act and choose our actions. Seeking out the center from which all beings move and breathe gives support to the wide variety of choices and decisions that conditions in the moment allow. There is something troublesome to me emerging from three of the most basic tenants of the Western moral codes. Take the following admonitions and chew on them a while.

Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.
Is your behavior always to be based upon your own expectations? Subject to the push and pull of what you have experienced (the past) and wishes for (the future)? Must I remain separate from "the other" with judgments of what I expect from you and what I am willing to do? Must "I" be at the center of every thought and act? Can we not act to improve the conditions of others beyond our expectations for our self?

An eye for an eye.
Where is compassion in exacting the same price upon others that has been exacted upon us? How can we avoid mutual destruction in this scenario?  Cause, condition, and fatalism play all the cards here. Where is basic goodness, or integrity of intention? Is justice a process of administering equal harm? This is not urging that we offer our eyes for the sake of seeing clearly on behalf of the self or anyone else. Can we see that what is an eye for one is an ear for another?

Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Here the power rests in conditioning, circumstance, conceptual teachings, and institutional structure. Who is describing this divine decision-maker and the realities of the exemplary setting? How does one see the context of shared human experience and the ongoing connections among living beings if subject to an unnamed authority in a place set aside? Is this a surrendering of the grasping, clutching, suffering individual will to what sustains their freedom of choice and their well-being? Doesn't abdication from our decision for right action leave us estranged from our own intention? Cannot our intention create the complete range of possibilities here on earth, without withholding our responsibility for that intention?

These axioms all seem to separate the action of an individual from the wellbeing of others, including the individual self. Underlying them all  is a power struggle of ego against the range of possible choices. They all seem set to limit options. Where is the integration of a communal framework for trust, choice, emotional safety or common purpose? Where is the development of intention without the grip of judgment?

I believe that we are not separate from one another as living beings.
We cannot thrive as separate entities. We can feel our suffering and our self interest are not in isolation. We experience life as part of a common human experience, shared in some real (and vast) ways by all living beings. Think of us all breathing in and breathing out: single celled organisms, plant life and all life forms in the oceans exchange oxygen and carbon dioxide. We all come into our present format and leave that format. If we each act on our best intention in the moment, we can move within our strengths, from our deepest sources of meanings, and take a simpler course. Our action becomes a compassionate act, taking others and  basic goodness as part of who we are. When conditions change, our best intention accommodates that, without denigrating the self or "the other."

Given that momentary circumstance and reactivity are always part of our decision making, our intentions and choices, this moment has an effect on those decisions and choices. What benefit is there to separating ourselves to measure and judge whether what I do or say to you is what I want you to do or say to me? (Is this a way of intimating fundamental respect?) How does exacting a conditioned causal behavior on another who is already in a different causal condition, improve my own or our mutual state? What purpose is there in my prostrating myself before another's will (especially a will that is a creation of massive hierarchies in other times and conditions), rather than working to see my own nature as part of common strand where my compassionate act might support mutuality?

Weed Control or Right Action?

Every time I weed or water, I take stock of how things are going. I've made decisions to push back the wild field growth and plant specific flowers or edible fruits, roots or leaves. This gives me responsibilities but doesn't really put me in charge. When it doesn't rain for days on end, I feel the urge to provide water, since I'm the one who asked this plant to grow in this place soaked in sun and dried by wind. If it rains too much, I am the one who puts boards, or rings of salty or sharp materials out to attract the slugs from the plants that get besieged the most. I know that deer will prune my cherry tomatoes and lily buds, some woodchuck may eliminate my zinnias or half a cucumber plant, the birds and chipmunks will some of the blueberries. I understand that all my effort to weed in any one place will be repeated again and again and grow over if I neglect that task.

Today, after many sunny days, there is a drift of cloud cover and I know that means today's task will be transplanting. There are just a few plants that are not thriving as they could. In a couple cases, I attribute this to wrong placement: planted where once they had dappled shade and now have too much sun because of the loss of a nearby bush or tree or the opposite case, planted once in sun and now because of the growth of nearby trees, not enough sun to flourish.

For me it is intuition more than garden design that brings the shovel to hand. I know that where I plan to put that astilbe it will have a good mix of what it needs, but I also know that to make even a small hole for it, I will be excavating rocks and filling in with soil from somewhere else. I cannot control what will happen. Sometimes moles will eat the roots of a healthy happy plant and it withers and dies. Sometimes for two years in a row I don't see a plant bloom because the deer have chomped the buds and then there is a spectacular Spring show, unlike any I've ever seen because somehow the deer passed it by that season.

Yet I do feel the weight of my actions, playing with the lives of plants, even if for my own good purposes or their better cultivation. I carefully cut the chard leaves that we will eat, leaving the plant's newest growth to continue. I cut the lettuce, or broccoli rabe in the coolness of morning, water in the coolness of evening, and do that which I know to do in ways that I hope disturb the natural cycles the least. I see the wilting leaves in the hot sun, and think about the evening's watering to sustain them. I know that the buds that open in the morning care nothing for me or my appreciative gaze.

I have taken it on to grow these beautiful and edible plants where there were once different beautiful and edible plants (though perhaps not edible for me), leaving many wild patches of raspberries and blackberries, roses and barbary, gooseberries and elderberries, along with the field full of grasses and thistles, milkweed, joe pye weed, yarrow, vetch and so many others whose names I may never know or cannot remember. As soon as I turn my back, the plants I have planted here will struggle to keep their footing as the wild ones return. Each seeding for its own survival, spreading roots, and seeking out the moist earth.

Today, after I moved an echinacea from deep shade into a sunnier spot, the sun came out. That poor plant drooped, even with the good soil and water I had given it. I put a wire cage around it and draped a white tee shirt over it for protection. Half an hour later, the clouds came in seriously and sporadic rain drops began to fall. The tee shirt came off, the droopy stalks still sagged, but perhaps tomorrow will straighten them up. The coral bells, astilbe, heliobore, and goatsbeard have all settled down as though they were just waiting for this moment. Today the gray sky brings me joy.

Acceptance: Friend Your Self

Irritable when your shoelace breaks as you prepare to leave?
Frustrated to discover you are short of lentils for your walnut lentil loaf?
Defeated to find they don't make that specific wallet anymore?
Angry that there are no seats left on that cheaper flight?
Upset that the frame doesn't come in that size unless special ordered?
Anxious that your right hip won't let you Ardha Chandrasana or Vrksasana?
Disappointed when you get home to find the 2nd delivery was attempted in your absence?

These are all normal situations that can escalate a feeling of helplessness and anger, especially when the pressure is on to squeeze things in to a tight schedule, or there are deadlines and holidays coming with their own special requirements.

Acceptance is a very deep and rewarding practice. It provides a base from which to observe the reactive self; and with an openness and kindness a bit like a friendly arm around your shoulder, it can allow the moment to pass without the clutch of despair to cloud your view or your action.

It seemed to me growing up that political activism and "fighting" for what seemed right was a noble interaction in the world. I took it as my personal mission to try to make other people happy in a strained family dynamic and thought it was normal for people to try to "fix" each other. This kind of well meaning but destructive idea assumes that there is a better way to see or do or be than that which comes naturally to each of us. I think the schools perpetuated this attitude of "fix it" rather than one of growing what was there already. I'm sure there was a striving for good purpose and intention in all this, but acceptance was not a foundational part of it. Reactive nature provoked more reactions, emotions could hijack intellectual understanding and pit each person against themselves and each other in a blink of an eye. Many a moment was saturated in defeat, self-rejection, blame of others, and helpless sadness. I see how this created an external and internal idea of who each of us could be. I came to understand that there is a common core to all of us, a strand that binds the heart in love, not judgment. Acceptance is part of the path to this understanding.

Everything that happens is transient - it comes and goes. If we can keep our response in the moment as well, we are liberated to react and to act in very different ways than if we allow every little bump in the road to be felt judgmentally, as part of a cumulative defeat, a negative judgment upon the self, an excuse to blame or distrust, and on and on with external and internal negativity. When we bind the moment to these rising emotions of judging ourselves and others in response to fleeting conditions, we trap ourselves further in the emotional cycles of blame and shame, anger and frustration. Of course, this limits our ability to see or experience the range of possibilities and make choices for non harming, non judgmental behaviors.

Imagine approaching the object of discontent as a friend, something like: Ahh, someone I recognize, know well, and though respectful of some distance between us, feel warmth and curiosity. At first it can take an active intention to feel this, to take this approach. Like training oneself to follow a procedure, it is assuming a particular pattern to shift away from other possible reactive patterns. In time, though, it becomes a natural response, to look with affection or at least kindness upon the person whose action or behavior might have disappointed in the past, or upon the shop clerk who informs you that what you seek is no longer available in that size, and even upon your desire to have that thing.

How we function in the world is much more a choice we make when we take this approach, rather than blowing around in the winds of reactive nature. We do not have to let reactivity define personality and character, and create so much negativity in the heart towards the self and others. This is a first step in the practice of acceptance, seeing through the reaction, cultivating the awareness in the moment of reactivity. Once we begin to see the layers and possibilities, we can choose to water a different seed, so to speak.

The practice deepens beyond the surface behaviors into a level of understanding that liberates the attachment to assigning meaning and value in all directions. And even with the occasional negative reaction, while still under the thumb of attachment to control and judgment, the way of being in the world is transformed.

Intentions and Actions

Every time I show up on the yoga mat, I have every intention of exploring myself and my understandings through yoga. Much of what I know has been learned over time either from teachers, or through direct observation and inquiry. I learn from my students as well, which makes teaching that much more rewarding. Lately I've rarely been able to attend classes taught by other teachers. Some of this is due to my schedule, some is the expense of taking classes, some is due to diverging approaches to practice.

My own practice evolved with every teacher I encountered in those first few years of practice. I was lucky to meet many earnest young teachers from many different yogic schools. Most were very generous with their knowledge and their interests. After my certification to teach at Kripalu, I was deeply curious about many aspects of yoga as they became more and more accessible or visible to me. Now, just as I did then, I am drawn to the teachings of others who have come by various paths and am tremendously curious about their approaches, the different pathways and encouragements to understanding what is all one... the breath, the present moment, the body, the mind, and the vastness beyond the mind, in other words, yoga!

So, I have decided to commit myself to two class cards and use them up within approximately six weeks at two different Manhattan yoga studios. Each has a signature style, well known originators, an eclectic merging of traditional spiritual practices with more contemporary physical tendencies towards motion and music. Both have integrated Buddhist and Hindu devotional undercurrents. Both will challenge me to open my heart and take in a new depth to my own practice. I've chosen these two to begin, but there are definitely others that are also calling to me! We'll see how this goes with my own teaching schedule, elder care travels, weekends upstate, family and other work responsibilities.

It can't help but infuse my personal practice with a variety of currents, energy, curiosity and confusion. This is all good. It is the experience and exploration that intrigues me. And I just know it will seep into my teaching, as I cultivate my own awareness. Around mid-October I'll evaluate the effect of these external influences. I may continue to develop relationships with these two studios, but I may take up a couple other studios that integrate these same aspects with a different style.

Thanks to my treasured blog friends who have so courageously been describing their practices and their struggles, their defining moments and their mechanisms of finding their way. What an inspiration they are. I am beginning to feel excited, as well as a little bit anxious, about taking my intentions into action. Even the "little bit anxious" part feels to me as growth.

Exploring Respect: Right Speech, Right Action

How to have respect, and show respect without judgment is a serious part of my yoga explorations. I can feel my urge to "inform" others of my point of view. It has been difficult at times to live through the effects of what feels to others like "telling them what to do." I have come to accept that my observations are totally tainted by my own experiences and that can put me off the mark in assessing what is happening.

It is especially important in my yoga teaching to truly treat the student as the expert in their own body experience. Though I may have useful insights to give them, it is their own integration of this that makes any sense or has any purpose. As I recently mentioned to a friend, my first experience in a yoga class of being instructed to "relax in child's pose" was such a case in reverse. I know that this pose is not relaxing for many people in a physical sense, but for me it was not physically obvious...it was the reference to my childhood that brought discomfort. That began a very serious inquiry for me, not necessarily a bad thing, but not the teacher's intentions. So in this, I am learning to ask, to observe, to suggest, to invite the modifications. My role as a teacher is to make the space safe for students to explore, and to offer as judgment free instruction as I can, and THEN offer what I know as a possible option, not a directive.

Respect may, in this way, also require figuring out deep hidden attachments to patterns or judgments. Enjoying a conversation with someone who holds different views is possible in a non competitive, non-proselytizing way if there is an open space in which to speak and listen. Respect can make it possible for people to share deep feelings about things without feeling that there must be agreement. Word choice goes way beyond political correctness, but that concept is similar. If we speak in the language of inclusion, using non-inflammatory words, in other words speaking non-judgmentally, it feels respectful. Really meaning what we say changes the tone as well. Verbal interactions in relationships can cause pain or give joy. Sometimes it is not speaking that will do the most good, making the space for another person to do something their own way without commentary, to feel accepted, make a discovery, or explore in their own way the relevant cause and effect of their words or actions.

Beyond words, respect is embedded in action. Choosing where to meet someone, weeding in the garden, catching a chipmunk trapped in the house, or deciding how to travel or what to eat are all actions where our choices have embedded assumptions, and values are subtly or not so subtly assigned to other lives, to others' feelings, to the conditions we create or within which we live. Staying in someone else's home, or visitng another country can high light these inner threads of behaviors with which we tie ourselves to unintended outcomes. Bringing this to consciousness, observing our own way of acting, making the first step one of seeing the pattern leads to understanding that there are choices to be made that might have very different results. Respecting our own need for freedom can lead to authentic respect for others in our actions towards others as well.

I remember reading a conversation with the Dalai Lama about Ghandi, in which he was asked about acting to stop a violent act or being passive. His response included the concept that first, passivity is not the same as peace, and then went on to say that if one is able to see that another person is about to act against their karmic best interests, it is right action to prevent that act... not simply allowing oneself to be attacked, for example, since that would also bring harm to oneself and the other person. This really struck me as interpreting active resistance in that case as an act of deep respect. Imagine thinking of oneself as part of the other, or the other as part of oneself in that context! Yet that is an underlying concept, that we are not separate from the results of our own choices, nor from the conditions that impact on others.

Gunshots on Memorial Day

Standing in my country garden, the perfume of blooming iris in my nostrils, I methodically water the asparagus bed while listening to booming gunshots from the neighbors’ back deck as they reverberate off the hills around me. Breathing in, I am grateful that they have brought the violent and irrepressible nature of man into this moment reminding me that it is “Memorial Day.” Breathing out, I am filled with wonder that my species has survived so many hundreds of years.

I cannot pretend that I enjoy the shooting-for-entertainment going on next door. I feel my startle reflex with every boom. The home-made canon shot brings a reflexive gasp. I watch myself become accustomed to the sounds ricocheting off the hills, and I feel something akin to closeness to those who have been subjected to similar experiences though in places without the blooming iris and beautiful asparagus beside them for reassurance.

My Memorial Day, acceptance and care for those who served our country in the military, was formed when I was very young and felt the resultant fear and anger destroying a man I loved. He had returned from Vietnam, where he was a medic, to a country who reviled the war in which he fought so desperately to save lives. He was looked upon with suspicion and contempt by fellow students, as he tried to finish his education at the local state university. He worked in construction, using his extraordinary physical energy to build tall structures that were later burned down as training for the fire department. This cycle of work and destruction was hard on him, but familiar. He dropped to the ground at the sound of gunshot, or the backfire of a car. And when he rose up, his anger and humiliation looked for a target. He was a kind and loving man, who tended to his disabled sister with a depth of love I had never seen from a man towards a child, and he experienced joy with a roaring passion as exuberant as the fireworks whose cracking booms he could barely tolerate by clenching his jaw and wrapping his arms tightly around me. He knew we were safe, but not that safe.

And so I thank the young men down the way, up country where people use the word “freedom” to mean so many facets of “I want what I want and I deserve the right to have it,” for bringing Memorial Day deep into my heart. My dear friend survived the war in Vietnam, but was walking wounded from the war in human nature. For this, I hold myself responsible, and seek out the peace in my own nature when my anger rises against those who tear away at the possibilities for peace among humans on earth.

Making choices: pruning & oil spills

The catastrophe of oil spilling into the gulf waters has brought a lot of attention to the choices we make, the risks we are willing to take to fulfill our desires, and how we see responsibility for the outcomes.

Oddly enough, pruning involves these same aspects. The action involves cutting into a living thing in order to suit a desired purpose, taking risks on behalf of that living thing and in committing our energies, in so doing. Sometimes it is hard to tell the winter die-back from the not-quite-juiced-yet early spring twigs. Sometimes the growth that is stimulated by cutting off the ends of things can result in a skipped year of blooming, an invigoration of the remaining plant, or an overly exuberant growth spurt out of proportion to the supporting stems. Cutting can open a plant to infection from a variety of bacteria or insects. And so, convincing ourselves that it is for the health of the plant or for beauty of form or an increase in output, gardeners prune the shrubs, fruit trees, roses and other perennials and live with the results. Sometimes the outcome is not what we expect, losing the plant, thwarting the intended result, or requiring a more intense or vigilant effort -- an even deeper involvement -- in order to get what we want, deal with the difference, or salvage the situation.

Our desires for energy, car and plane travel, long-distance shipping, constantly increased electronic connectivity, more packaged products and profits in all its forms, in addition to a seeming proclivity to deny the role our choices play in the problems from which we suffer, all seem to boil down to that same equation: the choices we make, the risks we are willing to take to fulfill our desires and how we see responsibility for the results. A couple things seem clear, we don't usually consider widely enough the ramifications of our choices, nor do we find it easy to recognize the depth of self-centered desire embedded in those choices. In terms of gardening, though, I think we are likely to be aware that we make these choices in order to serve our purposes, in other words, to bend the plant to our desires even if we don't think through fully what fuels those desires or might result from them.

Perhaps it is helpful to think about pruning, starting with recognition that the world in which we live is, in essence, living organisms and inter-dependent systems that are not separated by names or our ways of making distinctions among them. Like choosing to plant something in a spot that is not conducive to the culture it requires, first we must recognize that we are not in charge of everything nor do we know all there is to know when it comes right down to it. Then, either we must take responsibility and make the deep commitment to ensure that the culture is appropriate so that the plant will prosper, or we must look again at our motives for putting it in that spot, and reconsider our desires in light of the risks we cause. The life of the plant hangs in the balance, as does our desired outcome.

The role we play is part of the natural process of living organisms in this earthly context. Elephants and beavers reorganize the natural habitat to suit their purposes, and suffer the wider ramifications without taking responsibility for changing the habitat for others or displacing other species of flora and fauna. Humans have the ability to see this especially now that we do have hundreds of years of experiences and research to draw upon. As if holding those pruning shears in hand, we have the ability to see our choices, and act in the interests of the plant's health rather than in service of our ever-changing desires for larger fruit or bigger blooms.

Paying Taxes

I do not mind paying taxes. I am so grateful that so many people can collectively support each other in a peaceful, productive way. We have agreed to support on a massive scale the ability of many to travel within our communities, to collect and recycle our waste, to educate our young, to maintain the safety of our work environments, to protect ourselves from oppressive or violent external or criminal forces, to maintain an ever-evolving judicial system, to earnestly approach equity in our civil behaviors, to support those vulnerable and elderly and the very young to ensure nutritious food and health care, and so many other aspects of our common life here on this particular part of planet earth. It is not so in many places.

So many people seem to equate taxes with something bad. Perhaps the "government" is taking something away from its citizens in order to do destructive and terrible things. Maybe the taxes paid because of income earned on investments, and properties, on wages and winnings all came out of singular causes and conditions totally as a result of the efforts of one individual person. We know this is not so. Without each other's help and support none of us would be productive in the ways that we are now.

Certainly people take advantage of conditions and situations, and there are many who are unscrupulous and self centered in their greed. There are those who will sell a bad bill of goods, or not follow through on what they have been paid to do. There are those who take advantage of others in a state of need, and there are some who have no moral compass to help steer them away from harming themselves and others.

I like to imagine that these are the exceptions rather than the rule. I do not think of myself as so unique. The vast majority of people I have known throughout my life are people who, though they may have wrestled with indecision or moral confusion at times in their lives, are generally willing to put their hands in towards the common good or the good of someone else. It is this that I choose to hold when my heart sinks at the news of terrible human behaviors and irresponsible harm towards others.

This is how I conceive of taxes until they are used to pay for a military or industrial or environmental or educational strategy that oppresses others or causes irreparable harm. It is for that reason that I believe a fully functioning democracy is vital to sustain my belief that we can live in the principle of "Do no harm." I do my part to support a civil culture and structure that accommodates various belief systems and respects the individual among the many. Paying my taxes is part of this. I carry the weight on my own shoulders and I share that responsibility when I pay my taxes. A longer view helps me get through the times when I see the government take action that is harmful to others. I put more energy towards opening my ways of understanding, releasing my judgmental mind and being compassionate towards the fears and pain that are the underpinnings of these acts. This is not easy, but helps get me through my own anger and sorrow. I understand that others do not share my views and may feel despair at some of the actions I would perpetrate. Underneath everything, though, I hope we can learn to stop wishing others harm as a solution to our problems.

I hope our existence outlasts our separateness.

Words About Words

Perhaps where there is ego there is conflict. As I write my blog, if I speak from a state of separateness – that of ego – it is bound to cause some of my readers to feel I am preaching to or at them. It may cause some of my students to grasp for something they think I have, when in fact the state of being is something that only comes as it is. It is nothing in and of itself. So speaking of conditions, or of my discoveries about practice, I am not meaning to instruct others what to do or how to be or even to value this over that.

How then to express what I am discovering without the ego that creates attachment, grasping, judgment and suffering for me or my readers? Becoming sensitive to the use of words that sound like goals or achievements might be one way. Sharing the moment, the process, without a statement of revelation or value would be another. Perhaps, after thinking through what it is for me, I can turn it around and see if I can still see it without my self in it.

How would Lao Tzu phrase it? Ego-less and time-less, place-less and mind-less? For me at times his writing is so clear, other times so obscure that I taste but cannot identify the flavors. My blog is a continuous journey into finding out who I am as a yoga practitioner, teacher and student. Using words to explain or express, to reveal or explore, is also part of my practice and teaching. With this in mind, I will try to keep the instructional tone to a limit, this is not Me telling You, yet I still use personal pronouns and live a first-person life. My explorations are, quite honestly, about me and my yoga experiences. This blog is a way of sharing this so that others might see what is going on with me, thereby dispelling any illusions about me, while being encouraging in the active seeking of a deeper practice. I am in no way holding up my experiences as a road or a destination.

This life can be an endless experience of being with no specific outcome other than this moment. Perhaps this blog will follow me in this to an eventual state of silence, where there is no ego and are no words to describe that state. Somehow, given the way my entire life has evolved with language and poetry, music and the rhythm of breath at its core, I doubt that silence of that kind is around the corner, yet if it is, so be it! Meanwhile, I will struggle with ego and explore how to integrate, illuminate and expand without being preachy.

Energy Rising

Get up and be.
Take myself there, even if I feel the resistance.
Acknowledge the backwards pull and seek the source.
Is it fear? Is it lack of faith? Is it judgment?
Can I tolerate that I have no other moment than this one?
Let that change everything.

Sometimes I think, "one day I will do this or that, this way or that way..."
That is thinking.
Now I understand that if I intend to do it, that is an intention.
If I do it, I do it.
If I do not do it, I do not do it.
Now is now.
Giving myself this is the gift of my own life.

Perhaps it is giving myself the time to do yoga.
Perhaps it is sitting and not doing any asana.
Perhaps it is ensuring that I keep my words, perhaps that I let all my words go.
Perhaps it is drinking the wine, perhaps it is not drinking the wine.
Eat the meat, do not eat the meat.
Watch the sun rise, watch the sun set.
Keep my eyes closed. Open my eyes.
Everything in the mind is in the mind.
Is the body in the mind?
Is the breath in the body?

I make choices. I choose to live this moment.
Do I put off breathing? I breathe in, I breathe out.
Sweep myself up in the energy of breath.
Let myself rest in the peace of breath.

Doubt as a Motivation: Living with Self Confidence

Where do we get the idea that we are supposed to be certain about so many things all the time, anyway? Is that what makes us think we are valuable, smart, competent? Doubts often look like a lack of confidence, uncertainty or even a lack of will. I think doubt is a way of expressing a lack of certainty in a projected outcome or in an assigned meaning or interpretation. Doubt can simply reflect not knowing and get confused with a judgment that one "ought to know" and therefore is not competent or trustworthy or ready for whatever is called for in that moment. Translate "doubt" into "I do not know for certain" and doubt can become the source for the energy of inquiry into possibility.

Is it possible to let go of judgment and simply give ourselves the space to be open to the possibilities? I think that self confidence is possible without ego dominance and in that context, doubt can be an inspiration. It doesn't take much to notice that my legs are shaking in a revolved lunge. Without putting a negative spin on it, I can enjoy that resistance and even discover ways to release more of the tension. I can find out something about myself in that process: watching my mind, observing my body, continuing to trust in my breath to keep me opening to the sensations. This happens, I think, because I am accepting myself in that moment, giving myself freedom to act directly from a nonjudgmental source in myself rather than from my constructed and judging ego. I could load myself with judgments, "How can I be a real yoga teacher if my legs are shaking even in revolved lunge?" or "I have to hold this longer in order to prove that I am good at this" or "I must be doing something wrong since I'm not finding this easy." All of this judging is built on the idea that somehow perfection in performance is required to qualify me to be who I am, not the actual experience itself. This is what I mean by projected outcome and assigned meaning. If I continue working through such a judgmental mind, I will disable or truncate my possibilities and my experiences.

A friend posted on Facebook this quote from His Holiness the Dalai Lama: "With the realization of one's own potential and self-confidence in one's ability, one can build a better world. According to my own experience, self-confidence is very important. That sort of confidence is not a blind one; it is an awareness of one's own potential. On that basis, human beings can transform themselves by increasing the good qualities and reducing the negative qualities."

An awareness of one's own potential is like opening all the shutters and curtains and letting the light flood into the room. The light falls equally and fully on everything it reaches. This level of awareness is where that self confidence draws from when in the face of uncertainty or struggle, and most especially of what we do not or can not know. Of course the light will shine on disturbing aspects too, equally brightly (those shaky legs or human cruelties or past sorrows). I think H.H. Dalai Lama is speaking to that as well, that this awareness accepts the entirety and that openness enables us to make choices between the negative and the positive.

Thinking of my garden buried under the snow, I imagine the longer hours of sunlight are affecting the bulbs in the ground, starting to generate the slightest bit of energy towards root growth for those tiny snowdrops, wild hyacinths, daffodils and jonquils. The dandelions are also finding this longer day stimulating. It is my choice to think of harvesting the new greens or of pulling out those deep roots. Sitting here next to the woodstove I do not know which action I will choose, and could easily doubt that I will take either action, simply allowing the beautiful bright yellow blooms to emerge and outshine the bulbs I planted until the first cutting of the grass.