Meditating In Place

For more than a year I’ve been trying to find time in a busy life to offer a meditation class. I first mapped out a plan and shared it with my most revered teacher and received her enthusiastic blessing. Excited, I started telling friends who said, “sign me up!” and I looked for a venue. But every effort resulted in … nothing. I struggled to find a time and place that worked for others but wouldn’t create more stress for me, an outcome that just felt at odds with my real goal. Nothing seemed to add up. I scribbled in my journal about how much I wanted this and even chastised myself: If this is so important to you, why aren’t you making it happen?

Then on March 17, ours was one of six Bay Area counties to come under a Shelter In Place order as coronavirus began rapidly spreading across the globe. That day as I sat for meditation, I felt not only an uneasy uncertainty about the days ahead but also a tiny glimmer of relief, knowing I could now devote what had been my commute time to meditation. I recognized immediately that this moment of panic, grief, and confusion was also a moment of opportunity to nurture my practice—and that nothing could be more valuable.

In normal times, I meditate some days and practice yoga on others, or I split my available time between the two—but rarely do I have time to adequately indulge in both. In theory, I could now do it all. But I could also imagine my good intentions dissipating on days when I would rather sleep-in or chat with my husband over coffee, so on the first day of Shelter In Place, I committed to a disciplined approach: Meditation at 8am for 30 minutes, every weekday.

But wait, I thought, if I have time to do this right now, so do others. What if we got together to Meditate In Place?

I invited a few friends and they invited a few friends and now every morning a small group gathers at 8am over Zoom. Some people come a morning or two each week, others come every day and report that they’re meditating on their own on the weekends (when I do sleep-in and chat over coffee before getting to my cushion).

Often the sense of expansive awareness I feel during these morning sessions is astonishing. I am, of course, spending more time every day thinking about meditation, about philosophy and spiritual teachings, and preparing to offer breathing practices and meditation techniques. Yet I am increasingly aware that any plans I make for the morning are just placeholders. The guidance I end up offering often just arises spontaneously out of some combination of years of study, intuition, and wisdom’s natural attraction to this group of strangers seeking peace in silent, geographically-distant togetherness.

So my experience of Sheltering In Place, though taking place against a backdrop of death and economic destruction and sheer horror, is offering something precious, something that “regular life” just couldn’t make room for. I recognize how extremely fortunate I am to be healthy and safe in this moment, and also to have finally found the opening that I had been seeking to share meditation with others. Together we are finding a sense of peaceful well being, gratitude, even contentment in these most challenging times. As we head into the unknown future, I am comforted by knowing that even the least expected and darkest of times holds shimmers of beauty.

Everyone is welcome. To join, drop me a line at MeditateInPlace@gmail.com

Presence: Taking It To the Streets

May all beings have happiness and the causes of happiness.

Weekday mornings in San Francisco’s Financial District I almost always cross paths with people who live on the streets. Some lie passed out on beds of scavenged cardboard, others wriggle out of dirty sleeping bags and recede into the shadows as the sidewalks grow crowded with those lining up for $5 coffees en route to work. The juxtaposition of realities is jarring, yet frighteningly easy to get used to—life in the city, as they say.

I am training myself not to look past the suffering. There is nothing normal about this, I remind myself. The soiled, tattered clothes, too often the stench of festering wounds, the complete lack of vitality in people’s eyes, if you dare take it all in, is shocking.

I struggle, not knowing what to do about it. My contributions to non-profits are pitiful when measured against the weight of the problem. I don’t have any great solutions to offer. But if given a chance, I do the most human thing I can think of: I acknowledge the presence of the people I encounter. Sometimes I offer money or food, usually just a smile and a greeting. I silently wish them happiness and the causes of happiness, as suggested by the Brahmaviharas, or The Four Immeasurables, of the Buddhist tradition.

Increasingly, though, the people I come across aren’t available for any interaction. Some are obviously on drugs or afflicted by mental illness (or both) and others, I imagine, have retreated to some inner place where the pain of such a life is dulled. Whatever the reason, more and more people on the street seem inaccessible, unwilling or unable to take part in any human exchange and likely unable to be present in any way for their own experience. This feels markedly different from past years, when you couldn’t walk past a person camped on the corner without them trying to strike up a conversation before asking for spare change.

I wonder what’s changed. Fewer handouts? More long-term homelessness related to addiction and mental illness? Is it possible that life on the street is harder today than a few years ago? I sense that many of the people I see are literally without hope. It’s painfully understandable. Their experience is the stuff of nightmares—living without the most basic human necessities and passing their days cold, hungry, largely disregarded or forgotten. They are deprived not only of the food and shelter needed for sustenance and wellbeing, but also of the kind of nourishment that sustains the spirit.

I do my best to acknowledge the existence of each homeless person I see. On the simplest human level, looking someone in the eye, offering a smile and good wishes, feels essential. At the core of any functional society is a willingness to engage, to witness each other’s vulnerability and suffering, and to help each other as we can. Sometimes the best we can do is offer our good wishes: May you have happiness and the causes of happiness.

I find it takes effort just to witness suffering. It is so much easier to look away, not to notice or feel this kind of misery. But I think noticing suffering is more than worthwhile, I think it is necessary—without it, we risk becoming less grateful and generous, more greedy and uncaring. We risk apathy and a hardening heart.

It’s easy to see how a lack of concern for others echoes and ultimately bolsters the sense of disparity and polarity dominating our politics and economies. That’s another big problem I don’t feel adequate to solve, but that I surely want to mitigate in the ways available to me.

So I continue the simplest practice of noticing those on the streets who are suffering. I aim to make a momentary connection and to be helpful if asked. Silently, I offer my best wishes for happiness and the causes of happiness. It’s not much, but it seems essential, one of the most important things I can do each day.

Meditating for Money?!!!

Surely, I thought, it’s a parody. “This Quick Meditation Will Bring Financial Abundance Into Your Life” winked a LinkedIn post. Turns out it was a serious offering— a 5-minute video promising that by sitting tall through your spine and placing an intention deep in your heart, you could set yourself up to get the riches you desire.

This snake-oil approach to promoting meditation rankles me. By promising overblown and magical results, the message seems designed to provoke ridicule in people who sense the phoniness or disillusionment in those gullible enough to believe it.

But here’s the thing: I can imagine how meditation could actually help someone attain the abundance they seek. Not through 5 minutes of magical thinking, but through a commitment to a practice that introduces greater clarity, discernment, inspiration, creativity, motivation, steadiness and fortitude in the face of challenges—all of which could absolutely contribute to a person taking actions to ensure financial abundance or some other desired result.  To my mind, the possibility is real but the promise is all wrong.

The Practice of Giving

The post reminded me of a very sweet woman who had made a new year’s resolution to attract abundance by practicing giving. I ran into her at a yoga conference where she purchased several hundred dollars worth of Tibetan scarves to give away to friends—and insisted that one was for me, though we were mere acquaintances.

It seemed to me odd and misguided to buy up a stack of anything and start handing it out as a way to shore up one’s financial future. I told her I was grateful for her generosity but couldn’t accept the gift. She insisted I must: Giving was her practice and to not accept her generosity was worse than insulting—it threatened her ability to attain the abundance she sought!

I found it heartbreaking but not entirely surprising to learn a few months later that she had been diagnosed with a mental illness and institutionalized.

The truth is a ritual like “practicing giving” can be life-changing. You can “give” a smile to a stranger or take on your beloved’s least favorite chore, and notice how your attitudes, habits, even your sense of self, change as you perform the simplest acts of generosity. You might give money to people in need or causes you believe in, and notice the sense of abundance that arises when your resources, whatever they may be, are used in the service of something meaningful. And maybe, MAYBE, an act of pure-hearted giving will set in motion a chain of events that ultimately benefits you.

But to “practice giving” in ways that deplete your wallet, with a belief that such an action is equivalent to depositing funds in a high-interest bank account? That is, well, crazy. And so is the idea that 5 minutes of meditation can pave the way to financial abundance. I mean, if there were any truth to that, a lot of people I know would be filthy rich—and the rest would be busy meditating!

Meditation With a Capital M

I’ve found my own practice of meditation brings me the greatest satisfaction when I show up on the cushion with the simple desire to connect with myself. Sometimes, it feels like a coffee date with a friend—I sit with real interest in this human being, this “me.” How are you, really? the wise inner voice in me might ask the individual “me” that often feels buffeted by life events.

In quiet communion with myself, I discover emotions that are just under the surface, feelings that I haven’t even registered in the busyness of life. Sometimes I discover heavy clouds of grief or anger or fear—reactions to challenges my life has presented that I haven’t made time to process or have had a hard time accepting. Other times I discover pockets of joy, effervescent and shimmering.

When I meditate regularly, this emotion-rich layer is something I feel my way through in a matter of minutes, before settling into a deeper connection with breath and then with the subtle sense of presence that is right there under the murky layer of all of that “Me-stuff.” There are times though, when I’ve let my practice wither or when some life event is bearing down on me, when my entire meditation may be filled by this wordless “conversation” with my emotional self. I might sob or feel compelled to expel long complain-y passages into my journal. I’m OK with that. I know that until I have made space for these emotions to fully express themselves, they have a hold on my consciousness that keeps me from being present for my daily life experiences, much less the subtler connection with the self in meditation.

Often it is in this in-between state, when I am sitting for meditation but letting myself sift through emotions as I focus on the breath, that I not only relax, but I have great insights. I can suddenly see solutions to problems that are weighing on me or I find myself spontaneously reshaping my perception of events in ways that eliminate my tension and suffering. It’s the best therapy I can imagine. It may not be the quiet, blissful communion with Self that we aspire to in Meditation with a Capital M, but it’s part of what draws me back again and again to my cushion.

How I Might Meditate on Abundance

I think if I were to “meditate on abundance,” I would start in that pre-meditative state and explicitly aim to contemplate my emotions about abundance. In what ways do I already feel abundance? Where do I feel the lack of abundance? What does that feel like? What would be different if I had greater financial abundance?  

I would follow this train of thought for a while, journal about anything significant that revealed itself, and when the idea had played itself out for the moment, I would return to a focus on the breath and dive into the subtler realms of consciousness. The next time I sat on my mat, I would do it again—repeating this practice until I had real clarity on my relationship to abundance and what, if any, actions I wanted to take to change it.

It would take quite a bit longer than 5 minutes—maybe 30 minutes a day over some number of weeks or months. It would be highly unlikely to lead to any immediate change in financial status, but it would surely excavate a lot of emotions and attitudes—some of which might change simply for having been brought to light. It would likely awaken a deeper understanding of what is actually important to me, why I have an underlying desire for greater abundance and what I am willing to do to have it.

It would likely promote, too, greater compassion for myself and a deeper connection to the self that is untouched by any desire for abundance—two avenues leading to more peace and happiness. Honestly, that sounds pretty good. There’s no guarantee that working like this will “Bring Financial Abundance into Your Life,” but it could be fun to see where a practice like this takes you.

A Yoga Litmus Test: Is It Kind?

My practice at 50 is quite different from what it was at 25 or 35 or even 45. I still love a strong, athletic class that leaves me sweaty, endorphin-infused, and sore the next day. But I no longer have the patience for yoga that isn’t smart, well sequenced, and capable of inspiring me to be more mindful and compassionate with myself. The quality that now defines “authentic yoga” for me is KINDNESS.

If a particular asana practice demands more than feels healthy for my body, if meditation feels punishing rather than joyful, I don’t feel bad about bowing out. I appreciate the discernment developed over the decades that allows me to recognize when an idea or instruction isn’t serving me, and I politely move on. With less to prove, I prefer practices that nurture my capacity for compassion, even tenderness, rather than accomplishment. I look for teachings that inspire curiosity about how things are rather than expectations of how they should be.

 Perhaps this is the great gift of growing up, arriving at the true adulthood of middle age. Every day I find myself more willing to let go of “how it’s supposed to be” and more able to celebrate the life I have—this body, this mind, this heart, these life circumstances.

I learned last night that a woman I know, younger than me, is dying of cancer—she has just a few days left on Earth. We aren’t close. M is the mother of my daughter’s childhood friends and also a cherished friend of my good friends, but our lives only just overlapped. Never mind that now. She—a gorgeous mother of two adolescent girls, an artist, a healer, a source of wisdom and grace in her community—has brought all the strength and courage one can to the frightening and unknowable terrain that is cancer. And now her time here is up.

The news hit me forcefully, a walloping reminder that life is fragile. We live amidst the unexpected and unknowable. We are invited to dream, compelled to take action, inspired at times to make heroic efforts, but even our purest intentions and fiercest determination guarantee nothing. We are not in control.

Surging with love and compassion for this woman I barely know, I think how upsetting this news will be to my daughter, which is a tiny proxy for sensing how M’s death will affect her daughters.  I don’t want to imagine saying a final goodbye to my own daughter, to my beloved husband, to drinking in the crisp mountain air or the salty ocean breeze, to spotting a fox or a dolphin, to those moments when my heart pulses with love for all beings. I know that this almost-friend of mine doesn’t want to imagine any of this either, but she is embracing it because she must. This is what is being asked of her and she is strong and loving and giving herself to the experience in the most righteous way she can.

The only remedy for the grief I feel is to stop and appreciate my own imperfect life. There is so much that hasn’t worked out the way I would have liked and yet, here I am—alive, healthy, and loved.

This is the attitude I want to cultivate in my yoga practice. I don’t want to spend another moment berating myself for not being more or doing better. It feels far more valuable to spend the moments I have enjoying and appreciating all that I am and do and have—and yes, moving purposefully toward giving more of myself to the experiences life presents. I’m not asking for my practice to be easy, just to encourage me to meet what comes with kindness. (September 2016)

Yoga Invites Us Into a Wave of Potent Energy. Harness it!

Your time on the mat keeps you fit and flexible, but you’ve probably experienced, too, how it quiets an anxious mind or invigorates a creative spark. As you focus on consciously moving your body through space, syncing each movement with the breath, the chatter of the mind slows and grows quieter. Your mind is not still, just fully occupied by the tasks at hand and lulled by the rhythm of breath and movement. To step out of a busy mind for an hour is supremely delicious.

Occasionally, in Savasana, you may sense a connection to the subtle, effervescent essence of who you are—beyond identity and personality, with the confines of life as you know it having faded so that you aren’t aware of many details. You are quietly aware that you are aware, nothing more.

This gentle moment of relaxed awareness may last only a few breaths, and yet it is deeply nourishing. Like a lazy beach vacation, this is a moment untouched by stress and busyness. It has the power to rejuvenate and inspire you. Yet, as soon as you have had the smallest taste of this restorative energy, it’s usually time to roll up your mat, check your phone, and rush off to the next To Do on the list. The gifts of your practice remain nearly untouched.

Most of us invest pretty heavily to create the conditions that gave rise to that sense of peace, contentment, and creativity. We devote time and resources to getting ready and attending a class. And then, just as it starts to pay off, we step away and turn our attention elsewhere.

What if you begin to think of the practice as an investment in your personal energy bank? You might log the benefits: Feeling more relaxed, more energized, happier. Discovering more clarity, greater inspiration. Though you are already investing in it, you may not yet have a container to collect the dividends it provides. Maybe its time to learn how to harness the calming, enlivening, creative energy you are cultivating and used it to motivate you to stay true to your purpose, to fulfill your life’s dreams and ambitions.

Collect The Energy You Create

The next time you practice yoga, schedule an extra 15 minutes for yourself after your class or home practice session—and keep a notebook nearby.

At the beginning of your practice, set an intention to stay gently present right where you are for the duration of the practice. Stay with the instruction offered or the sequence you planned. Lavish your attention on the breath. Be curious about the feeling each pose elicits in the body as well as your mental reactions to it. When your mind drifts to other thoughts, call it gently back to join you here and now for this pose, this movement, this breath.

At the end of the practice, head to a quiet place where you can sit for 15 minutes.

Sit on your mat or if that’s not possible on a park bench, in your car, or any place you can easily get to and rest undisturbed. You can meditate, daydream, journal, draw—whatever quiet endeavor you like that enables you to stay connected with the energy you have just created. Your only intention for this time is to be with yourself. Take these few minutes to focus on the energy cultivated in your practice, as well as whatever thoughts or feelings arise.

After 10 minutes, take out your notebook and spend a few more minutes capturing your experience on paper. Describe how you feel and note any insights or inspirations that came to you during practice or in the quiet time afterward.

Do this exercise three times after three different yoga practices. Can you describe the energy and attitudes that permeate you after a focused yoga session? Can you tap into them as you recall them?

To the best of your ability, continue to make room for this kind of quiet time after your practice. It might just be the first step to cultivating and containing the energy needed to identify your dreams and make them come true.