Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes ...

Change is good. Change is good. Change is good. That’s the mantra I’ve created for myself as I do my best to follow the advice of famed rocker, David Bowie in his popular song, “Changes.” Every day I practice mindfulness as a way to hone my ability to “turn and face the strain.”

These days, I face the strain of approaching my sixth decade. Quite honestly, the last time I recall a life change hitting me with such unexpected force was during adolescence. It’s the kind of change that sneaks up on you while you sleep. It worms its way into your psyche and alters your physicality as you dream. It has its way with you before you realize what’s happening.

If my experience with yoga and meditation has taught me anything it’s taught me to bring “bare attention” to every moment possible as a way of living life to the fullest. This means noticing everything, not just the joyful, the exciting, the fulfilling and the satisfying. It means noticing feelings of vulnerability, loss, and fear that creep in with each new visible line on the face that stares back from my mirror. It means bringing unimpeded awareness to the gradual increase of creakiness in my joints and the impossibility of reading the warning label on the considered bottle of pain reliever (in spite of the magnification offered by my latest pair of reading glasses!) It means facing these challenges with equanimity of mind. No judging. No denying. No hiding.

This afternoon I was afforded an opportunity to practice equanimity in a humorous, if not baffling encounter with a stranger. I was enjoying a relaxing, summery lunch in an outdoor café with my daughter and her boyfriend when, out of the blue, an older, somewhat rumpled woman marched purposefully toward us, her dark eyes piercing our affectionate bond. She glared at me scornfully and blurted, “You’re old! You look nasty!” As quickly as she had appeared, she now disappeared into a shadowy squall of mumbling.

Stunned, we had to laugh. Yet, my daughter seemed concerned that I might take the woman’s comments to heart. “I think you’re beautiful,” she offered. Her expression of love and caring instantly short-circuited any tendency that I may have had to sink into harsh judging, of myself or of the disheveled old woman. I was able to bring bare attention to the moment and recognize myself as a reflection of both, my young daughter’s beauty and the old woman’s nastiness.

As I continue to transition into my sixth decade I hope to bring grace and compassion into each moment. I intend to embrace the natural shifts and changes I know I must face. I accept the impermanence of all things, including my physical body. I'm convinced, “Change is good. Change is good. Change is good.”

Sitting With Sadness

This morning I awoke to a heavy heart. There was nothing particular on my mind. I couldn’t recall any dream content that might have left a residue of sadness. Today marks no special anniversary of loss. It wasn’t even raining! In other words, I felt inexplicably sad.

In our culture we are conditioned against sadness. We enjoy our inalienable right to pursue happiness. We fight depression and chase our blues away. So it might seem a bit strange, but my response to sadness is to welcome it like an old friend. I bring it with me to my meditation cushion and open my heart to it, the way I would open to a beloved.

I hold my sadness lightly in my heart and greet it the way I was instructed to do, many years ago, by a student of the well-known Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh. “Hello, little sadness,” I begin, “Welcome to my heart. Please find comfort here and speak to me if you wish.” There are times when I actually hear the faint whisper of the sadness I’m entertaining. This morning … silence.

“Hello, little sadness. I respect your silence. Please sit with me for as long as you choose and take your leave only when you are ready. We will hold each other dear for a time and that time will pass in time and you will be gone and I will move on.”

I sat with my sadness. Time passed. Sadness took its leave. I emerged from my meditation feeling a beautiful lightness of heart. I noticed the radiant glow of the morning and stepped outside to feel an unexpected crispness to the air. I sniffed the aromas of dewy grass and coolness. I felt the warmth of the sun playing in my hair. I thanked my little sadness for its brief visit and stepped into my day with renewed gratitude for the little things that often escape my attention.

Thank you for reading. I hope you will try sitting with your sadness the next time it comes to call.

~ Namaste ~

Your Original Face

There’s a Zen koan that goes something like this, “Quick, giving no thought to good or evil, what was your original face … before your parents were born? The Zen student, upon receiving a koan from the Zen master, must answer.

Try it for yourself, quick! Giving no thought to good or evil, what was your original face … before your parents were born?

What did you notice? When I am faced with this koan, the first thing I notice is that I cannot be quick in responding. The koan succeeds in knocking me off my usual center. My original face? What does that mean? Before my parents were born? When was that? How long before my parents were born? I must fail. Immediately. I’ve already taken too long to respond. The master is delighted!

Zen koans are designed to interrupt our usual way of understanding our existence because Zen masters realized that “our usual way” is really no way to live an enriched, not to mention, a spiritual life. In fact, my usual way of understanding my existence is not “my” way at all. I have inherited a set of understandings that are completely unoriginal to me and have nothing to do with my experience of the world. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, on its face … it’s an efficient way of learning (that which another wants me to learn.) For example, if my mother doesn’t want me to burn my hand, she will teach me not to touch fire. It’s a lesson worth learning and if we can learn it without suffering the pain of experience, why not?

Why not? Quick, giving no thought to good or evil … why not learn from another’s warning to keep your hand out of the fire? This is not a koan. You can come up with a pretty good answer in very short order but notice that this question arose from the original koan which challenged the ordinary, your cultural norm.

Quick! What is the value of challenging your cultural norm?

Contemplative disciplines from around the world, from Buddhism to Christianity offer an answer to that question. And they don’t want you to take their word for it. They point out that personal experience is the greatest of all teachers. They offer, in fact, that the absence of personal experience removes us from living our own reality in the moment. Instead, we become habituated to a reality that is taught to us, often by well-meaning others. Sadly, though, this habit of accepting another’s reality as our own makes us vulnerable to manipulations by those who do not have our best interest in mind. Not to mention, it’s just not fun.

Quick, giving no thought to good or evil, what is the outcome of habitually accepting reality as defined by another?

~ Namaste ~

My Personal Independence Day

It’s July 2^nd and I’m thinking about Independence Day. No, not fireworks and backyard picnics, not the American flag and the Star Spangled Banner, not the courage of our forefathers nor the tears of their mothers, at least not right now. Right now, I’m thinking about my personal independence.

In my mid 20’s I would routinely “run away.” At least one weekend a month, I would pack an overnight bag, jump into Jezebel, my white-on-white-on-white Volkswagon Super Beetle convertible, point my nose away from home and drive until I found myself lured by the distinctly commercial glow of a lit up, giant rotating ice cream cone into an unknown parking lot in a strange town. I would order a large vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles, wrap a paper napkin snugly around its base and drive into the night, long hair caught in the current of acceleration, in an attempt to know the meaning of freedom and independence.

Yesterday, nearly 40 years later, my “inner runaway” re-awakened. My ears were the first to catch the glory of the morning as a full orchestra of birds sang of it, loud and clear. My eyes were next. An unspeakably golden streamer of light glittered through my half-opened window shade. Then my skin: pores gratefully opened to the tiniest bit of cool moisture that rode in on the sweetest morning breeze. I had tasted freedom! Elated, I skipped my meditation, ignored my shower, threw on some clothes, poured myself a giant cup of piping hot coffee, and jumped into Sapphire, my pretty little blue, energy efficient, perfectly ordinary Honda Civic. I pointed my nose away from home, switched my iPhone to “Airplane Mode” and grooved on my favorite tunes until I found myself lured by the distinct charm of Charm City, itself.

I spent the day in Fells Point, Baltimore. I hadn’t lingered there since my days in graduate school (long enough ago that broken down warehouses and darkened fishermen’s bars warned young women to keep their distance but the soft shell crabs were unbeatable and my girlfriends and I were testing our bravado.) The Fells Point of the 21^st century is a gentrified place, perfectly inviting and unquestionably safe. I had lunch on the waterfront with a dog … literally. I no sooner sipped from my tall glass of ice water than I became aware of an insistent panting over my right shoulder. I peeked. The broad smile that met my gaze was that of a most charming, black and white pit bull terrier named Molly. I happily shared my water with Molly and she let me scratch behind her ears. I chatted with her owners and learned that she had been abandoned as a puppy.

Abandoned. Abandoned is about as far from independence as you can get. In order to feel one’s independence one must first feel secure and cared for. This point was not lost on me as I later contemplated my “runaway day.” I know that I am free to explore my independence at will because I have the great fortune to feel secure and cared for. I can jump into my car and “leave it all behind” because I trust that it will all be there for me, intact, upon my return ... my home, my loved ones and my community. Beyond all of that, though, is the constancy of my yoga and meditation practice and the awareness they afford me of my connectedness to all that is.

The true gift of yoga and meditation is the direct experience of being in union with all that exists, the seen and the unseen, the manifest and unmanifest. Thought, feeling, imagining, and knowing … these are all of the same vibration and that vibration is available to be heard by those who will take the time to develop the skill to listen. Upon hearing Its gentle whisper, you will become truly independent and free. Good luck on your journey. Remember to breathe, the constant, easy breath of Union. ~Namaste~