Healing, a poem by Danna Faulds

As we work with our practice on Santosha, contentment, we see that there are times when it is easy to feel contentment and other times when it is a struggle.  We want to find a path to contentment in all of those times.  Not to say that it is easy.  Or, to say that you just shake your head and say "snap out of it."  It is a worthwhile and deep practice to look deeply into our moments of delight and our challenging moments.  What is present in our body in those moments?  How is your breath in those moments?  What are the stories we tell ourselves in those moments?  Can we tune into a deeper place inside that can be witness to all of it, the place that can get really big and hold all of it?  The more we do our yoga practices of body, breath, and mind, the more smoothly and easily we can move to that channel that helps us find healing of pain, transformation of suffering, and Contentment.

Healing

There is healing in the laying on of hands;
in the letting go of fear, in asking for help,
in silence, celebration, prayer. There is
healing in speaking the truth and in keeping
still, in seeking sunlight and not shunning
struggle. Laughter and the affirmation of
wholeness hold their owwn healing.  When
the soul dances, when the day begins in
delight, when love grows and cannot be
contained, when life flows from moment
to moment, healing happens in the space
between thoughts, and the breath before
the first sung note.  Healing is a birthright
and a grace.   When we dare to be open to
the unknown, when we extend ourselves
in caring, when we welcome in the vast
expanse of life, healing comes from the
heart, and blossoms from the inside out.


pg. 50, Go In and In, Poems from the Heart of Yoga, (c) 2002

Foundation Stones, a poem by Danna Faulds

Perhaps we would like to take some time to look back on the year 2011 to notice our challenges, our joys, and how we have grown as a person in our bodies, in our work, in our relationships, in our contributions to the greater good of this world.  This poem revealed itself in a timely fashion to be shared in this morning's yoga class:

Foundations Stones

Here is my past--
what I've been proud of,
and what I've pushed away.
Today I see how each piece
was needed, not a single
step wasted on the way.

Like a stone wall,
every rock resting
on what came before-
no stone can be
suspended in mid-air.

Foundation laid by every
act and omission,
each decision, even
those the mind would
label "big mistake".

These things I thought
were sins, these are as
necessary as successes,
each one resting on the
surface of the last, stone
upon stone, the fit
particular, complete,
the rough, uneven
face of these rocks
makes surprising,
satisfying patterns
in the sunlight.

 pg. 26, Go In and In:  Poems from the Heart of Yoga

Aparigraha - The Fifth Yama

For the month of November, we have been contemplating Aparigraha which can be translated as non-greed, non-possessiveness, or non-attachment.  It is the fifth and final Yama in Patanjali's Eight Limbs of Yoga from the Yoga Sutras and perhaps the most challenging.  Greed, possessiveness, and attachment stem from fear.  The fear of not having enough, not being enough, not recognizing the abundance in our lives, not recognizing our part and place in the flow of life.  In Buddhism, we learn about impermanence.  Things change, that is guaranteed.  The better we get at recognizing impermanence, the less we suffer.  Can we celebrate the people, possessions, and stations in our lives while they are there and recognize the growth that comes in us from dealing with transition, loss, change?  The autumn leaves are a poignant example of this concept as each year they show their utmost beauty just before they fall to the ground.  And, what happens next?  They compost to help fertilize the ground for the coming year's rebirth in spring.  Rumi reminds us in his poem, The Guest House, that loss makes room for some new delight. 

When we consider the Buddhist concept of interbeing, we can work more easily on non-possessiveness.  Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us in his book Peace Is Every Step that without the sun and cloud and rain there would be no trees, without trees and loggers there would be no paper, without food and water to nourish the logger, no logger, etc.  We inter-are with all people and all elements of nature.  When we realize that truth, we can see how when we lose someone, that person will always be a part of us.  We connected to each other in some way, learned something from them, taught something to them, were changed in our lives because of their presence.  This is true whether we consider a pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral person.  When we lose a possession, we can recognize the delight we enjoyed while we had it and realize it may bring the next person joy or some necessary comfort or growth.  Perhaps its loss allows us to grow in some way.  Remember Rumi?  The growth we realize from difficulty in our lives can be as painful and as amazing as the breaking free from the chrysalis to become the butterfly, our next iteration of self getting us closer to our true Self.  Also, when we remember out interbeing with all beings, we can feel compassion or joy for the person who may be blessed by something that has moved on from our lives.

Consider donating some unused items, making space in your home and in your mind from all the burdens of possessions.  Monks and nuns traditionally lived with one bowl and three robes counting on the kindness of the community to provide for their material needs and in return serving them with their spiritual practice.  How liberating would it be to only keep track of one bowl and three robes? 

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.


-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
    translation by Coleman Barks

Metta Meditation

May I be happy.

May I be healthy.

May I live my live with ease.

May I be at peace.

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you live your live with ease.

May you be at peace.

This was my offering of metta mediation for this week's classes.  Metta can be translated as loving kindness or compassion.  I share this Buddhist practice to deepen our study of Ahimsa (non-violence/compassion) from the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. There are many versions of the metta meditation.  I consider our chant, Lokah Samastha Sukhino Bhavantu, to be one of them.  I have shared other versions in the past and will share them here eventually.  Perhaps you might feel inspired to create your own.

We learn, in the Buddhist tradition, to begin the metta meditation with ourselves so that we cultivate our own inner peace and freedom since only then can we be a light to others.  The next step is to offer the wishes to our beloveds, then to those who are neutral to us, and finally those who have caused us harm.  It may feel quite easy to send the wishes to your loved ones.  Your heart will sing and dance as you send them this love.  For those neutral to you, you might like to think of others in the world who are just like you, trying to find happiness in their daily lives.  You can send the wishes to the service people you come in contact with throughout your day:  the gas pump attendant, grocery store clerk, bank teller, person driving in the car ahead of you or sitting on the train next to you.

Sending the wishes to those who have caused us harm may be more difficult.  However, it can be a very helpful and liberating practice.  We can start with the mildest harm if we aren't ready to face the more difficult ones.  We approach this by understanding that people often cause harm to others when they are fearful or hurting as an unskillful way of expressing themselves (ourselves).  We do this practice knowing that we have also caused harm to others.  And, we hope they will forgive us for our shortcomings.  That we will forgive ourselves for our own shortcomings.  We send these wishes to those who cause harm and terror in the world in hopes that they will find freedom from their suffering and stop hurting others.

Thich Nhat Hanh writes a beautiful poem for us to see our interbeing with all, to soften our hearts with compassion for all.  We are reminded, "There, but for the grace of god, go I."  We can be thankful for our resources, our teachers, our life circumstances that provide us with the tools we need to transform our suffering, to make good choices, and live a good life.  We also become thankful for the difficult experiences we have lived through that teach us to appreciate how amazing all the wonders of life truly are since we have seen the other side.  May we keep reminding each other with loving kindness.

Please Call Me By My True Names  by Thich Nhat Hanh

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow--
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring  branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all this is alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am a frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his "debt of blood" to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up
and the door of my heart
could be left open,
the door of compassion.

(from the book Call Me By My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh)

More on freedom

Estuary  by Danna Faulds

There is peace here, where the river

widens to meet the sea.  The rapids

are past; the boulders and the rocky

places at last give way to a broad

and sweeping current, flowing

slowly into vastness.  The river

moves silently, tastes the salty tide

that marks its demise, and slips

without a backward glance, into

the ocean's infinite embrace.

This Saturday, I asked the class, what freedom means to them and on what levels they ponder and work towards freedom.  We had a beautiful dharma talk highlighted by the wisdom of the sharing in class.  "Freedom from oppression, being lucky, having choices, and freedom from incarceration of emotions" were some of the replies.  We can consider our freedoms and the sources of our oppression on so many levels.  Ultimately, the broader layers including business, government, and international affairs, don't work unless we find inner freedom as individuals and the peace that comes from reconciling our own mistakes and finding a way to compassion for all beings -- including ourselves and the most hurtful people in our lives. 

Pantanjali gives us a prescription to this freedom in the Yoga Sutras with his eight limbs of yoga.  The first two limbs - the Yamas and Niyamas - are applicable in a practical way for our daily lives.  Recently, we have been focusing on the first limb, the Yamas, translated as restraints or masteries, of which there are five.  The first is Ahimsa, translated as non-violence or compassion.  In a very direct way, it is clear how to master non-violence.  Do not physically harm another being.  However, as we look more deeply, which beings do we include?  Do we include animals?  Do we go deeper to consider the harm caused not just by our physical actions but by our words and even deeper our unspoken thoughts?  Do we include non-harm and compassion to ourselves?  Do we even notice the ways in which we keep ourselves "incarcerated by our emotions" and by the stories we repeat in our minds about how life has treated us or how we have "performed" in this life? 

Do we include compassion toward even the most hurtful people in our lives?  Do you think those who cause the greatest harm in the world or even to you personally know inner freedom from suffering?  If they did, do you think they would commit the horrible actions that bring so much suffering to others? (See Thich Nhat Hanh's poem: Please Call Me By My True Names).  Can we see the potential we have, and the actual times we have caused suffering to others or in ourselves, and work towards lessening the harm in the world? Can we find a way to forgive ourselves and the other, to flow beyond "the rocky places" to the "ocean's infinite embrace?"

There is peace here, where the river

widens to meet the sea.  The rapids

are past; the boulders and the rocky

places at last give way to a broad

and sweeping current, flowing

slowly into vastness.  The river

moves silently, tastes the salty tide

that marks its demise, and slips

without a backward glance, into

the ocean's infinite embrace.

Estuary  by Danna Faulds
from her book Go In and In