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John Friend on “The Art of Feedback”

I recently had a project that I did in connection with an organization of which I am a member.  The ultimate goal of the project was for me to transmit to another group a report of decisions made by the organization of which I am a member.  When I emailed my report, I “cc’d” my organization’s list serve.  In response, there were a few heated postings on the list serve about the subject matter, even though I had sent a “cc” of a final report, not a request for new input.  These postings in turn generated a number of emails both sent to me personally and postings on the list serve as a whole.  The “secondary” emails were as much about how we were responding and communicating on the list serve, as they were about the subject matter itself.

It was hard for me to soften and to listen without defensiveness the emails that were well-intentioned, but stated strong opinions that could have been interpreted as suggesting the report was wrong or inadequate.  As I made an effort to finish my project from a place of service, which in my mind included appropriately addressing the after-the-fact postings and emails, I was deeply grateful for the teaching John Friend had offered last year to the Anusara yoga community on “The Art of Feedback.” It is an inspired teaching and one that applies with equal force to the situation I was in this week.

For me, this is a deeply challenging area based on my personal history, but I work to grow.  What are your challenges in receiving and giving feedback?  How might shifts in how you receive and offer your opinions enhance your relationships and your goals for living and society?

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    Though there is still snow on the ground, the days are about to be longer than the nights, and my inbox is full of both expensive and discount offers for cleanses of various sorts, and I’m seeing Facebook posts asking about good spring cleanses with all sorts of suggestions in response.  If I were a different kind of reader and practitioner, I’d no doubt be beset with explanations and special offers for dieting into a bikini-worthy body.  If I were an even different sort of reader, I might be thinking I needed an official spring cleanse, one of the ones that yoga acquaintances say make them feel light or high, etc.

    I don’t much believe in cleanses, but I do believe in listening–really paying attention–to my body and emotions and how they relate to the cycle of the seasons.   In winter, I tend to gain a few pounds from spending more time inside and eating the heavy, dense food my body wisely craves in winter both for warmth and protection from starvation (granted the latter is not a real threat for the middle-class, but my genetic make-up doesn’t know that). I fully trust that when the days get warmer and lighter and I can spend more time outside walking and spring vegetables and fruit start to show up at the market, I will lose a few pounds.

    Before you get too caught up in thinking that to have the body you’re supposed to have (whether it be for looks or some fashion-driven notion of health) you need to go on some formal diet you might not need or spend money having someone tell you what to eat and when (although if you find that works for you, who am I to say no?), why not try noticing whether the change of light and temperature alters your natural cravings (not the ones for junk food or excess sugar or salt)?  If you can notice a change in what food attracts you, try honoring the change.

    You might find that small portions of kitcheree (lightly spiced rice and lentil porridge), along with plenty of fruits and vegetables (and as spring produce comes in, you’ll find spring vegetables and fruit want less cooking than do winter ones, or perhaps none at all), feels like a nice way to lighten up for several days as the seasons transition.  Ssssh!  That’s pretty much what’s in a spring cleanse.  If you want to make your change of diet feel sanctioned by the yogis add some reading on Ayurveda or mindful eating to invigorate your practice and your dedication to paying loving attention to your body and how it relates to the seasons and the web and cycle of being.

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    Nectar of Immortality?

    Whenever I notice this graffiti–ubiquitously sprayed along sections of the Metro’s red line–I wonder if it is meant to refer to the ancient Indian texts, to invoke longings for soma, the nectar of the gods. Even if the intent of the artist was something much more prosaic, I am led to think of the soma about which I have read, and use seeing the word as a spur to invoke the sweetness of practice on my mundane travels.

    Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

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    “Bob Dylan is a strange one,”

    says the man next to me with a slightly interrogative inflection, while we are both looking at a photo of Dylan taken by Alan Ginsberg at the show of Ginsberg’s photos at the Nat’l Gallery. He is a beefy guy with a crew cut, wearing chinos and a polo shirt. He looks like he’s maybe one of the thousands of police officers from around the country who are here for “Police Week.” Lots of police wives are taking a break from the demos and competitions to look at the impressionist and modern paintings from the Chester Dale Collection. Maybe he just got a little farther west than he had intended.

    I smile at him in a way that I hope seems welcoming and open, yet does not actually convey agreement with his statement. I wonder how he felt about the photos ofd the Orlovsky brothers. I am at the exhibit on my lunch hour for the first of what will likely be a number of visits.

    The Beats are an important part of my identity. My parents met in Greenwich Village in the late fifties — my mother dabbling as an artist, my father involved in peace activism, the places they frequented also frequented by the beats. My great Aunt H’s favorit book in those days allegedly was “On the Road.”

    As a teenager, I relished and romanticized this part of my history. In so doing I read widely not only the writings of the Beats, but also what they were reading, which included the great Hindu and Buddhist texts. To want to discover the illumination of the Beats was to explore Eastern philosophy and mysticism and to meditate and practice yoga.

    “No,” I thought to myself, “I’ve never connected the word ‘strange’ to Bob Dylan. Maybe when I get home I”ll play me some before I sit to meditate.”

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