Found Exhortation


Last night I had the singular pleasure of hearing Gary Snyder read his poetry at the Folger Shakespeare Library. At the end of the reading, Mr. Snyder answered a few questions. In response to one question about advice he gives to aspiring poets, he said: “Don’t be journalists. Do hard physical labor that leaves y0ur mind open.” This is not surprising advice, coming from one who has chosen a life requiring regular manual labor. “Meditate only for its own sake,” he added, in an apparent non sequitur and without elaboration.
Gary Snyder’s poetry is evidently influenced by his dedicated study and practice of Buddhism. The insight and clarity of his poetry surely reflects not only his intellectual study, but the deep wisdom of a dedicated, long-standing, and steady meditation practice. The advice to “meditate for its own sake” seemed almost the offering of a koan by the master (poet) to his pupils. Meditation, in my experience, definitely enhances clarity, insight, creativity, and health. Meditation is not meditation, though, unless when engaging in meditation that is all one is doing and without any goal (like the “actionless action” of the Bhagavad Gita). It is the deepest of practices to engage fully, but not be doing except for the sake of doing itself (and in alignment with the deepest truths).
I returned home yesterday from teaching my Willow Street classes and having a late lunch with a friend to a message on my answering machine from my mother advising me that a cousin had died. Although I was not close to my cousin, her parents, my great Aunt and Uncle, were a significant part of my formative years.
As I made telephone calls and sent emails to get coverage for work meetings on Monday and care for the cats so that I could leave for New York, I found myself flooded with long-ago memories of my cousin, my family, and myself. I could also hear and feel old patterns surfacing, as they tend to do in such situations.
In counterpoise to the tumble of memory, I felt a strong pull to go into the space of meditation.
In the spaciousness, I no longer feel trapped by the inevitable consequences from the events giving rise to all those memories that have partly shaped my path. The light of consciousness itself, as the ground of the play and the illumination of inner space, begins to reveal the links and sequnces of the memories, the cause and effect, thus allowing me to see other ways to react. Instead of remaining entangled by trying to dismiss or reject or cling to any part of my history, I could see shapes, sequences, and opportunities.
At lunch, one of the things my friend and I had been discussing was the idea of bringing into “luminous spaciousness” our relationships. John Friend had invited us to think about that concept at the Teachers’ Gathering last month, and I have been contemplating the practice in a variety of contexts and discussing with fellow Anusara yogis what it would mean to them to bring luminous wisdom to relationship by seeking to create the true spaciousness we can find in our practice of yoga and meditation. I had talked about it previously with the friend with whom I lunched yesterday. She asked, “where was your blog entry on luminous spaciousness; I’d been looking forward to it.” “I haven’t found the right context for describing it that would convey what I think it means for my practice,” I’d replied. When I came home to my mother’s message, because I had been continuing both the contemplation and the dialogue, I was focused on the practice when I found myself in a situation where I really needed it. (Great reminder of the need for a steady practice).
I am now on the Long Island Railroad, heading to my parents’ house. Tomorrow we will go back into the City for the memorial service.
As I allow my thoughts to be stirred up–giving myself space, as it were to have natural mind processes–I seek space and light for myself in my relationship with my family to try and foster more love and clarity.
I am using my lunch hour to renew my driver’s license. I have been waiting less than 30 minutes so far, and there are only 10 people ahead of me. Moving right along in this mix of young and old, well-heeled and evidently struggling, all races, and apparent levels of education. We all wait in the same line.
Is it moving smoothly (knock on wood) because I wore a necklace with an image of the elephant deity Ganesha (remover of obstacles)? Or was it because I read the website and planned my visit for a day and time that was less likely to be crowded? Perhaps it is a combination of the two.
What I do know is that coming with a good attitude and a meditational (yes, I know this is not a real word) level of patience and acceptance for the process makes it feel a whole lot easier.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
We all (or at least most of those who would be reading this blog) have heard the Buddhist-inspired saying: before enlightenment, the laundry. After enlightenment, the laundry. The question is whether after the moments of enlightenment can we infuse doing the laundry with more joy, acceptance, and peace. A young adult acquaintance asked me the other day whether I was readjusting ok. I did not know to what he was referring, and he had to explain that he was asking how I was doing on my return from my India trip. “It was just a vacation–albeit an extraordinary one,” I replied. “Life continues.”
“The good experiences just slip away like dry sand through my fingers,” he made a motion of letting something slip away.
“When you practice and when you get older, it will be easier to bring the temporary, good experiences into your life without feeling they are lost when you have moved onto the next thing,” I said with hope that would actually be true for him, he seemed so bereft.
The yoga teaches us neither to be out searching for the highs nor actively avoiding the lows; the dance of grasping and avoiding is what makes us suffer. That does not mean that the highs, the times of wild abandoned joy, the experiences of utter fulfillment, of exquisite understanding are of no value. What brings joy is a thing of wonder and an opportunity to deepen our ability to love and be generous. They are only a problem if we ruin our time by vainly clinging to or trying to repeat the sensation. As our practice (and our understanding of a life well-lived and loved) matures, we understand that there is no readjusting in the return to the day to day. We welcome what we have had, try to remember what we have learned, including how much joy and delight we are able to drink in, and approach each day as another opportunity to seek and share connection.