Om shanti, shanti, shanti.
When I pause to think about it–something I try to do consistently with the fruits of technology–it is an extraordinary marvel that I can be telling stories to the world from a little device I am holding in my hand, one that also has let me speak and exchange notes while I am away from home with friends, colleagues, and business connections.
What I cannot do (more likely because I haven’t yet learned how than it is not possible) is to be my usual careful self when posting entries. I have not done hyperlinks to attrbute my sources, nor have I spell-checked. At home, I would not hit the “publish” button without doing those things.
Under the circumstances of being away from my regular computer, my library, the ability to check my references, and to provide proper citation, but being brimful with enthusiasm for being with my teachers, colleagues, friends, and the practices while I am at the teachers’ gathering, it seems better to post than not, using the means at hand. I sacrifice some of my usual discipline to share the joy.
All of life is like that. We may have ideals of what is proper, what are our standards for appearance, for work, for sharing a meal or our homes. When circumstances limit our ability to meet our own standards, it is part of the yoga to see whether the standards are binding us or serving to help us better connect. I believe that we should always strive to be more precise, more technically accomplished, better able to convey a sense of grace and beauty. But that effort should not cut us off, bring us to a halt, disempower us, prevent accomplishment of things. Most of all, it should not deaden a sense of spontaneity of gesture–the part of art and relationship that reveals our true spark.
I am ok and grateful for my well-being. I am also, among other things, grieving the death of two different friends in the last month and the remaining dregs of democracy. I could be more ok than the ok that I am. Some people aren’t ok at all. How are you?
I got caught up in something in the middle of the day today. By the time I could reasonably take a break (I did eat my lunch from home), it was too late to be able to get a real break. I then worked fairly late. By the end of the day, I really noticed the difference between a day when I have taken a walk, met a friend, sat at the Botanical Garden or the museum for even 15-20 minutes and this day, when I let myself get so tangled in the demands of work that I did not take a break.
I work better in the afternoon when I have taken a break, just as my work, my body, my digestion, my sleep, and my relationships are healthier when I practice consistently. I no longer need a reminder how important it is both to take a good break each day and to find time for practice. I am looking at this day, though, as a teaching lesson, an extra reminder of the importance of finding some delicious time to bring into the rest of the day.
Do you take a break to eat quietly or take a walk in the middle of your day? Can you notice the difference the days you do and the days you don’t? What about the weeks you practice and the weeks you do not? Does this not fire you up with resolve to be steadier in your practice and kinder to yourself?
Is it any wonder, yellow sings of cheer and abundance?
