Author: bondjanet

BLOG 118

OFF THE GRID

“Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
There is a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in.”

(Leonard Cohen)

Composing this blog with no access to internet, and only rare moments of cell service, I am as far off the grid as I was in 2006 when attending the three month Yoga Development Course (YDC) at Yasodhara Ashram on Kootenay Lake, B.C. Geographically a world away from where I am today, at a venerable old lodge in Algonquin Park, Ontario, there are yet similarities between the two destinations. For one, they’re both a goodly ways from civilization. The lakes on which they are situated are similar in their rugged, forested shorelines, their deep, cold water, and everywhere the woodsy scent of decaying autumn leaves and dried pine needles. As for the inner landscape, both places free us up from the hectic pace of the city and offer the peace and tranquility to contemplate the profundity of our human nature.

From the resort where I’m staying I learned that Canadian artist Tom Thomson lived and worked in the area, and died on nearby Canoe Lake when not yet forty. A drowning, apparently. Some say the artist and woodsman chose to go that way:

“Thomson developed a reputation during his lifetime as a veritable outdoorsman, talented in both fishing and canoeing, although his skills in the latter have been contested. The circumstances of his drowning on Canoe Lake in Algonquin Park, linked with his image as a master canoeist, led to unsubstantiated but persistent rumours that he had been murdered or committed suicide.”

Others would say that the forests and lakes he painted so evocatively and loved so dearly returned his devotion by claiming him for their own. I will never know.

But, as one is wont to do when off the grid, I took time to ponder the ambiguity surrounding Thomson’s life and death, and draw some of my own conclusions, not about his inner world or motivations, but about the precious legacy he left for future generations. With his paintings, he left deeply moving scenes from a place that is still out of reach to a majority of people. And from a time when people lived closer to, and wrested their living from a largely untamed natural world. As perilous as that livelihood might have been, people like Thomson were still inspired to use their “free” time in the pursuit and creation of beauty.

Paddling along the shoreline of Little Joe Lake I spotted several scenes that could well have made their way into one of Thomson’s paintings. Paintings that probably didn’t earn him a great deal of money. And which must have been somewhat inconvenient to create, store (some of which were done on boards) and transport. Never mind sourcing the paint, frames and canvases in the early 1900s. Thomson could easily have just enjoyed the remarkable scenery without committing his impressions to canvas and thus to posterity. How much poorer would we be without his contribution to our cultural heritage and history?

This in turn got me thinking about inspiration and motivation. Who sees a stand of trees and thinks “I want to paint these?” Or compose a sculpture, a symphony, a story about such people and places as move one to creativity? Who asks oneself “How can I do justice to the feelings that these settings stir in me? And how will my efforts be received? Will others see what I see? Feel what I feel?”

Indeed, why take the time to discover, cultivate and share one’s own aptitudes or abilities with other people? I’m not now privy to Thomson’s thoughts on the process, but at a certain age and stage I feel compelled ask myself if there is a latent talent or potential that I too could tap into? And what would motivate me so to do? Being in the wilderness for such a short time nevertheless inspired me to be mindful of the beauty all around me. This in turn sparked a renewed interest in photography. While in the Algonquin I enjoyed the instant gratification of snapping iPhone photos to share with friends and family.

Further inspiring me upon our return to Toronto, we went to the Evergreen Brickworks on Saturday morning. The entire Brickworks — a repurposed quarry —is a testament to creativity and perspicacity. It was reopened in 2010 as “a year-round living demonstration of how past and present can work together to create greener models for urban living”. So many creative endeavors have their offices in the complex that I came away bursting with a desire to participate in some such creative collaboration.

In the farmers’ market the stalls groaning with fall produce inspired me to do more cooking, try different vegetables, make unfamiliar recipes. The stalls selling soaps, candles, jewelry and other handicrafts got me thinking about a new hobby. I met a woman in her eighties selling cutting boards at a makeshift stall that said a lot about her casual approach to merchandising. She explained that she got into woodworking after her husband made her a cutting board shaped like a pig for her 70th birthday. Their woodworking shop is located in a barn on their rural property. She described how, no matter what mood she started with, she would head straight to the barn and get so engrossed in making something that her mind would free itself of her cares and concerns. Also, she confided, her other chores would go undone and, taking an educated guess, left her house, and her person, a bit of a mess. But content to be doing something she obviously loved. That, I believe, has to be at the root of true creativity. Simply doing what one does for the love of it. Having a desire to share their inspiration and abundance with other.

And perhaps having a surplus of wooden pigs.

ICE CREAM FREEZE

“Meditation provides a way for us to train in the middle way—in staying right on the spot. We are encouraged not to judge whatever arises in our mind. In fact, we are encouraged not to even grasp whatever arises in our mind. What we usually call good or bad we simply acknowledge as thinking, without all the usual drama that goes along with right and wrong. We are instructed to let the thoughts come and go as if touching a bubble with a feather. This straightforward discipline prepares us to stop struggling and discover a fresh, unbiased state of being.” (Pema Chödrön: “Six Kinds of Loneliness”)

Cold water swimming is a good physical counterpart to the mental practice of meditation. It provides a graphic, felt experience of not jumping and running when things get challenging. Over the last few days the ocean temperature has dropped by several degrees, inducing what I call brain or head-freeze, my face and neck feeling the cold more acutely than the rest of my body. Muscles tense, jaws clench, and I experience an almost overwhelming urge to spin on my flippered heels and beat a hasty retreat. But I don’t. I know from experience that this flight reflex will pass.

A friend and industrial first aid practitioner described this reaction as part of an “involuntary gasp reflex”: “This automatic physiological reaction causing involuntarily gasps, is a reflexive sucking in of air in an attempt to rapidly increase oxygen intake into the lungs. This increases the body’s metabolic rate, building internal warmth in response to the cold.” (www.lifesaving.com)

You can just imagine it. The sharp intake of breath. The instant (though thankfully temporary) paralysis. The shoulders and arms hiking up to keep them from the water’s icy touch. A moment of indecision: “Can I do this? If so, why am I doing this?” (More on the “why” later).

Once I’m committed to swimming in the 14C degree ocean, I concentrate on steadying my breath. With long, even inhales and exhales, I start with breast stroke so my face stays out of the water for as long as possible. Then a few strokes with face immersed. Then more breast stroke. Some front crawl. Increasingly further front crawl. Concentration narrows to physical sensation. Mind monitors body to see when the sharp tension in my neck eases, when the cold water stops feeling like a solid thing, and when I can comfortably exhale with my face in the water while swimming the front crawl. And knowing when it’s time to turn around so I can finish my swim without risking overexposure.

Now for the “why” anyone would subject their body to such a challenging physical activity. As with any athletic pursuit, research into Cold Water Immersion (CWI) cites the health benefits to be had from this type of therapy:

“Cold Water Immersion (CWI) is a form of therapy which improves the natural recovery process of the human body. A well-known type of Cold Water Immersion is taking ice baths or cold showers. Cold Water Immersion is a great way to activate the body’s natural healing powers, and to make it able to relieve symptoms of various medical conditions. When practiced on a regular basis, the positive effects of exposure to cold last even longer. Over time, Cold Water Immersion improves your cardiovascular circulation, reduces muscle inflammation, and facilitates weight loss.” (wimhofmethod.com)

As did the industrial first aid practitioner: “Many cold-exposure gurus, such as the infamous Wim Hof, discuss the importance of breath training in conjunction with cold exposure. Deep breathing can help override the instantaneous shock response that results in hyperventilation when exposed to cold water. In a study by Perciavalle et al. (2016), research supports the possibility that deep breathing techniques are capable of inducing an effective improvement in mood and stress both in terms of self-reported evaluations (MPS and POMS) and objective parameters, such as heart rate and salivary cortisol levels.”

This leads us into the psychological benefits of this method as well, and these are what interest me:

“Research shows that cold water immersion (CWI) may improve mental health by increasing endorphin and norepinephrine levels. CWI may also improve resilience to stress by decreasing cortisol levels. CWI can be adapted to meet different wellness goals, whether for immediate relief or long-term mental health benefits.”

One psychiatrist who recognizes the benefits of CWI explained that by training oneself to withstand the shock of the cold water one develops more resilience to face other challenging aspects of their lives. As one gets progressively more comfortable with the discomfort of CWI, one learns that they can forbear the discomfort of, say, a dentist appointment or surgical procedure they are dreading, or simply an awkward conversation. On a more elemental level, one learns to resist emotional states that compel one to “jump and run”. Chödrön continues her article with:

“The experience of certain feelings can seem particularly pregnant with desire for resolution [or escape]: loneliness, boredom, anxiety. Unless we can relax with these feelings, it’s very hard to stay in the middle when we experience them.”

Not long ago I experienced a feeling of intense sadness for the family of a young man killed in a motorcycle accident. As in the frigid water, such intense feelings can be powerful enough to stop me in my tracks, rendering me incapable of doing the things that might benefit other people than those who are grieving. I look for tools that help me through such debilitating moods, and simple meditative breathing, incorporating a mantra or aphorisms like: “this too shall pass” or “all is well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well” are effective for staying on the spot until the flight reflex passes.

As a wise person once said, when in doubt, go soak (or ice cream freeze) your head.

Aum Namah Sivayah

Sept. 16, 2024

TWO LEFT FEET

“Especially cute in the eyes of men, clumsy folks put others at ease and come across as more genuine. Being clumsy draws others to you because you stand out as vulnerable without giving off an air of pretention. Others want to engage with you to offer help, which increases their own self-confidence.” (Verbling.com)

The other morning I pulled apart a pair of socks, the kind that are helpfully labeled L and R (purportedly because they support the arches differently for each foot) and found I had two lefts and no rights. (Of course, several days later I pulled a pair that were both rights, so mystery solved, if there was one).

Normally this wouldn’t pique my curiosity, but later that day I asked a young woman if her excellent posture came from having trained as a dancer but she responded with: “Afraid not. I have two left feet and can’t dance at all!” If nothing else, the coincidence of hearing this expression twice in one day made me reflect on the implications of having two left feet. Why, for instance, isn’t the expression about having two right feet? Of course we all know the saying refers to clumsiness, maladroitness, a lack of coordination and other relatively unflattering terms, but I was struck by a definition for clumsiness offered by Verbling, on the internet, because it put such a positive spin on our awkward “faux pas” or false steps, as they say in French.

This is especially timely because not long ago I made what I consider a faux pas that blew up into “epic” proportions, the reverberations of which I’m still feeling, and which left me feeling maladroit (ineffective or bungling, per the Oxford English Language Dictionary) in the extreme. O.K. maybe not “in the extreme”, and probably not “into epic proportions”, and possibly not even a “faux pas”, but it threw me into a week of such second-guessing and wondering what went wrong that I almost put off writing this blog. Out of this misstep emerged the overarching question not of what I could have said/done differently, but of how to restore some sense of self-confidence and equanimity.

I’ve often been curious to know how people sustain themselves through times of confusion, unknowing, and insecurity. My own go-to has been the grab-bag of spiritual practices I acquired from thirty plus years of Vedanta philosophy and a degree in Transpersonal Studies. But there are times when even these extensive spiritual teachings and tools “fail” me. Maybe it’s hubris that leads me to believe I should be able to glide over any speed bumps that crop up on my path, and I take comfort in the suggestion that such flounderings make me more accessible to my fellow human beings.

In “The Moral Bucket List”, David Brooks, a favorite author and columnist describes the spiritual journey as the road to character, and writes:

“This is a philosophy for stumblers. The stumbler scuffs through life, a little off balance. But the stumbler faces her imperfect nature with unvarnished honesty, with the opposite of squeamishness. Recognizing her limitations, the stumbler at least has a serious foe to overcome and transcend. The stumbler has an outstretched arm, ready to receive and offer assistance. Her friends are there for deep conversation, comfort and advice”…and…”There’s joy in mutual stumbling. There’s an aesthetic joy we feel when we see morally good action, when we run across someone who is quiet and humble and good, when we see that however old we are, there’s lots to do ahead.”

This last, “there’s lots to do ahead”, is something of a balm to the “me” who wonders if my best times are behind me, especially when having stumbled and figuratively scraped my knees. I’m reminded that there’ll always be opportunities to learn and grow on this human journey however clumsily, and joy in finding fellow stumblers, who might just have some chocolate in their back pack.

AS THE CROW FLIES

“Birds of a feather flock together.”

(William Turner The Rescuing of Romish Fox 1545 A.D.)

The other morning I was sitting on our deck at first light when an enormous flock, or murder, of crows returned to our West Vancouver neighborhood from their roosts situated some distance east of here. Hundreds of them settled into trees not half a block from me, while others, latecomers, continued on west and out of sight. Within minutes there was no sign of any of them.

Doing some internet research, I learned that thousands of crows from all parts of Vancouver flock to a small patch of woods located in the Still Creek neighborhood of Burnaby. The phenomenon is reversed in the evening when, as dusk falls, the sky is once again speckled by hundreds of their dark, fluttering numbers returning from whence they have come. A very sociable, hierarchical and “tribal” bird, the crow “society” has its own rules and pecking order (pardon the pun) by which the members learn to abide, lest they be rejected and ostracized, ultimately endangering their very survival.

One particular crow (or so it seems, maybe it’s a different bird) regularly perches on our balcony railing, preening its feathers, sharpening its beak, or occasionally relieving itself of white streaks that we wash off grudgingly.

Much as I see it as a nuisance (I once broke a glass panel of our balcony railing when attempting to drive away an annoying crow with a hefty stone — not one of my finer moments), I was curious to learn what indigenous wisdom says about the Crow totem. On “howstuffworks.com” I read:

“In Native American tribes, crows are revered for their intelligence and spiritual significance. They are seen as messengers from the spirit world, holders of universal wisdom, and protectors against evil forces.”

This definitely argues against the bad rap that I’ve assigned to the crow, and compels me to look more deeply into this bird’s mystical meanings.

According to the blog “Urban Healers of L.A.”, “contrast” and “choice” are two symbolic attributes given to Crow:

“Free will is freedom to go in any direction and that is the power and meaning of Crow on a spiritual level. In whatever situation you are in that led you to research the meaning of Crow, you are free to choose the direction you go in.” (Poor grammar, but you get the idea.)

By this reasoning, I am responsible for the consequences of my choices. My choices, ultimately, amount to the person I have become. As William James put it “As a man thinketh, so is he.” If I don’t like a particular outcome, it’s up to me to choose differently. This power of choice is easily tracked in my own life if I take time to reflect on the outcomes of things I have said or done based on perceptions that ultimately proved incorrect. Too often I have allowed past conditioning or unconscious biases to negatively interpret actions or words that have been innocently meant. And then painful (dare I say humbling) damage control has to ensue lest I risk losing a valuable relationship.

The encouraging message conveyed by crow medicine is that one can always generate a better relationship by learning from one’s mistakes and setting the intention to do, or be, better. It so often only takes one person to own up to their part of a problem before others can soften their position and collaborate on solutions. For those of us who grew up with perfectionism as our standard, it is very challenging to back down and acknowledge our fallibility, at the risk of being perceived as less than the unassailable human being we purport to be. As the Book of Proverbs warns: Pride goeth before a fall.

In order that falling not be my fate, I circle back to the notion that birds of a feather flock together. I ask myself in what way can I take my proper place as a member of a family or community? How can I listen objectively, receptively? How to respect the choices of those whose point of view is in sharp contrast to my own? Only by reflecting on these and other questions can I utilize the power of choice to manifest my dream of a creative, collaborative and compassionate human community.

The early bird gets the worm, but the late bird doesn’t even get the late worm.” (Charles Schultz)

CURIOSITY 2.0

“I have no special talent. I am only passionately curious.”Albert Einstein

Sometimes it seems like a good idea to just stop and ask “why?” or “what is happening here?” When having trouble focusing on my blog, or finding an interesting topic to explore, it’s a good time to ask those selfsame questions. To better describe what is happening, I come up with a metaphor: I see a little mouse dashing madly about the house while evading the butcher’s wife and her menacing carving knife. What a visual! Though we live on the fourth floor, we actually do have a mouse leaving telltale signs on our outdoor furniture, and I recently spied it darting our from behind our couch to the relative safety of the neighbor’s balcony. Perhaps that’s why it came to mind. Exploring symbolism has been a pastime, maybe even a passion of mine for a very long time. Symbols are meant to operate like keys that, if explored in a stream of consciousness way, can unlock multiple layers of meaning. Timid creature that it is, I was curious to discover what indigenous cultures might have to say about the symbol of the mouse. I’m glad I took the time to look it up. Here’s what I found:

“In many Native American cultures, the mouse is symbolized as a pathfinder and is humble, generous, and innocent. The mouse is also a symbol of scrutiny, order, discovery, and examining life’s lessons.”

Hmmmm. Not at all what I expected!

Letting curiosity be my guide, I ask what I am to make of this “humble, generous, and innocent” mouse madly darting about the house? It seems easy enough to read into the symbol of the house. A first interpretation would be to see the house as my mind, my mental household, and the mouse as the spiritual seeker and dutiful blogger who is aware that this post is already overdue!

What then of the butcher’s wife? And what to make of her carving knife? Again, these symbols seem easy. The butcher’s wife strikes me as the critical mental aspect (closely related to my maniac roommate) that is only too quick to cut off any train of thought she deems superfluous or unworthy. There’s hardly anywhere to hide from her merciless censorship. Which is why I resort to spiritual practice and surrender.

Chanting mantra for twenty minutes or so creates that calm and receptive mental space from which I can better see where my metaphorical imagery is taking me. It’s a kind of conversation between my right brain and the innocent part of me that doesn’t have to be the expert, or know where my intuition is heading. It doesn’t have to know, manage or control everything. Another way of saying it would be that I’m following the flow of my creative stream. This, in turn, prompts the question “what does the mouse symbolize spiritually?”.

On the EcoKids website I found the following:

“The spiritual meaning of mouse in the house is about letting go of the details. It may even be as literal as stopping your obsession over cleanliness and organization. Instead pause to appreciate the beautiful home and life you have. Start a list of things that you are grateful for.” Sound advice from the mice.

While I take everything I read on the internet with a grain of salt, it does serve to illustrate that there’s no lack of things to discover and learn on our human journey. If I am curious, humble and open-minded, willing to ask questions and be receptive to answers coming in whatever way the universal intelligence chooses to communicate, everyday can be an exciting adventure for body, mind and spirit.

With the occasional butcher’s wife to make me fleet of feet!

WELCOME TO THE BRIAR PATCH

“In the middle way, there is no reference point. The mind with no reference point does not resolve itself, does not fixate or grasp. How could we possibly have no reference point? To have no reference point would be to change a deep-seated habitual response to the world: wanting to make it work out one way or the other. If I can’t go left or right, I will die! When we don’t go left or right, we feel like we are in a detox center. We’re alone, cold turkey with all the edginess that we’ve been trying to avoid by going left or right. That edginess can feel pretty heavy.” (Pema Chödrön, Six Kinds of Loneliness)

As summer draws to a close and several days of persistent rain foreshadow the coming months of cooler, wetter weather, I am seized with an urge to start a comprehensive end-of-season cleaning. This afternoon’s meeting with our landscaper prompted a radical thinning of planters that have, over a relatively short time, become straggly and unattractive. I then brought the urge indoors and packed up a pile of old clothes that have been taking up valuable “real estate” in my closet. Other puttering saw me dealing with random bits and bobs that ranged from culling my supplements cupboard to making appointments that I have been postponing as I savored the sweet-but-fleeting (if today’s weather is any indication) weeks of summer. What I’m now hoping to achieve by all this industrious activity is a (gentle) reset (or un-sticking) of spirit, mind and body.

Though today’s activity could be construed as a form of procrastination (I’m only just starting my blog at 5:19 p.m.), I interpret it as the instinct to cut away anything that chokes my personal growth. Taking stock of my inner landscape, I find some outgrown patterns of thought and action that are no longer serving me. Like weeding a garden, I consider doing such regular culling — both internally and externally — to be a necessary step if I am to progress on my spiritual journey, a journey which I define as one of transcending my lower, ego-dominated nature and learning to function from a progressively more altruistic, heart-centered and self-less perspective.

I don’t have to look far for these psychological or spiritual weeds; they can be found rearing their unwelcome heads as I review situations and events in my daily reflections. With humility and objectivity I can see how or where my own actions (and reactions) might have precipitated the interpersonal hiccups that happen, as John Lennon would say, while I’m making other (brilliant) plans.

Such hiccups can generate the emotional turmoil that Chödrön associates with the detox center but what I personally think of as the Briar Patch (of Br’er Rabbit and the Tar Baby fame. You can look it up.)

Chödrön writes:

“We hear a lot about the pain of samsara, and we also hear about liberation. But we don’t hear much about how painful it is to go from being completely stuck to becoming unstuck. The process of becoming unstuck requires tremendous bravery, because basically we are completely changing our way of perceiving reality, like changing our DNA. We are undoing a pattern that is not just our pattern. It’s the human pattern: we project onto the world a zillion possibilities of attaining resolution. We can have whiter teeth, a weed-free lawn, a strife-free life, a world without embarrassment. We can live happily every after. This pattern keeps us dissatisfied and causes us a lot of suffering.”

As Br’er Rabbit found out via the tar baby (I apologize if this fable has escaped your awareness until now), attempting to achieve resolution by controlling others or the world in general is a recipe for frustration and resentment at best, or, at worst, despair and disillusionment.

Suffice to say, this week has seen me battling a few tar babies of my own. Maybe you can relate. Thankfully, I consider the briar patch the familiar turf of my journal, my spiritual readings and practices, and a receptivity to what I call my divine committee, an intelligence greater than that of my limited experience and ego. This is a delicate and painstaking process of discerning what thoughts and feelings, words and actions are (or are not) serving my inner growth. The reward is a degree of clarity and self-awareness that help me rein in my lower nature, and work to create around me an environment of peace, harmony and ease of well being.

How does your garden grow?

THE POWER OF SPEECH

“In yoga, speech is a feminine force called the Devi or Goddess. Speech is seen as feminine in acknowledgement of its ability to bring things to life. We constantly use the power of speech to create the world we live in – it can be boring, full of anxiety and disasters, or it can be full of joy and positive experiences. How you describe your life is how it will be. We are responsible for our speech and the effect these words have on others.” (Swami Radhananda’s Living the Practice)

In a previous blog I described the habit I was cultivating in order to counteract the running commentary of my inner (maniac) roommate. I took my spiritual practice to the pool and focused mind, breath and physical activity on positive messages like peace, joy and calm, which then expanded to include words such as hope, faith, love, tolerance, empathy, healing, forgiveness, compassion and countless other inspiring words.

This was so salutary that I took it out of the pool and into the car, and then it progressed into my day in general, repeating any such words as seemed to counteract my automatic inner speech. When I saw somebody or something which I was tempted to judge, I overrode that tendency with words like “tolerance, acceptance, humility”. In cases when I was inclined to make a snarky remark, say, about the way someone was doing something differently from me, I ran words like “patience, appreciation, trust”, in my head instead.

This morning, feeling down a quart energetically, the words I repeated en route to and from my swim were “positive, upbeat, optimistic, healing, adventurous”, and, finally, “wish-fulfilling”. The impetus to do this mental reprogramming-by-repetition came, in large part, from reading Swami Rahdhananda’s chapter on the Power of Speech:

“This life is the opportunity to practise. By repeating sacred words the mind and heart become filled with mantra and even your everyday speech begins to hold power. Then you have a connection to the Devi in her mantric form; she is always there encouraging and helping you. If you repeat the mantra, drawing on all your emotional force, you will passionately engage in the practice of life.”

I initially understood that by “sacred words” Swami Radhananda meant mantras contained in wisdom texts such as the Vedas, the Mahabharata, and the Bhagavad Gita, and sung by their adherents for hundreds of years, theoretically accumulating strength as they went, and bequeathing that power on sincere devotees. Having chanted a healing mantra consistently for over two decades has given me a reliable way to dispel strong emotions and set intentions for the day, including the goal of sending healing vibrations to anyone I know to be suffering. Because of this desire to mitigate others’ suffering it was natural to use “peace, calm, joy, empathy, strength, courage, patience, etc.” whenever I thought of a particular person or situation that I hoped to alleviate in some way.

That the words I was using to direct energy or override any negative inner speech could be considered sacred didn’t immediately occur to me. But why wouldn’t they be? While studying and teaching the ancient yoga texts I often balked at the use of unfamiliar words like Surya Namascar, Uttanasana, and (the mouthful) Virabhadrasana while introducing a pose, and often didn’t bother. Saying “sun salutation, forward fold or warrior one, two or three” gave the same message in a more accessible way. In like mien, is saying “strength, courage, or perseverance” any different than saying “Aum Namah Sivayah”, a powerful mantra for overcoming obstacles? Which is my way of saying that you don’t have to have a regular mantra practice (but it helps) or maintain any consistent spiritual practice (but really, it helps) or tracking your footprints in a spiritual journal (but it really, really helps), so long as you can make an ally of your speech. And here’s why:

“Speech has a tremendous effect on the direction of our mind and the evolution of our life. We must respect and take responsibility for what we say audibly and inaudibly. By refining our speech we can also open to a sacred potential beyond speech, the gift of the Devi, the knowing of the heart.”

To me the “knowing of the heart” is the Holy Grail, the summa cum laude (to use other obscure words) of all personal growth. The layer upon layer of misconceptions and conditionings and general misdirections need to be patiently, conscientiously and relentlessly peeled away from the essence that is common to us all, were we but free to see it.

And a latecomer to the game, which occcurred to me while in the passenger seat as our vehicle crawled in the six-lane-bumper-to-bumper traffic on Georgia this mid-afternoon:

SILENCE IS GOLDEN.

PEACE, PEACE, PEACE

“The most powerful love is to support and encourage others toward their highest potential. When there is an imbalance in the world, and we want to take the steps to move forward, it is love that will protect us. There is nothing so powerful as being able to see the Divine in everyone you meet, to offer love and Light, to envision people living in peace within themselves and with their neighbours, to send out loving-kindness to all.” (Swami Radhananda Living the Practice)

Not long ago an eighteen year old band-mate of my grandson was killed in a motorbike accident. The fact that the deceased was more of a passing acquaintance initially gave my grandson a degree of immunity to the sense of grief and loss being experienced by those closer to the young man. This immunity was breached when my grandson went to the celebration of life and witnessed the collective mourning of the large gathering of his friends and family. Being involved in many activities, the loss of this young man brought together a broad swath of the population, and, even now, as white ribbons flutter along the railing of the Stanley Park Causeway where the accident took place, few motorists could be oblivious to the somber warning that life can change in a heartbeat.

From the remove of merely being a fellow West Vancouverite, home of the grieving family, I yet have no sense of immunity from my own feelings — the intense heartbreak I know I would feel if I were to lose one of my own — and needing no imagination whatsoever to guess what this young man’s friends and family are suffering. Not having attended the funeral but feeling a great deal of empathy, it’s been a challenge to find positive or appropriate ways to channel that grief-freighted energy.

How to offer care and encouragement to people so far out of my reach? How to respond to what Chuang Tzu called the 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows without spiraling down a rabbit hole? Swami Radhananda has this to offer:

“When we look outward at situations in the world, we often feel that we have no control, no ability to effect change. But we can go back to changing our world within – where we do have the ability to change. We can change how we use our intellect and emotions so that we are not swept up by outside forces. When we harness the emotions and intellect, we can gather facts and mobilize ourselves to actions rather than getting stuck in reactions.”

So the other morning I decided to take my spiritual practices to the pool. I harnessed my emotions by coordinating these with my breath and the physical action of swimming. With each inhalation I mentally said the word peace, figuratively drawing peace into my entire being, and then exhaling peace, peace, peace to the area around me. After a time I switched the repetition to calm, calm, calm, then joy, joy, joy, and followed with what other healing words came to mind. Swami Radhananda calls this the ripple effect:

“It is essential to take the time to have a spiritual practice. Through devotion to your inner life you will find that your awareness and caring will naturally expand and ripple out toward others in your community. It is important to take time to be grateful for the relationships and communities we are part of.”

Even something so simple as coordinating my intentions with my breath with my physical actions has had a tangible effect on my psyche. As I go about my day I think of small ways to pay forward the peace and harmony and ease of well-being that I generated while swimming. One can do the same with many other daily routines that are often performed mechanically or half-heartedly. One can clean a drawer or sweep a floor with the intention of ridding the mind of unwanted clutter and negative impressions. One can clean glasses, windows, phone or computer screens with the intention of increasing insight and cultivating clear-eyed thinking.

And in all things a reverence for this precious life and gratitude for the people who have supported and encouraged me is bound to ripple positivity into my surroundings.

Aum Shanti, Shanti, Shanti

LIVE AND LEARN

“The stuff of the mind is so subtle compared to concrete items that are easily given away. When I follow the memories back, I realize the mind holds the even subtler substance of learnings from those experiences. Through reflection and spiritual practice, the learnings of life can be extracted.” (Swami Radhananda, Living the Practice)

I woke this morning to the raucous cries of seagulls wheeling in a sky saturated with fog and rain. The semi-opaque mist rendered invisible the dozen or so freighters anchored in the bay; nothing distinguishing the ocean from the horizon from the sky. But the outside temperature was mild and the staccato tapping of raindrops on the deck brought back memories of rainy days looking after our four young children at Alberta’s Pigeon Lake.

On the one hand a rainy summer day gave us a break from the dawn-to-dusk activity of a growing family, while on the other, the effort required to entertain restless toddlers in a too-confined space was the price I paid. This is not unlike the effort required to reel in a restless mind when confined to an in-need-of-recovery body.

As I write my body is covered in “swimmers’ itch-type hives, and my baby finger is swollen like a sausage from some kind of insect bite. So much so that I took a baking soda-infused bath at 4:00 this morning, and thereafter a Benadryl that knocked me out until moments ago, while I try to rouse myself for my online yoga class.

These minor discomforts can all too often degenerate into a woe-is-me melancholy such that flashbacks to our Pigeon Lake days take on the golden glow of the good old days, (where I’m pretty sure we also got swimmers’ itch) and throws a dark cast over the present moment.

In Living the Practice, Swami Radhananda offers an antidote to getting lost in lugubrious (such a fabulous onomatopoeic word) thoughts:

“There is no need to carry a trunkload of stuff into each relationship or each action. Instead, focus the mind on the moment. Cut the ties of old hurts and memories and images and see the situation you are working with now. The challenge is to continue to create new memories, not be bound by old ones.”

By way of following her advice, I started to watch my thoughts as I went about my Tuesday. Not surprisingly, much of the time I found myself carrying on an inner dialogue that distracted me from truly engaging with the people and activities at hand. This raised the question: “Who is doing the inner talking and who is doing the inner listening?” This brought to mind Michael Singer’s “maniacal inner room mate” in Untethered Soul:

“There are two distinct aspects of your inner being. The first is you, the awareness, the witness, the center of your willful intentions; and the other is that which you watch. The problem is, the part that you watch never shuts up. If you could get rid of that part, even for a moment, the peace and serenity would be the nicest vacation you ever had.”

Swami Radhananda calls that peace and serenity the Divine Moment, a moment when one’s experience is not biased by the inner dialogue, and instead is open to a fresh, open-hearted engagement with life. All of the wisdom teachings I have studied say the same thing in their own way: Sharon Salzberg calls it equanimity. Pema Chödrön talks in terms of having no reference point. Ram Das sums it up with “Be. Here. Now.” And Hindu Vedanta named it Satchitananda, the “Ultimate Reality” or “being, consciousness, bliss”. Clear as mud? I know I seem to have lost the plot.

But what I do know for sure is that I have a ways to go before I am adept at taming my monkey mind. But from the rare divine moments that I’ve experienced, I know it’s worth a try. It requires nothing less than a commitment to “getting over” myself and shutting up my inner roommate’s constant commentary. No wonder Swami Radha calls it the pearl of great price!

Now to create some new memories by heading over to the Harmony Arts Festival for a tribute to CCR’s John Fogerty, and some old time rock and roll. Fortunate me.

July 23, 2024

L’Chaim!
To Life!

“In your time of reflection, you have to clarify constantly, even if it’s only intellectually: “Why was I born? Why am I here? What is the purpose of my life?” Then keep on asking, “Am I pursuing that purpose? And how am I pursuing it? Is this the best way to pursue it?” If you need help, have the humility to ask for it. Resort to prayer, worship, meditation – whatever will help.” (Swami Sivananda Radha Time to be Holy)

While the Lahaina fire stirred up a wave of worry and sympathy for that storied town, it was but a ripple compared to the waves of emotion and nostalgia that assailed me when our beloved town of Jasper suffered a similar fate in recent days. Looking online for news of the Alberta fires, I instead encountered images of other global disasters; earthquakes, floods, landslides and wildfires that I never knew were happening (in what one son calls “my room of ignorance”) but which are in fact equal or greater tragedies effecting hundreds or thousands of people unknown to me. How to integrate this ever shifting tableau of disaster into the world as I know it? How to reconcile these images and scenes into my sense of reality?

As I write, I’m surrounded by the vibrant greens and burgundies of alpine shrubs and trees, not to mention the riot of colorful flowers and herbs in the planters that mark the periphery of my outdoor “room”. Its impossible to concieve of this scene reduced to blackness and ash, not to mention the structural log cabin that has housed our busy family since long before any of our grandchildren were born. It’s impossible to imagine all of it being “never more”. Impossible to imagine me being never more. But that is reality.

Likewise, l’chaim, a Jewish toast to life carries with it the implicit “l’mitah” or “to death” that some say harks back to the Garden of Eden:

“According to one opinion, the Tree of Knowledge was actually a grapevine. Accordingly, Adam and Eve’s imbibing of grapes (or perhaps wine) brought death into the world.”

In whatever context we place them, life and death are two sides of the same coin; both inescable facts with which we wrestle more urgently when witnessing the destruction of what we hold familiar and dear, or when threatened with the loss of our own precarious existence. At such times Swami Radha’s questions become that much more pertinent. In fact her entire approach to personal growth is to ask question after question, each one aimed at loosening the ties that bind us to inherited or acquired — but ultimately inhibiting — beliefs. The Buddha held a similar approach: “Deliberate and analyze, and when it agrees with reason and conduces to the good of one and all, believe it and live up to it.” Socrates, too, held this view when he said “True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us”.

And of course this brings us to the ego, the part of us that thinks it knows, the part of us that identifies with our bodies and the constructs we have built around the physical aspects of existence – life as we know it through our sense perceptions and the state of mind that interprets them. But what do I really know of life? Or my purpose in living it?

In a practical sense, I know that life animates all the growth I witness around me. Life struggles for a place in the light, or sun from which important nutrients come. This is seen in the way flowers turn their faces toward the sun, and in the contortions a tree makes to escape the shade of its towering neighbours.

It’s also true that some seeds will only germinate in the wake of a fire. Called pyrophytics, “Some plants, such as the lodgepole pine, Eucalyptus, and Banksia, have serotinous cones or fruits that are completely sealed with resin. These cones/fruits can only open to release their seeds after the heat of a fire has physically melted the resin.” (Britannica)

Such is the case for humans, too. As part of satsang (worship) at Yasodhara Ashram those present would pass their hands over a small flame and recite: “When the oil of ignorance is destroyed in the fire of wisdom, may we know our oneness with the Light”. We cannot know this oneness unless the hard shell of our constructs is broken open and admits the light of a higher wisdom. And that wisdom can only be accessed when we’re willing to un-know what we think we know.

And that’s all I know about that!

PS Cuticle cream makes terrible lip balm…