Author: bondjanet

WHAT’S YOUR BUT?

“Whatever you do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.”

(Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe)

I’m pretty sure my mouth is writing chèques that my body can’t cash. I blame it on the Ironman World Championship Triathlon that was held this year in and around Kona on the 26th of October. The week before the race saw many of the world’s top tri-athletes cruising up the Queen K (Ka’ahumanu) Highway as they trained for the bike leg of the race, passing duffers like me as if we were standing still, if not going backwards. I was so inspired that I started talking up doing another Lavaman relay (bike leg only), which is scheduled for early next April. This Olympic length race is much shorter than an Ironman. The bike leg is a mere 40k. So how hard could it be? I’ve just started getting back on my bike, but I used to do that ride two or three times a week for several months of the year. Prior to COVID I even competed in two previous Lavaman relays. All it asks is a firm commitment and consistent effort from me. Do you hear me warming up to the “But now I’m too old…”excuse?

In order to make a commitment I have a habit of telling people I’m going to do something so that I feel responsible to do whatever it was I said I was going to do. It’s only a problem if they call me on it. This time I claimed to need a goal for my 75th birthday — some challenge to motivate me to greater fitness, and to exercise better “portion control”. Training for the Lavaman would probably tick both of those boxes. At least I’m back on my bike after an almost two year hiatus.

It’s hard to describe what a great morale-booster it was to be “back in the saddle” after many months of limited physical activity (swimming was a godsend but one can only spend so much time in cold water. I’m no Wim Hof). The lack of mobility imposed by my arthritic foot, and recovery from hip surgery left me lacking not only in the physical wellness that influences my mood so positively, but, equally or more importantly, it also deprived me of the camaraderie generated amongst the groups of friends with whom I enjoyed doing these activities.

In the months post-surgery I observed myself sinking into a sort of defeatist ennui, losing a lot of my joie de vivre. My notion of training for the Lavaman was as much from a desire to perpetuate the positive feeling I got from biking again — a renewed sense of inner strength and stability — as it was to get in shape physically.

Having voiced my brilliant idea out loud seems to have set subtle forces in motion that brought to mind Goethe’s quote. A friend with whom I used to bike came back on island. We biked on Thursday and Sunday. I started looking at my (very arbitrary) schedule for days I could train and for people with whom I might do so. Being surrounded by extremely fit people (there were over two dozen people who came out for Friday’s mile long ocean swim) should be incentive enough to make a wholehearted commitment to do the Lavaman. But it’s not.

So I went on the Internet with the question: How to get off your “but” and, lo and behold, discovered a book by that title written by Sean Stephenson, a late American author and motivational speaker who was born with a disease (osteogenesis imperfecta) that gave him extremely brittle bones, many of which were broken in the process of being born. At birth his parents were told he likely wouldn’t live through the night, and that they should be prepared at any moment to say goodbye to their acutely compromised baby, then child, young adult, husband and father who lived forty challenging and amazingly inspirational years in his wheelchair-bound, three foot tall body. So of course I bought the book and have just read the below in Anthony Robbins’ prologue:

“The way a person lives his life can either serve as a warning or as an example to us. Sean is the example! An example of how to get over your fears, insecurities, and excuses. Sean could have sentenced himself to a lifetime of misery, yet he consciously chose to pardon himself from the pity. Sean amazes me not because he overcame his struggles, but because he chose to dedicate his life to helping others do the same.”

I got so engrossed in reading the book that I almost ran out of time to finish this blog. So I will close with Sean Stephenson’s own no-nonsense words:

“I have traveled to forty-seven states and six countries, meeting thousands of people a year. And here’s what I’ve learned: the only thing that has ever held you back from having what you want in life is the size of your BUT.

“Our BUT is that cushy excuse that we rest on when we want to quit, when we believe that there’s nothing more we can do to resolve our challenges or accomplish our goals or fix our mistakes.”

So what’s your “but”? And what are you going to do about it?

IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED…

“The [ants] came back/The very next day
The [ants] came back/We thought they were a’goners
But the ants came back/They just [wouldn’t] stay
Away, away, away…”

(Adapted from “The Cat Came Back”, by Harry S. Miller, 1893)

The above slightly-amended poem came to mind the other day, after two weeks spent battling a steady stream of the little buggers (can you tell my patience is wearing thin?) with numerous liquid ant bait traps and different sprays that worked for about a minute and a half, and put me in mind of the famous Leiningen, whose struggle with army ants is the stuff of literary legend. (You can look it up.)

Adding insult to injury, I next sat on a lawn chair at the beach and was immediately crawling (literally) with what looked like two sets of minuscule “predators”. Tiny green spidery things (aphids?) and great numbers of equally small but transparent antish-looking bugs were stirred into a frenzy of activity by my presence, only rivaled by my flailing attempts to rid my chair and body of these miniature but multifarious “enemies”.

All this preceded the final KO punch of what I wrongly identified as a swarm of termites that plastered themselves on the exterior glass doors (and my iPad screen) like some sort of Hitchcockian pre-Hallowe’en.

When A.J. (no relation) from Smart Pest arrived I was apprised of my mistake, and shown how to differentiate between termites and carpenter ants, how to distinguish white sand from termite droppings, and why our bathroom invaders weren’t being successfully eliminated. The good news, neither carpenter ant nor termite nests were detected on our property. The swarms were a couple of those random acts of nature over which a mere human such as I have little control, except when it comes to bringing in the heavy artillery of an antidote (pardon the pun), that we successfully applied the next morning.

Why am I telling you all this? Because it seems I’m being challenged to practice what I preach. It’s all well and good to pontificate from a lofty perch of a yoga philosopher, removed as I might be from the worst provocations to my peace and equanimity, on an island thousands of miles from anything even remotely threatening. So how did I handle this first world problem, this triple-insect threat to my peace, harmony and ease of well-being?

Not well. Not well at all.

They say the meek shall inherit the earth, and if the past week is any indication, I’d say the insect kingdom is well on its way to world domination. To feel so defeated by such tiny creatures (albeit numbering in the hundreds) was a humbling barometer of how well-equipped I am to handle pressure or adversity. But I do have some things going for me.

Aside from knowing people who know people who will respond quickly to my panicky SOS, I have the tools of reflection, journaling and mindfulness that give me some distance from the story my unchecked imagination is telling me. When I observed myself running around like a chicken with its head cut off, with visions of having to tent our cottage for termites two days before a month-long run of company, I stopped.

Breathed.

Slowed down.

Collected my thoughts and feelings in my journal. Shared some of them with an empathetic friend. Did some inspirational reading. (I recommend When Things Fall Apart, by Pema Chödrön). Treated myself to some (disappointing) Hallowe’en candy. Chanted. And finally, napped.

I wonder if Leiningen did any of that?

Ultimately, we also prevailed over our insect pests, but, for me, the greater success was in transcending my emotional knee-jerk reactions long enough to effectively address the problem. We did not have to tent the cottage for termites. We did not have to find alternate places for the next three sets of guests to “vacay”. We did not have to track down errant termite and carpenter ant nests. The swarmers moved on. The fix was relatively easy: a few drops of Advion gel dealt with the lingerers.

The point being, we all have provocations, great and small, but the greater threat to our ease of well-being is the story, or illusion, we create around what’s actually happening. The purpose of this blog is not to know it all, or remain at all times preternaturally calm, but just to share some of the tools and practices that have helped me see what my inner storyteller is doing, and helped me respond vs react to challenges or problems.

P.S. The above-mentioned tools might come in handy on November 6, for anyone who follows American politics. (Though I don’t recommend it, you should at least have lots of leftover candy with which to celebrate or compensate, as the case may be…)

THE EYE OF THE CAT

“It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.”

(From Invictus, by William Ernest Henley)

One benefit of doing an early morning practice in the out-of-doors is witnessing our furred or feathered friends wake up and start their day. Because our family eat meals outside in Hawaii, the odds are I’ll first see the sparrows (and their attendant predator, the feral cat) as they swoop in to see what’s left of last night’s dinner. The cat, skinny and brindle-colored, is particularly stealthy, padding about with feline grace, and startled to see me sitting quietly on the sidelines of this morning’s performance. I could almost see its mental wheels spinning as it turned its mesmerizing eyes on me, debating if I was friend or foe, before haughtily gliding off as if to say “I knew you were there all along. So what?” This little episode prompted me to wonder just how and what a cat sees. This in turn led to the question of how and what a human sees.

But first, a few fast cat facts. From the Animal Eye Group website I learned that “cats have 20 degrees more peripheral vision than humans do, which is perfect for staying aware of their surroundings. They identify things by motion, so the ability to spot movement is very important”.

Further, I read that cats don’t see colour like we humans do. They pick up faint yellows and blues but otherwise are limited to indistinct shades of gray. They excel at night vision, though, with pupils that can expand to let in a maximum of light, which they need to hunt well after dark. During the day, their lack of focal acuity makes them quite near-sighted. It’s a good thing they can smell and hear so well — they rely on those two senses and use vision to confirm what they already know they’re smelling or hearing.

In humans, the sense of sight generally plays the more dominant role, though we too depend on our sense of smell and hearing, not to mention taste and touch, to navigate the world around us. Problems arise when any of the senses are compromised in some way, potentially giving us incorrect information. How do we discern what is actually happening from what any particular sense is telling us?

Though in this limited blog I can’t do justice to Swami Radha’s Kundalini Yoga for the West, I have learned from years of studying the kundalini system that I can be the master, or at the mercy of my senses — in this case, my sense of sight. In the chapter on the third (Manipūra) chakra Swami Radha asks many questions to stimulate our thoughts about sight:

“What would your life be if you had no sight? Have you taken sight for granted? Is there a difference between “I look” and “I see”? What is sight? Do the eyes record as efficiently as a photographic camera? Watch the process of seeing, then analyze it. When you “look,” do you “see”? When does awareness come in? Can sight be cultivated?

“In fact, all five senses have to be exercised to bring them to their highest potential. If seeing is a mental process as well as physical, then the question of “How do I see?” carries more importance. If the eyes register the visual impression and the mind interprets it, is “clear sight” really possible? When the mind interprets, what is the basis of the interpretation? What prevents clear sight?”

It’s not important that you have answers to all such questions as it is necessary to cultivate a healthy curiositym in order to increase awareness and advance mentally, emotionally or spiritually.

And now, my friends, I must sign off without completing these thoughts. We apparently have a swarm of termites that is attracted to the light of my iPad. Yikes.

A day later I’m compelled to finish what I started with the questions that Swami Radha poses regarding sight. The whole idea of posing open-ended questions is new to a lot of people. We’re uncomfortable without the security blanket of certainty, of guarantees. Thus my inquiries into sight led to an epiphany about the overarching need to be right. 

Psychologist Mel Schwartz posted an insightful article in Psychology Today titled: “Why Is It So Important to Be Right?” 

He posits that our education, as with most things in our upbringing, has been geared to memorizing information and producing the right answers on demand:

“Our educational [and therefore our societal] system is rooted in the construct of right and wrong. We are rewarded for what are deemed to be correct answers and the ensuing higher grades, which generally lead to more successful lives. Being right affirms and inflates our sense of self-worth. As students we learn to avoid as best we can the embarrassment of being wrong. Getting the right answer becomes the primary purpose of our education. Isn’t it regrettable that this may be inconsistent with actually learning?

“Can you imagine the generative and exciting learning environment that would result from a class that rewarded asking the best questions? If you think about it, the most intriguing questions are those that don’t offer simple answers. Even more, they drive our thinking into greater complexity and curiosity. This would be a most wonderful learning experience. No need to be cautious about a wrong answer. And everyone would be invited to safely participate in a generative and shared inquiry.” 

I’ve often wondered why Swami Radha’s approach, congruent with the above article, was so appealing to me. Now I see what a relief it has been to not need to know everything, not provide the right answers all the time, but rather, let her questions stimulate my thinking about things I have taken for granted, or unearth incorrect beliefs that have gone unchallenged. 

Socrates said something to the effect that “Wisdom begins when we realize that we don’t know what we think we know.” I vote for a world where everyone is encouraged to participate in a generative and shared inquiry about unknowns that effect all of our lives. Otherwise known as leading an examined life. 

GOODBYE BARBIE

“In the simplest terms, the shift we are undergoing right now has to do with recognizing ourselves as being more than human, remembering that our earthly aspects are a very small part of who we are. In truth, we are multidimensional beings. When we begin to realize this, the life we planned for a limited conception of ourselves no longer fits. We must meet the needs and qualifications not only of our bodies but also of our souls”…”and we all must find the way that works for us to integrate this new and larger sense of self into our life plan.” (Daily Om, October 16, 2024)

This past week I had the good fortune to briefly share our grand-daughter’s first foray into “higher education”; strolling around campus, visiting the dorm, the sorority, the student union building for schwag, and the eating spots — pizza, frozen yogurt, noodles, burritos — popular with a certain budget and demographic. I felt giddy seeing all the myriad learning opportunities (and extra-curricular activities) on offer at this vaunted university. By day’s end, however, I felt equally giddy returning to our spacious hotel room and six lane pool where I could soothe my overstimulated mind and overheated body. In the peace and calm of the nearly empty pool, I mulled over the impressions of the day, at which time a bittersweet realization dawned on me: I no longer have the time, energy, inclination or envy to join this teeming sea of bright young people. By comparison, it’s all too easy, in my mid-seventies — recovering from hip surgery, collapsed arches and other infirmities — to see myself as a salmon who has, after a lifetime at sea, swum upriver and spawned, and, thus having served my purpose, should be preparing to exit stage left. This is not a fate I am keen to embrace.

That’s why I endeavor to lead an examined life.

I like to believe that, for humans of any age there is so much more to explore, no end of wonder to experience, no end of learning and growing to do. As challenging, frustrating or disappointing as daily living can be, it also provides many subtle answers to the questions that I pose in my spiritual journal, and satisfies my desire to understand the deeper motives and meanings of what’s happening around me.

To get these answers and foster this understanding requires me to be receptive and curious, taking note of the symbolism and metaphors that stand out from the constant flow of information coming my way. No matter how small and insignificant the encounter might seem, there is often a message lurking just under the surface. Today’s insight came through observing a frog no larger than a raisin.

Though the mighty-voiced coqui frog has been all but eliminated from this part of the island, I spotted one hopping across the stepping stones in our garden on the day of our arrival in Hawaii. Curiosity led me to an internet search of the frog totem in Native American spirituality. In the “Spirit Animal Blog” posted by Urban Healers of L.A., the following spoke to me:

“In native teachings, there are three stages of life; the Child, the Adult, and the Elder. The Elder is the most highly honored position among Native communities who recognize that the health and wellness of the individual is inextricable from the health and wellness of the tribe, which is only possible due to the unbroken chain of effort of ones ancestors who survived the trials of life. Elders are the guides who tell the tales of instruction passed down from generation to generation by the sacred fireplace. It is likely that your experience of family was not filled with such community and wisdom. Frog medicine asks that you let yourself grieve for that reality and begin the journey to become an Elder for others.”

In retrospect, it’s easy to see the progression from “Child” to “Adult” in the loss of attachment to the shiny objects that attracted me in the past. I no longer covet the latest Barbie doll, yearn for my own pony, or prefer bubblegum ice cream to Kona coffee or a nice dark chocolate.

But learning to let go of things that bring comfort, security or satisfaction as an aging adult requires another level of maturity, another step in the process of becoming an elder and “meeting the needs and qualifications” not only of my body but of my soul. Indeed, I am beginning to realize, as the Daily Om quote predicts, that “the life [I] planned for a limited conception of [myself] no longer fits.”

On the one hand this is a difficult pill to swallow. In a society that regards aging with trepidation, if not disdain, I see the marks that living has left on my face and body and reluctantly acknowledge that this trajectory is only going one way! It’s encouraging to note that “these earthly aspects are only a small part of who I am”. My task now is to find ways of integrating a new and larger sense of self into my life plan, to shift the demands I make of my mind and body to something more fitting for this unprecedented (for me) stage of “eldering”.

And now, an intermission, while I track down whoever helped themself our ripe white pineapple…🤔

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

“Everything in the universe is within you. Ask all from yourself.” (Rumi)

I found it difficult to parse what Rumi is saying with the above quote. But it resonated with a thought process I’ve been exploring for the past few weeks. And the discovery is this: depending on how much sleep I’ve had, or when I’ve last eaten, or what I have on my “dance card”, or a host of other variables, a different personality aspect tends to hold sway in my psyche. How I experience my life, whether I’m happy or sad, brave or afraid very much depends on whatever personality aspect has control of my inner narrative at any given time. And, too often, the aspect in control of my thoughts or emotions is what I’ve begun to think of as the Beast. I know my inner Beast to be a temperamental creature who can be sullen and judgmental, irritable and demanding, much like a child who needs a nap, or a snack, or a distraction. Another name for this beast is my ego.

Thankfully, I’ve observed another facet to my nature that I’m calling the Beauty. Beyond being just a contented ego, my inner Beauty or Light shines when I am not thinking of myself at all, but functioning from a selfless or egoless place — not trying to meet some personal need or agenda but am simply present to what is happening in the moment. That Beauty and the Beast struggle for control of what I think and feel, do and say, is an understatement. Which is why I engage in a regular spiritual practice to referee between these facets of my psyche. I begin by pouring thoughts and feelings into my spiritual journal before they become more solid and convincing, compelling me to say or do something I ultimately regret. The stronger the impulse to act out, the more effort it takes to rein in whatever energy I’m itching to expend. I’m sure I’m not the only one who comes to her senses in a moment of quiet reflection and asks “What was I thinking?!” after having created some major or minor catastrophe.

Hillevi Ruumet, a transpersonal anthropologist of whom I was a student at what is now Sophia University writes about this inner struggle in terms of Ego versus our inner Divine Light or Self, calling it the Transpersonal Passage:

“But if in this waltz where both are struggling to lead, the Ego manages to see that the Self knows the dance better and consents to follow, their struggle can lead to the birth of a capacity for love as Aloha, embedded in the Divine and grounded in well-developed Egoic skills that will help to implement the person’s newly realized values in the world.

“We can now grow into the ability to compassionately witness our own behavior and inner process, as well as that of others. For the first time, we can see what the ego is doing and decondition negative patterns with which we have identified before. We are able to be generous towards others and take care of ourselves. A basic cognitive shift occurs from seeing the world from an either/or perspective to seeing it as both/and”… “Self-aggrandizement is no longer a primary goal. Some may join civic-minded people who form the backbone of community service all over the world. Others may extend feelings of kinship to all people and/or all of life, so that the perception of “we/they” yields to the “we” of our common humanity (and for many, to all forms of creation).”

This brings me to the Rumi quote that everything in the universe is within me. If I understand that the universe is composed of energy, the same energy from which I draw my existence, then it stands to reason that everything and everyone else is, in essence, an extension of this energy, me of them and they of me.
The example is given of a wave that is at once individual and yet also insperable from an ocean of energy.

In terms of asking all from myself, I read that as meaning I can tap into this vast ocean of energy that is beyond my ego, beyond my small self-identity, and not only get the answers I need, but the wisdom and strength, confidence and clarity to act from my highest ideals.

Daily Om sums it up thus:

“We cannot help but be part of the realities of the people around us because we take form from the same energetic force, and this force unifies all life. This force is the light that all the great mystics and gurus encourage us to move toward, and it is the light we will dissolve into when we move beyond our individual egos.”

Aum Namah Sivayah

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!