Oh Right, I Knew That

The universe has been giving me plenty of writing material in the joke’s-on-me category. This time it’s about developing a website and working on a new book project. 

For years I have quietly cruised along on my little blog, happy to use Blogger, grateful for all those who have subscribed by email. Then recently Blogger announced that after July they would no longer support the email subscribers on Feedburner. I don’t even know what all that means, but I knew I needed tech help. That led to deciding to have my own website and some other changes, all of which will be happening in the next month or two. (I will give everyone plenty of notice and we will figure out how to ease the transition for all you beloved email subscribers.)

Meanwhile, I have been preparing to publish a new book (more on that later as well), which involves various tasks to appeal (hopefully) to a publisher. 

All of this has taken me way out of my comfort zone, and while I’m excited about these new developments, I have also been resistant and grumpy about having to, no, choosing to, change the way I’ve been doing things, including taking some steps to promote myself and my writing. This definitely does not feel like “the way of no way.” On the contrary, it feels like an unwelcome distraction from my “practice.” Which is what, exactly? Yes, I meditate, and practice martial arts, and write, and facilitate a contemplation group, but what is the point of any of that? (Yes, I know some folks will say there is no point to any of that, and that that is the point.) 

We spent a lot of time in recent months talking in the contemplation group about expanding our “sphere” to include everything that arises within our experience and awareness. Everything. Exclude nothing. And to recognize that when we are struggling, we are out of alignment, we are fighting against reality, we are in conflict with ourselves. We talk about softening the struggle by touching everything with compassion, and releasing our attachment and rejection so that we can live in harmony with the universe. That includes the universe of our choices. 

Busted, right? What is the point of any practice that I engage in or write about if not to integrate body, mind, and soul into the rhythm of creation, to open the heart of compassion to embrace everything, to notice and ease any struggle with reality, to lean into fear rather than try to escape it, to awaken to our true nature and live fully in each precious moment? And if a few of those precious moments involve a little discomfort over learning some new technology and changing the way I do some things, then my practice is to expand my sphere to include this too. This too. 

So I’m having a pretty good laugh at myself. Again. Here I am with my knickers in a knot, struggling over the very things I’ve chosen to do in order to share with others the practice that has so enriched my life by teaching me how not to struggle. Yeah, people are complicated. And funny. 

You are welcome to share a laugh with me. And I hope you will be patient as I wade through these coming transitions. 

It takes more than just awareness for us to change. It takes courage and humility and the willingness to occasionally feel like fools and laugh at ourselves. ~Bud Harris

Who’s That Old Lady?

This is a “joke’s on me” story. I love martial arts. I have practiced various martial arts over the years. These days, it’s taiji, sword, and staff. I recently took a video of myself practicing a sword form. In my head I looked like this:

When I watched the video, my first thought was “Who’s that old lady with the big butt flapping that sword around?” 

Ah, reality. I had a good laugh at myself. What a great opportunity to truly see and embrace things as they really are. And still love life. 

On the other hand, there is no harm in enjoying our fantasies. When my daughter was young, she liked to wear a pink T shirt on her head and pretend she had long hair. She wanted to wear it to go shopping one day, and asked me if people would think she had long hair. No, I said with a smile. They will think you have a pink T shirt on your head. 

She paused for a moment, then flipped her pink “hair” around her shoulders and said confidently, No they won’t. And off she skipped. 

Note to self – no more videos! 

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 79

 

A sweet little chapter with a turn the other cheek message. It begins by observing that even after a conflict is settled, some resentment often remains. So how can we bring true peace to a situation? 

Using contracts as an example, the chapter says that the sage holds up her end of the bargain, but does not try to force the other party to perform. When I taught contract law, my students would express their highest aspiration to draft a contract that would hold up in court. How surprised they were when I would reply that if they were in litigation over a contract, they had already lost no matter what the court decided. 

What I meant was that once a conflict arose and an adversarial process was initiated, both parties had lost the benefit of the relationship they had entered into. The cost and delays of litigation would never replace the benefits they had initially bargained for. 

So, I told my students, their highest aspiration should be to negotiate and draft an agreement that the parties will honor, one that will provide a basis for good faith efforts to resolve any disagreements that might arise without resort to lawsuits.

Of course, we can’t control other people’s behavior, in contracts or in the rest of life, but we can focus on our own behavior, on honoring our commitments, on doing the right thing, on being honest and having integrity, without regard to a quid pro quo. 

My favorite line in this chapter says that “heaven’s Dao is without preference.” Like the sun that graces all with its light and warmth, like the rain that graces all with its nourishment, Dao plays no favorites of worthiness or punishes those without. It offers its life giving energy to all without discrimination. Likewise, we can offer our compassion to all who cross our path, regardless of what they have done or not done for us. 

Having no preference is a great description of wu wei, a thematic principle in the Tao Te Ching. Sometimes mistakenly interpreted as passive non-action, it is better understood as a ready responsiveness to whatever life brings us. If I have a preference, then I might try to force people or circumstances to bend to my will. Instead, if I greet whatever arises without judgment or reactivity, I am free to respond appropriately and in harmony, rather than in conflict and struggle. 

This concept is impressively demonstrated by taiji master Adam Mizner, who responds to any attack with great effectiveness by using whatever energy is directed against him to defeat his attacker. He describes his approach as having no preference. (If you are interested, take a look at this short video.)

In the same way, we can maintain our own inner balance and peace, no matter what we are faced with in life, not by trying to force our will on what is beyond our control, but rather by honoring our own integrity and responding to what is, instead of what we want it to be.

Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself. ~Rumi

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 78

Under heaven nothing is more soft and yielding than water

Yet nothing is better for overcoming what is hard and stiff

As we approach the end of the Tao Te Ching’s 81 chapters, the text returns to the theme of water. Water is the most common metaphor for the energy of Tao. It flows naturally, humbly seeking the lowest level of the vast sea of unity. You cannot push it or grasp it. It yields to force, yet its power cannot be denied. It follows its own nature, moving effortlessly through its cycles of manifesting and returning, unconcerned with obstacles, sustaining and nurturing all life. 

Everyone knows this

But few can practice it

So if we all know this, that our best model for living is the nature of water, then why is it so hard to practice? In martial arts, one of the hardest things for me to learn has been to yield, to allow my partner to defeat himself with his own use of force. As the chapter says, I understand the principle of yielding to overcome, and yet in the moment, my instinct is to attack, to try to overpower. How well do you think that works for an old ninja granny? Even if I were a buff young martial arts master, there would always be someone stronger, more skilled in using force than I am.  

We can see how this instinct arises in all kinds of situations, not just martial arts. Think of all the times during the day when we experience the urge to control, to manipulate, to react, to coerce. As I sit here writing, I don’t have to look back very far to remember a moment of judgment, irritation, frustration, disappointment. And within all these moments is the desire for things to be different, the desire to make them different. 

What is it, then, driving that urge to use force, even when we know that it is not advantageous? Fear. Fear is what takes hold of us and leads us to abandon our greatest strength. Fear might be disguised as anger, righteous indignation, anxiety, duty, allegiance to a cause. Whatever its appearance, fear tells us to fix something outside of ourselves to feel better inside ourselves. 

Practicing the wisdom of this chapter asks us to breathe into the discomfort, to tolerate the distress, to be still when fear is telling us to react. To soften our hearts and yield in patience until our way is made clear to respond with integrity and compassion. To ask ourselves, “What would water do?” 

Be water, my friend. ~Bruce Lee

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 76

A person at birth is soft and gentle

At death is hard and unyielding

Sprouting plants are tender and supple

At death are brittle and dry

Stiff and unyielding are associated with death

Soft and gentle with life

The wisdom in this chapter is easy to understand from our own observations. Babies learning to walk fall a lot, yet they are rarely injured. Their bones are flexible and they are relaxed in their efforts. An older person is sometimes unsteady on their feet. They are afraid of falling because falls often result in broken bones or serious injury. 

I also experience the truth of this chapter when practicing martial arts. People believe that muscular strength is the key to success, but there is always someone stronger. Using force based on muscle strength is easily defeated. I watched an 80 year old tai chi master, small in stature with a little pot belly, deflect attacks from young, buff, highly skilled kung fu teachers. He stood calm and relaxed as his opponents, some of whom towered over him, tried to grab him. With a barely detectable shift in stance and a subtle movement of his hands or wrists, he sent his attackers flying across the room. 

Where did that power come from? From being relaxed and centered, yielding and fluid, opening up the channels of energy that move freely when not blocked. From being unafraid, fully present, and responsive rather than reactive. He didn’t meet force with force but rather allowed force to pass by him as he remained unaffected.

What I noticed the most was that he was having a great time. He was always smiling. And at the end of the practice, he was not even breathing hard. 

Not all of us practice martial arts, but all of us encounter conflict in our lives. How do we respond? When we are rigid in our opinions, when we insist on being right, when we try to force others to comply with our demands, or to conform to our expectations, we invite resistance. We feed the energy of division and hostility. 

If you are a parent or a teacher, you have no doubt heard the excuse “She started it! I had no choice.” And we have probably heard that plenty of times from adults too. But what this chapter teaches is that we always have a choice – the energy of life or the energy of death. 

So think about it. What does the energy of life look like in a particular situation? It’s not always exactly the same because it is always open and receptive, responsive to the moment. It is fluid, adaptable, alert, appropriate. 

Next time conflict arises, try to be aware of how you engage with it. No need to be judgmental, just curious. Learn about yourself. Then make your choice. 

I could see peace instead of this. ~A Course in Miracles

Back to Basics

Lately I’ve been feeling drained, like my life force is seeping out of me. Absent any other symptoms indicating illness, I’ve been puzzled by this general malaise. Last night I gave it some focused thought. What is different in my life? What has changed in recent weeks? Two things came to mind.

First, I’ve been spending a lot more time online looking at the news. I don’t have a TV anymore, but apparently that doesn’t stop me from overindulging in screen time. Click click click. Read this article. Watch this video. Just one more. I hadn’t fully appreciated the toll that takes. It’s like stuffing yourself with toxic junk food, except that it doesn’t taste as good as powdered sugar donuts. It feels icky. 

So this morning I went back to my usual avoidance of the incessant drumbeat of outrage. That doesn’t make me an uninformed or uncaring citizen. It makes me sane. I’m saying it makes me sane – I’m not speaking for anyone else. The urge several times today to just take a peek made me realize how this addictive habit had infiltrated my life. 

Second, I realized that my usual practices of martial arts and meditation had been shortchanged recently because of some other commitments, primarily helping my grandson with his remote learning every day. That is an important commitment to me, and I enjoy my time with him, but it has definitely affected my daily routines that nurture my body and my inner well being. 

So this morning, I got up and made sure to carve out enough time to spend with some cleansing qigong exercises and an extra long time of meditation. After the school work was finished this afternoon, I practiced with my martial arts weapons and took a long walk. I may not be able to fit that much in every day, but I see now that for me, it needs to be a priority that I honor better than I have been lately.

As I went through my day today, the phrase that kept coming to me was “back to basics.” Going back to what I know works for me. Nothing fancy. Simple. Like ABC. 

Attend. One of my favorite words. It calls me to the present moment. It guides me to suspend my inner chatter and to look and listen. Pay attention.

Breathe. You’ve probably heard me say before that everything we need to know, we can learn from breathing. Breathing is our best teacher, mentor, guide. Everything is in the breath.

Center. We all have some sort of practice that centers us. For me, it is martial arts and meditation. For some it is prayer. Or yoga, art, music. Or a walk. Or a bubble bath (I like that one too.) Whatever brings you back to yourself in this moment. Fully present. Fully balanced. Aware. Awake. 

My straying away from these basics over recent weeks has shown me how essential they are to my well being. I am ending this day feeling better than I have in a while. 

I hope that if you are struggling with all the things happening in our world right now, if you feel the drain of stress or anxiety, you will take some time to identify what is basic for you, and then give yourself permission to honor what will sustain you and nurture you. 

We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves. ~the Dalai Lama

This Is What I’m Doing

During a recent conversation with a martial arts friend and mentor, we were discussing our practice. Although we are at very different levels (he is light years ahead of me), we both find ourselves in a time of transition, partly affected by the shutdown and interruption of our usual routines, but that is not the only impetus to change. I was describing my sense of “where do I go from here” lack of clear direction. Did I want a different teacher? Did I want to learn a new form or a new style or a new weapon? 

Describing his own shift in practice, he explained that he had dropped the notion of a specific teacher or learning a particular style. Instead, he was going back to fundamentals and exploring wherever his curiosity led him, following the guidance of his body’s wisdom after years of practice. Striking out on his own, everything felt fresh and exciting again. He said without apology or need to justify, “This is what I’m doing.” 

Wow. I loved that statement. The simplicity and honesty of accepting ownership and responsibility. The self awareness and permission to not know, to explore, to be curious. To turn inwardly and listen, rather than to continue seeking “out there” for direction and guidance and instruction. 

I immediately recognized what he said as the inspiration I was looking for, and I embraced his statement as my own declaration. My practice was reinvigorated, fun, and empowered.

And, as with all martial arts lessons, I quickly appreciated how the idea spilled over and permeated the rest of my life. Going back to basics, trusting our inner wisdom, listening rather than imposing. As MSI wrote, “Life becomes extraordinary in its simplicity – the response to everything that comes to us is the same:  acceptance, compassion, and unconditional love.” 

“This is what I’m doing” is a call to mindfulness, whatever our activity, a reminder to be aware, to be present, to not be so distracted that we miss our life. It is an assertion of responsibility for ourselves and our choices. It is liberating and empowering. It is grounding in a time of uncertainty and anxiety. It is a reassurance that we are enough.

So as we go through our day, let’s pause and listen, and choose. Then say with confidence, “This is what I’m doing.” 

For in the sacredness of every moment, Divine Grace is telling you alone all that is required. ~Jean-Pierre de Caussade

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 70

This is a beautiful chapter that acknowledges how elusive something so simple can be.

My words are very easy to know
Very easy to put into practice
Yet under heaven no one is able to know them
No one can put them into practice

When people ask me to explain Tao to them, or ask me what they need to do to live according to the Tao, I’m always a bit stumped. As we’ve known ever since the very first lines of the Tao Te Ching, the Tao that can be understood or explained is not the eternal Tao. So no matter what I say, I will fail to answer the question. My aim is, then, as one teacher says, to fail well.

I was asked a few months ago to give a presentation on Taoism to a group of people who were studying a book comparing major “religions.” I put that word in quotes because my first hurdle was to figure out how Tao can be neatly packaged into a religion. I’m pretty sure it can’t be. It is, as the Tao Te Ching teaches, without form, without name, without substance. It has no creed, no doctrine, no structure, no ritual (although the Taoist religion, as it has developed over millennia, has pretty much all of these things). It is, to use Bruce Lee’s description of his approach to martial arts, the way of no way.

Why is it so easy? Almost a thousand years ago, Li Hsi-Chai explained it best: “It is easy because there is no Tao to discuss, no knowledge to learn, no effort to make, no deeds to perform.” (translated by Red Pine)

It is, as I explained to the study group, as easy and natural as breathing. In fact, breathing is our best model of Tao in action. Breathe in, breathe out. Manifesting into form, returning to formlessness. Fluid like water. Natural. The only breath that matters is the one right now. Now this one. I cannot hoard or store my breath, or borrow future breath on credit. I cannot hold on to it (for very long) but must release it to allow the next breath. Everything we need to know is not in a book or in the words of a teacher. Everything we need to know is in the breath.

So why is it so hard? Finishing Li Hsi-Chai’s quote: “It is hard because the Tao cannot be discussed, because all words are wrong, because it can’t be learned, and because the mind only leads us astray.”

That made me laugh out loud. I know. I have a strange sense of humor. But didn’t Li Hsi-Chia perfectly capture the human brain’s frustration with not being able to name, classify, anazlyze, evaluate, and attain intellectual clarity and moral conviction? “I think, therefore I am” gives us the great mental pleasure of certainty. “Don’t believe everything you think” throws us right back into the terrifying (to the brain) unknown.

Most of us are thinking, okay great, I get this, sort of, but what do I do? What does this look like?

It looks like this: breathe in, breathe out.

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. ~Jesus

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 69

This chapter carries forward the teaching in the last chapter about power and conflict.

Warriors have a saying:
I do not presume to be the host (aggressor) but would rather be the guest (defender)
Rather than advance an inch, I would retreat a foot
This is called going forward without advancing

This passage reminds me of the martial art of aikido, which I’ve never practiced, but is described as a purely defensive martial art with no offensive moves. An interesting concept.

I confess that when engaged in any sort of martial art sparring, my tendency is to go on the offense. I do this because it gives me the delusion of control, and I often persist even when it is clearly not to my advantage. My challenge and practice in martial arts is to empty myself out, to be alert and responsive to what is happening, rather than try to force a particular outcome.

I have found that this works best in daily life. I wrote about an experience when I was confronted by some young men looking for trouble and was able to deflect their intention just with words. Retreating a foot in that case was definitely “going forward without advancing.”

Grasp without arms
Control without weapons
Capture without hostility

The last line can also be read as capturing without an enemy. I love the wisdom in these three lines. As soon as we set ourselves up in an adversarial dynamic by labeling someone as an enemy, as soon as we react to someone with hostility, we have set up a win/lose conflict that might win a battle but will not bring peace.

When I taught law students how to draft contracts, they would often say that they wanted to draft a contract that would hold up in court. My response was often a surprise to them. “If you are in court over your contract, you have already lost.” Because no matter what the judge says, a litigant has already lost the benefit of the bargain that the parties agreed to. The relationship has broken down, trust has been betrayed, time and money have been wasted. A successful contract is one that the parties perform.

In our culture, we are so locked in to an us/them, win/lose mindset that we cannot see what is lost by the adversarial stance we take with our families, our politics, our religion, our planet.

It is hard to write anything these days without a mention of the virus spreading across the earth. Yes, there is Covid-19, but there is a more intangible virus spreading through the hearts and spirits of those who see only danger and feel only fear. Gun sales are up in the United States. Disturbing. I joked to a neighbor passing by that someone was going to get shot over toilet paper. He replied in all seriousness that he had his guns and was prepared to use them. Very disturbing.

The chapter ends with this:

Thus when opposing warriors meet each other
The one with compassion will win indeed

Indeed.

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 68

This chapter is about power and the use of power. It starts out with four lines, each beginning with the character for “good.”

A good warrior is not violent
A good fighter is not enraged
A good conqueror does not engage the enemy
A good leader humbles himself

The ancient treatise The Art of War counsels that the highest victory is won without engaging in battle. This reminds me of lessons in tai chi. Tai chi “sparring” usually begins with two people facing each other and lightly touching one or both forearms. A master I studied with said that the instant he came in contact with an opponent, he “knew” everything about the other person and basically took all his energy away from him.

This would sound crazy if I hadn’t witnessed this tiny 80 year old man easily deflecting attacks by younger, bigger, stronger, skilled martial artists. He never moved very much, never broke a sweat, and had a twinkle in his eye.

I know I do best in martial arts when I remain relaxed, neutral, neither afraid nor aggressive. And, as I’ve said before, what I love about martial arts is that what I learn there applies so well to life in general.

One of Aesop’s Fables tells the story of the wind and the sun, competing to see who is stronger by seeing who can remove a man’s coat. The wind blows strong and cold, but the man just pulls the coat around him more tightly. Finally the wind is exhausted. The sun takes his turn and simply shines warmly. The man is soon too hot and removes his coat.

This fable is one of my favorites because it teaches us not only that force is not as effective as gentleness, but also that force exhausts the one expending it. Consider this next time you are trying to get a two year old to do anything.

The chapter ends by relating this nonviolent approach to De (the “de” or “te” of the Tao Te Ching). De does not strive, and this is the source of its power, which effortlessly manifests in  perfect harmony with heaven.

This chapter invites us to contemplate our relationship to power. When do we feel powerful? Powerless? How do we try to gain power? How do we use it? With what results? We are invited to watch ourselves and learn how power operates in our lives. Let’s see what we discover!

The day the power of love overrules the love of power, the world will know peace.  ~Gandhi

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 66

This beautiful chapter is about leadership, comparing a good leader to the sea, resting patiently in the lowest position, allowing all water to return according to its own path.

The sea is king of the hundred valleys
Because it lies well below them

This passage blends two thematic images in the Tao Te Ching – water and valleys. The valley is open, receptive, guiding the water that flows through it, and nourishing all that grows in its embrace.

Water is the most common metaphor for Tao. Water’s power comes from following its nature, flowing in harmony with gravity, ever downhill around over or under all obstacles, returning to its source in the vast ocean.

Thus one who would rule others must support them from underneath
One who would lead others must encourage them from behind

This reminds me of the Bible passage that says those who are first shall be last, and those who are last shall be first, thus describing the concept of the servant leader. When a leader understands this principle, the chapter goes on to observe that the people are neither burdened nor hindered. Good leadership embodies humility, not arrogance.

Because the sage does not contend
No one under heaven can contend with the sage

I experience the validity of this passage all the time in martial arts. One of our training slogans is “Don’t insist. Don’t resist.” This holds true in everyday life, as anyone who has found themselves in a battle of will with a two year old (or a teenager) can attest. When we compete, we divide ourselves into winners and losers. In doing so, we all lose the opportunity for connection, for relationship, for peace.

Water does not contend, yet achieves its purpose effortlessly, in harmony with all nature. When we live according to our true nature, in harmony and humility, we open a channel for the energy of the universe to manifest through us. And nothing is more powerful than that.

Our deepest fear is not that we are powerless. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. ~Marianne Williamson

Be water, my friend.  ~Bruce Lee

Deflecting Conflict

I was chatting with my martial arts teacher after class last week about how we learn in martial arts to deflect force rather than trying to overpower force with force. As with many lessons in martial arts, this one teaches us how to handle conflict in the rest of our lives as well. I related to him this story which he thought was a great example, so I will share it with you too.

A few years ago, I was walking along a neighborhood street after dark. Up ahead there was a group of young men. As I passed them, one of them said something vulgar and sexual to me. I walked on past without reacting, but they started to follow close behind me. They were looking for trouble. There was no one else on the street.

So I did what any self-respecting martial artist would do. I turned to face them. And I said,

“When an old lady like me gets a compliment from a handsome young fella like yourself, it’s a good day!” And I gave them a big smile.

Well, they weren’t expecting that. They all stopped in their tracks and looked confused. Then, after a pause, the one who had spoken to me softened his stance and simply said,

“God bless you.”

“God bless you too,” I replied.

All the tension evaporated. We all nodded at each other, turned, and went on our way.

Doing Nothing in the Right Way

Last week, I got a brutal stomach bug. The symptoms were intense but lasted only an afternoon and evening. However, it wiped me out so thoroughly that for the next three days all I could do was lie in bed eating ice chips. Even after I was sort of upright again, doing the simplest things wore me out.

When I finally returned to martial arts class, my teacher told me to take it easy and just do what I could. After sitting down for a few minutes, I joined the class in a standing meditation. As soon as I got myself properly aligned and relaxed into the posture, energy bubbled up inside me and blossomed like a flower. It was like I had a low battery and someone had plugged me into the charger. By the time the meditation ended I felt as close to normal as I had in days.

Later I told the teacher what had happened. “Sometimes doing nothing in the right way is the best thing,” he replied.

That is a pretty amazing statement, especially in our “do, do more, do better” culture. It made me think about other times when doing nothing in the right way is the best thing. Like when a friend needs me to listen, just listen, without offering advice or trying to fix things. Or when someone is rude or trying to pick a fight. Or when a child needs to learn about consequences and how to solve a problem independently.

My body taught me that pushing through, soldering on, or forcing is not always what is called for. Aligning myself in stillness allowed the energy to expand and move freely. I felt refreshed and renewed.

Can you think of some other examples where doing nothing in the right way is the best thing?

Don’t just do something. Sit there! ~Sylvia Boorstein

The Non-Action Hotline

In my No Way Café contemplation group, we were joking about my “addiction” to acquiring even more translations and interpretations of the Tao Te Ching. This could prove to be a costly and cumbersome habit since the Tao Te Ching has been translated more than any other book in history except the Bible. How many do I need?

When billionaire John D. Rockefeller was asked how much money was enough, he answered, “Just a little more.” I can relate.

Someone joked that I should call the “non-action hotline,” referring to one of the basic principles of the Tao Te Ching. Another person picked up on the joke and added that when you call, all you hear is white noise. So funny.

But it got me to thinking more about this concept on non-action or wu wei, undoubtedly one of the more challenging concepts to understand and put into practice. We are a culture of overt doing – making our to do lists and checking off the items with smug satisfaction, or wilting in the face of all the things left undone. We set goals and make New Year resolutions, and measure our success or failure accordingly.

Many see our current national and global situation as a call to action. A woman I barely know came up to me before tai chi class and asked me what I was doing to address something that was recently in the news. When I agreed that the situation was tragic, she raised her voice and challenged me. “No, I mean what are you DOING?”

Understanding that no answer I could give her would be satisfactory, I just said quietly, “Probably not enough.”

A more accurate answer might have been, I’m doing what I am called to do. Or even better, I’m allowing what wants to manifest through me to manifest. Non-action doesn’t mean passivity or apathy. On the contrary, it is a dynamic and powerful principle. It means being in alignment with the natural energy of the universe such that necessary action happens, and unnecessary action doesn’t. That can look different for different people. It can look different for the same person at different times. But it all starts with internal harmony that then manifests outwardly in various forms.

In martial arts, we practice finding our internal alignment. All movement comes from this. All power comes from this. When I am aligned, I can feel the energy moving freely. I can sense in my body the truth of this teaching. It’s wonderful.

The Tao Te Ching assures us that when this principle of non-action is internalized and practiced, “nothing is left undone.” This is the paradox of wu wei. If nothing is done, how is nothing left undone? All I can say is that when I “surrender as general manager of the universe,” as the saying goes, I can experience the creative and dynamic power of the universe at work. Whatever I “accomplish” is then not anything that I have done, but it has happened through me. In that sense, nothing is done (by me) yet nothing is left undone (by the universe).

Maybe I don’t need any more translations of the Tao Te Ching ... at least today. I better call the hotline.

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 61

This chapter address the theme of power in the context of the relationship between large and small countries. Like other chapters addressing nations and government, this chapter can also apply to individuals – how we govern ourselves and how we relate to others.

A large country is like a river delta
The lowest point where all streams converge
Manifesting the receptive stillness of the feminine
It absorbs the power of all the water that flows into it

The Tao Te Ching often uses the image of water to describe the natural movement and energy of Tao. Water naturally flows towards the lowest point. The character for low 下 is used nine times in this chapter and can also mean underneath or humble.

The chapter goes on to describe the relationship of large and small countries, explaining that harmony between them is fostered not by force but by mutual respect and humility. An image that comes to mind is the practice in some cultures of bowing, each party offering respect rather than demanding it.

Bowing is often a part of martial arts ritual. Teachers and students bow to each other. Higher and lower ranked students bow to each other. Sparring partners bow to each other before and after combat.

Humility is sometimes confused with weakness or passivity or being taken advantage of. Or humiliation, which is a function of ego, whereas humility is a relinquishment of ego.

As we see in this chapter, humility is a quality of strength and power, like the power of the ocean that lies below all the waters of the earth. True power comes not from force, as anyone who practices martial arts will tell you. There will always be someone stronger. True power comes from alignment with the natural energy of the universe, allowing that energy to flow unimpeded.

Humility is a quality we used to value. It is one of the fruits of the spirit listed in the Bible. But as we look at nations and world leaders today, as we look at those who excel in sports, and those who attain celebrity status for reasons no one can identify, it seems that self promotion and self aggrandizement are the coin of the realm.

This chapter has led me to contemplate the place of humility in my own life. Is this a quality of the people I admire? Do I catch myself when ego puffs up? Do I value the opportunities I have to learn from others and to be in caring relationships when I check my ego at the door of life and bow to the beauty of every moment’s blessing?

I’m practicing....

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. ~Matthew 5:5

Why We Practice

Last weekend I was walking along a trail with a friend. We had our dogs with us – my little fur ball and her big Lab. We came to a small single plank bridge over a tiny creek. The plank was 12 inches wide. I started across. Just then her dog decided that she wanted to be in front. Before my friend could warn me, her dog came up behind me and in racing to get past, bumped into my left leg, knocking it upwards and spinning me sideways on the plank.

By all reason, I should have ended up in the creek, which was only a short drop and the worst result would have been wet shoes and maybe a wet rear. So not that big a deal. But somehow I didn’t fall. As I turned, I managed to maintain my balance, sinking smoothly into my right foot and bringing my arms up in a pose that looked something like the photo above.

Poised there as my mind took in what had happened, I felt sort of foolish and amazed at the same time. I slowly stood back up, looked at my friend, who was just staring at me, and said, “I have no idea how I did that.”

Perhaps that is not entirely true. My martial arts practice involves a lot of balance and responding to the unexpected. When the dog bumped me, my body just did what it is trained to do. I really had little to do with it in terms of analyzing the situation, making a plan, and executing it. It was over before my mind caught up and figured out what had happened.

In reflecting on it later, I understood that this is why we practice. We practice so that when needed, our training kicks in and operates without much conscious supervision. We internalize our practice and it becomes part of who we are.

Here’s the thing. We are always practicing something. I got to wondering what else I’m practicing. Am I practicing kindness or meanness? Compassion or judgment? Forgiveness or anger? Generosity or withholding? Connection or separation? Faith or fear?

We practice intentionally and consciously what we want to manifest when something catches us off guard, so that our training will kick in when needed, guiding us as we engage with others and the world around us.

So I’m going to be paying more attention to what I’m practicing as I go through my day. For example, thinking of some recent events, I want to practice not taking things personally. I could also use some brushing up on taking responsibility for my own feelings. I would like to practice taking the long view when considering my response to something in the moment. And I definitely need to fluff and buff my practice of maintaining good boundaries.

How about you? What would you like to practice?

An ounce of practice is generally worth more than a ton of theory. ~E F Schumacher

There Will Be Push Ups

At a meditation class last week, I was paired up with a young man for a time of sharing reflections. He told me this story.

When he was 19, he joined the army. During basic training, the drill sergeant would find some mistake every day and make his group do push ups as a consequence. Maybe a bed was not made properly, or shoes were not polished, or someone was a a nanosecond too slow in obeying an order. Every day they would strive mightily for perfection. Every day they would fail, and drop to the ground in frustration and despair to perform their punishment.

Finally, he realized that the point of this pattern was not the daily mistake; the point was the daily push ups. The drill sergeant was always going to find some excuse for push ups. He accepted the inevitable. There will be push ups. Every day. No matter what they did or didn’t do. He began to view the push ups not as punishment but as exercise. Difficult exercise, yes. But exercise that was a required part of their training.

The push ups were the same, but his experience of the push ups changed. He said that he suffered less than others in his group who continued to struggle to attain that magic perfection that would avoid the ordered push ups.

Our conversation generalized to life’s basic training. We strive for an ever elusive perfection that will avoid challenge, disappointment, distress, heartache. If I learn to meditate better, I will always be peaceful. If I practice martial arts long enough, I will never be afraid. If I pray hard enough, my prayers will be answered according to my wishes. If I love strongly enough, my heart will never be broken.

But here is life’s reality. There will be push ups. I will be fidgety during meditation. I will be frustrated when I don’t handle situations as well as I would like. I will be embarrassed by something that was misunderstood. I will be disappointed when I hoped for something different. I will be sad when I lose something important to me. I will be angry when I perceive being wronged.

Yes, there will be push ups. I can struggle to avoid them but I will fail. Or I can see them as a part of life, weaving them into a tapestry full of experiences and opportunities. I can embrace all that life brings me.

A moment of radical acceptance is a moment of genuine freedom. ~Tara Brach

Beginner’s Mind

A few weeks ago, I started practicing taiji (tai chi) at a different martial arts school. I’m not new to taiji, but I’m new to this school, so I am sort of a beginner and not a beginner at the same time. Some things are familiar to me, but every school, and even every teacher, has their own way of doing things, so there is always a steep learning curve at the outset.

The students begin class as a whole doing qigong or other warm up exercises, and then break into small groups according to their level. I thought I was moving through the preliminary stuff pretty quickly, and I was eager to get to the more advanced material. But after several classes, the teacher placed me in a beginner group with people who had not done any taiji at all, ever. The instruction was at the most basic introductory level.

It didn’t take me long to start feeling impatient, chafing at the slow pace, wishing to be in the group I could see in my peripheral vision that was working on material more suited to my level, at least in my not-so-humble opinion. I felt frustrated that the teacher couldn’t immediately see that a mistake had been made and didn’t move me to the other group.

Wow, I caught myself. What the heck is going on with me? My ego knickers were in a knot. I was violating every basic principle of taiji and everything I’ve learned from the Tao Te Ching. I was not being present. I was distracted and judgmental. I was wanting reality to be different and trying to make it conform to my desire. I was being disrespectful (at least in my thoughts) to the teacher. I was caught up in my mind’s narrative and missing the opportunity to practice in the situation I was in, which is really the only practice there is.

One of the slogans I’ve trained with for years is “Don’t insist. Don’t resist.” I was doing both, unlike my other beginning group mates who were fully engaged with what was happening in our group.

Hmm, so apparently the beginning group was right where I belonged. I clearly have a lot to learn. As I said to a friend after recounting my story, I might not learn a lot about taiji in this class, but I’m going to learn a lot about myself! And perhaps that is the same thing after all.

In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few. ~Shunryu Suzuki

You Should Be Practicing

“When do you meditate?” the interviewer asked the Buddhist teacher.

“I am never not meditating,” the teacher replied.

“You should be practicing.” This is one of the slogans we train with in martial arts. The idea is that we weave practice into our lives as we go through our day. I think this is what the Buddhist teacher meant – not that he was sitting on his cushion all the time but that meditation permeated all aspects of his life.

Our practice becomes how we live. We practice in class or on our cushion to enable us to apply what we learn in the rest of our lives, especially when we find ourselves on the razor’s edge. We find ourselves on the razor’s edge when something has hooked us, churned us up, thrown us off balance. When we have attached ourselves to a narrative and are poised to react to our story rather than to respond to what is. When grief presses all the air out of our lungs until we can’t breathe. When we are hurt and we want to lash out in pain. When fear has clamped our minds and we seek desperately to escape. 

All of those descriptions apply to me at various times. I’ve been teetering on the razor’s edge recently. I have fallen off a couple of times. Okay, a lot. This is part of practice too. In fact this is where practice matters most – when we are tired, angry, afraid, suffering. When we fall off the razor’s edge in a heap and practice is the last thing we want to do. 

So I went to the cabin this weekend. I sat by the creek. I meditated in front of the fire. I danced tai chi in the trees. I belly breathed. A lot. I stepped back from the razor’s edge. And I remembered. 

I should be practicing. 

Pray without ceasing.   ~1 Thessalonians 5:17

Find Your Vertical Line

This is a favorite instruction from one of my martial arts teachers. As we move through different postures and exercises, he often reminds us, “Where is your vertical line?” or “Find your vertical line.”

This vertical line runs from the crown of our head straight through our body to the perineum, right between our legs. It goes by several names – central channel, central axis, central equilibrium, or in Chinese zhong ding. The Chinese characters for zhong ding are 中  meaning center or middle, and     定 meaning to settle. The bottom part of the second character means upright or correct. So zhong ding means to settle or align in the central upright position. If you are a Star Trek fan, imagine the warp core, the energy source of the space ship, usually pictured as a vertical cylinder pulsing with light (as in the photo above).

When our zhong ding is properly aligned and cleared of any blockages, a channel is open between heaven and earth, pulsing light and energy. We are in balance, grounded, moving freely and effortlessly.

As with many aspects of martial arts, this concept works just as well in daily life as it does in the dojo. Going through some unsettling shifts in recent months, I have felt confused, off balance, and out of sync. Anxiety takes our energy upwards into our heads, and we lose our connection to our body and our emotional ground or center. We sometimes try to avoid sadness, escape discomfort, or control things outside ourselves. In our struggle, we increase the suffering of suffering.

This is where we practice, isn’t it? On the razor’s edge. Not where we are all comfortable and kumbaya. No, we practice for these times when we are caught off guard, knocked off balance, at the edge of our comfort zone, in pain, afraid. In other words, we practice in life, in real life, as it is.

So I hear my teacher’s words. Where is my vertical line? Find my vertical line.

I find it first in my body. When I sense my zhong ding aligned and open, then my body leads my emotions and my mind into balance. Energy pulses through the open channel. Yes, sadness is still there, but in equilibrium with all other emotions. Fear is soothed with stillness. Everything moves freely and in harmony.

Until it doesn’t.

And then I hear another teacher’s favorite instruction.

Aaaggaaiiiinnnn!