Light in the Darkness

Darkness darkness, be my pillow 
Take my head and let me sleep
In the coolness of your shadow
In the silence of your dream

Darkness darkness, hide my yearning
For the things that cannot be
Keep my mind from constant turning 
Towards the things I cannot see
     ~Stephen Stills

Today is the first day of winter, the season we associate with darkness. The song lyrics encourage us to rest, to cease our struggle, to accept what is, to enter the mystery.

In the Tao Te Ching, darkness is the metaphor for mystery, the essence of the Way. It is the origin of all creation. The Bible tells us that in the beginning, “the earth was without form, and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep.” From this darkness, God brought forth the manifested universe, beginning with light.

It is within the darkness of this deep mystery that the light begins to return. After today’s winter solstice, the darkest day of the year, the light stays just a minute longer. And then another. We hardly notice its gradual approach as we wake in the darkness, shivering in the cold.

Then one day we notice the early morning sun sparkling on the frost. The light calls creation to awaken once again and we know that spring will come.

But for now, we prepare for the time of quiet, the time of unknowing, the season of stillness. The darkness is the gate to mystery. And it stands open, inviting us in, allowing us to sink deep inside ourselves, to listen...and wait...and watch. Within the darkness, if we are patient, we will see the light of truth, first as a tiny glimmer, then growing into a blazing light, consuming all illusion and doubt.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait.... So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. ~T.S. Eliot

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

Whatever It Takes

Someone I once knew used to say that his prayer was “whatever it takes.” What he meant was that he would do anything in order to open his heart ever wider to Love, to surrender ever more unreservedly to the Beloved, to fly ever more fearlessly into the all consuming fire of the Heart.

I was attracted to and repelled by his intensity of passion. Could one really live with such wild abandon? I don’t know. He seemed to. His life, at least my brief glimpse of it, did not appear to be as crazy as his devotion sounded. I felt a bit like the restaurant customer in that famous scene in When Harry Met Sally where Meg Ryan faked ... well, you know the scene. (And if you don’t, click here.) The customer was mesmerized and told the server, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

I wanted to feel what he felt. So I embarked on what I called my year of the heart. I read Rumi and sought to experience that rapture his poetry expresses so eloquently. I practiced five element qigong and Taoist healing exercises focusing on the heart. And I did experience a breaking open of the heart with increased heart energy. As I described it, my heart had come alive and I was “firing on all cylinders.”

But I didn’t approach anything close to the ecstasy imagined. Was I blocking it with fear? Or perhaps I was somehow defective, lacking the rapture gene. I tried harder. I read more, practiced more, meditated more, prayed more. Until ...

Until I was sparring with one of my martial arts teachers. I kept attempting a particular maneuver with zero success. Finally, I stepped back and said, “I’m trying to....” Before I could finish the sentence, he interjected, “That’s your problem.”

Oh

An excellent lesson in life as well as in martial arts. One that I know and yet need to be reminded of ... repeatedly.

There is a concept in the Tao Te Ching using two characters,  自  meaning self, and  然  meaning to be so. Together it means what is so of itself, what is as it is, what is naturally or spontaneously so. When we struggle against or interfere with what is so in this moment, we do violence to ourselves and to our environment. We suffer.

As Popeye the sailor said, “I am what I am.” No more, no less. And that is what I want most to be.

Whatever it takes.

Reason says, the world is limited in six directions.
There is no way out.
Love says, there is a way,
And I have traveled it many times.
     ~Rumi

The Nature of Wanting

I went to a presentation recently that purported to be informational. And it was. However, as the presentation began, I realized that the information was being offered in the context of a sales pitch.

The “product” would benefit my life in grand ways. It was unique and far superior to anything in the same category, as evidenced by many scientific studies and personal testimonials. There was only one source for this product, and there was no way to learn more or to “try out” the product until I paid for it. And once I got my product, I would be bound by signed agreement not to share information about it, giving the product an aura of secret initiation and belonging to the “in” group. 

The person making the presentation used other techniques as well, some subtle, some overt, to draw in the listeners. By the end people were eager to sign up.

Sounds so obvious, doesn’t it? But here’s the thing. Even though I could identify some of the various sales strategies being used, I still felt the pull. Despite my skepticism of the sales pitch, I still hesitated, wondering if my life might indeed be enhanced by what they were offering. And perhaps it would be. But I found my judgment too clouded by the careful manipulation to make any kind of trustworthy evaluation. So I walked away.

Wanting is a powerful emotion, convincing us that there is a lack, causing us varying levels of distress and discomfort which can only be alleviated by obtaining the object of desire.

The Dalai Lama admits to a fondness for gadgets. He told the story of walking by an electronics store and stopping to admire a device displayed in the window. Laughing, he described the desire that arose for this shiny object, even though he had no idea what it was for.

We can all relate.

Watching myself respond with at least questioning if not outright desire to what I recognized as a marketing strategy . . . well, it sort of amazed me. What an opportunity to contemplate the nature of wanting. What does it feel like? Where do I sense it in my body? What emotions are attached to it? What thoughts are attached to it?

Wanting is not good or bad. It just is. We want some things; we don’t want other things. But we needn’t be at the mercy of our wanting. We can get to know it rather than blindly follow it. And that knowing might benefit our lives in grand ways!

One who knows enough is enough will always have enough. ~Tao Te Ching

It’s Not Complicated

I have on occasion had folks tell me, in the nicest way possible, that my writing and speaking about the Tao Te Ching are sometimes – hmm, how do they put it – dense, obscure, inaccessible. 

Oh dear.

I want them to be wrong, but of course I must admit that they are right. How can words describe the indescribable? More words, different words, cannot explain what the thinking mind cannot label or categorize. The very first line of the Tao Te Ching says “The Tao that can be understood is not the eternal Tao.”

So how do we talk about this mystery, what a Christian monk writing in the 14th century described as “the cloud of unknowing”? Even the author of the Tao Te Ching expressed this dilemma in Chapter 70.

My words are very easy to understand
And very easy to practice
Still, no one in the world
Can understand or practice them

(That passage always makes me smile.)

So why try? Because when we glimpse the beauty of that dark mystery, when for a moment we pierce the veil of the infinite, when the miracle of a single breath astounds us, the strings of our soul are set to humming, and we seek to share this music in harmony with each other in a cosmic jam session.

Yes, I admit that the efforts to share oftentimes obscure as much as they reveal. That is perhaps the nature of the endeavor. We complicate with our words what is simple, so very simple. Here is a conversation I had with one of my teachers last year.

Me: Does it really have to be so complicated?
Him: No.
Me: Can we talk more about this?
Him: No need to. The answer is no.

Ha! 

Yet here I am, still talking about it! Imperfect as it is, there is delight in the trying, even though we recognize that our attempts to capture what will remain ever elusive and free, will fail.

As Adyashanti says, our goal is to “fail well.”

It's all good.

Where We Grow

Someone asked recently whether we would grow spiritually without struggle. Good question. The Tao Te Ching describes a life in harmony with Tao as effortless, without conflict or strife. In martial arts, we train with the slogan “Don’t insist. Don’t resist.” We know that trying to force something or someone might work sometimes but there will always be someone stronger. We learn other ways of dealing with force that do not involve struggle.

So what is the role of struggle in our spiritual lives? If my true nature is one with the universe, where is the need for struggle? Struggle occurs when we are somehow in conflict with the natural flow of energy. It indicates a place where we are blocking our true nature. Perhaps it is not the struggle that promotes growth as much as the relinquishment of struggle. In that sense, struggle is not how we grow; it’s where we grow.

I like the phrase “the razor’s edge of practice.” This is where I am poised on a challenge, something that has the potential to get me hooked, something that triggers an urge to grasp or reject or control. The razor’s edge is where I have a choice about which side I’m going to step into – the side of conflict or the side of harmony.

Where that edge is, is different for different people. And different for the same person at different times. We might find ourselves on the razor’s edge infrequently, or every day! No matter. It is always an opportunity to make a choice to struggle or to release.

Lately, it has been on the daily end of the spectrum for me. I’d like to tell you that I always choose to release, especially with so many opportunities for practice (!), but that would be fibbing. When I step into struggle, however, I feel it throughout my body. I tense up, my breathing moves up into my chest, and I am caught in my thinking mind, like the hamster wheel I described in the last post.

No need to judge myself. Just belly breathe. Release the struggle and allow the natural flow of energy. Tolerate the discomfort and uncertainty with trust. Pour compassion over the fear. In this moment...and this one...

The Season of Darkness

The equinox has passed. Night is now longer than day. We are entering the gradual darkening until winter solstice calls the light to return.

Darkness gets such a bad rap. It’s scary, it hides secrets and shame, danger lurks in its shadows. Here in the Pacific Northwest, it is gray and rainy much of the fall and winter. Darkness sometimes brings sadness and melancholy.

But I’ve been thinking about darkness in a different way. I have a new grandchild, born just a few weeks ago. She grew in darkness for months. The darkness was warm and soft and safe, shielding her from harm, nourishing her, preparing her.

Seeds are dropping to the ground, or getting buried by squirrels, where they will wait for spring in darkness under the earth.

We rest at night. Our bodies crave the regeneration of sleep and dreams in the dark.

Darkness is essential to life.

In the Tao Te Ching, darkness is the metaphor for mystery, the essence of the Way. It is the origin of all creation. The Bible tells us that in the beginning, “the earth was without form, and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep.” From this darkness, God called forth the manifested universe.

The darkness is where we came from, like my grandchild from the womb. It calls us to love, to embrace mystery, to welcome its season. The fire of the heart burns most brightly in the darkness of night.

As we gather the harvest of our active months in the light, we prepare for the time of quiet, the time of unknowing. The darkness is the gate to mystery. And it stands open, inviting us in, welcoming us home.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait.... So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. ~T.S. Eliot

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 48

Increase is the way of learning
Decrease is the way of Tao

The opening lines of this chapter perfectly capture my current perspective. This year presented several opportunities for me to learn something that I was very drawn to – a new sword form, a new style of tai chi, advancing my study of Chinese language, playing the piano.

In each instance I was initially very motivated. I eagerly sought instruction and diligently practiced. But my energy soon flagged and I realized, with some frustration and disappointment, that my heart just wasn’t in it. I finally admitted to a friend that “I just don’t want to learn anything right now.”

A remarkable confession from a person who has always loved learning. I was the nerd who loved school, at least until my rebellious days of high school. I thrived in law school. As a professor I had the luxury of getting paid to learn and to share what excited me about my chosen subjects. As a martial artist I reveled in increased skill and knowledge.

So why couldn’t I summon the energy and excitement to pursue these opportunities? There may not be a single explanation, but on some deep level my spirit seeks to rest quietly. And while resting, to allow a shedding, a falling away.

My canary Henry is molting, as he does every late summer and early fall. He doesn’t have to do anything. He just sits there and allows his old feathers to release, covering the cage and the surrounding floor with downy softness and small quills. He quits singing during this period. He is less active. He rests and waits. Like me.

The rest of the chapter returns to a theme throughout the Tao Te Ching – that of wu wei, or non-action.

Decrease until non-action is reached
Not acting allows all to be done
Without interference everything is accomplished
With interference there is never enough 

The Tao Te Ching envisions a universe that is self regulating, with a rhythm and harmony that is inherent in existence. This is opposite from a perspective that suggests we can and should improve on nature. In our over-scheduled, never enough time, always behind world, it seems crazy to think that doing less will actually accomplish more. Perhaps we simply discover that less really needs to be accomplished in the first place. Either way, life seems more spacious, more delightful, more serene when we are not battling against it all the time.

For peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe.  ~Larry Eisenberg

Lost in Translation

The Tao Te Ching has been a source of inspiration in my life for many years. I don’t remember how I first encountered it in my young life, but I do remember that its simple wisdom resonated in my soul and I have loved it ever since.

Several years ago, I gathered various translations with the intention of taking one chapter at a time and comparing the different interpretations. However, I quickly saw that this was not enough. I needed to go to the source. And so I began a journey into the original ancient Chinese text. It was like finding a door hidden in the overgrowth to a secret garden of unimaginable beauty.

“Here there be dragons,” say the old maps designating uncharted areas at the edge of the known world. Dragons indeed, bursting from the depths of the sea, water diamonds cascading from their wings, dancing in the air, their form too brilliant to behold, then disappearing in a puff of smoke. I had no idea.

And that is the point perhaps. Having no idea.

The Chinese text dances like those dragons, defying analysis or intellectual understanding. It is poetic, with rhythm and music to delight the soul. The characters are cryptic, with multiple meanings swirling in fluid mystery. Trying to pin down a single meaning is like trying to catch with your bare hands a single slippery fish in a vast school of fish. Better to float in the water, watching the colorful fish dart and twirl. I quit trying to understand and just immersed myself in the experience.

We see such variations in translation, not because one is right and one is wrong, but because translators by necessity must dip their net into the water and catch a single meaning to put into language that we recognize. We form ideas about the meaning so that we can use words to share our ideas with each other.

My daughter grew up in China with Chinese as her first language. When I shared with her my exploration of the Chinese text of the Tao Te Ching, she brushed her hand through the air and shrugged. “No one understands this,” she said dismissively.

I had to laugh. But her response gave me a deeper insight. Even if we were native Chinese speakers, we would have to form ideas and use words to communicate with each other about the meaning of this wisdom teaching that defies explanation in any language!

Expanding even more, we can include all of life in this process. All of us, all the time, are “translating” our experience into ideas, concepts, beliefs. And using words to communicate these to each other. That’s not bad. Or good for that matter. It is a necessary process for us as embodied separate individuals. Our ideas, beliefs, and concepts then in turn shape our experience because we will only recognize what comports with the internal structure we have built. We create a loop of what we call reality through what we create and perceive.

Meanwhile, our direct experience of true realty has been “lost in translation.” To me, this is what the Tao Te Ching teaches. If I can embrace all the possible meanings in the mystery of the text, then I can appreciate the various translations without judging them as right or wrong, good or bad. Likewise, if we can embrace the direct experience of what is, then we can engage in and enjoy the dialogue of human-ness without the added suffering of attachment. We can dance with dragons.

Any belief limits my reality, because any belief is a prejudice. Any belief imposes an artificial structure on the free flow of experience. ~Paul Ferrini

When We Walked with God

The Garden of Eden story fascinates me. I’m going to ask you, just for purposes of this post, to take the story out of Biblical context. Put aside all the theology, all your beliefs and opinions, whatever they are, about the Bible and religion. Just for a few minutes, consider this story without any preconceived notions. Disregard for the moment issues about obedience, sin, and punishment. Please understand that I am not challenging or disrespecting anyone’s beliefs. And I’m not asking anyone to change what they believe. This is just an invitation to look at the story itself without any additional context to see what we notice.

Okay, so you have the first people living in this beautiful place, where they have a life of ease, with plenty of food. The weather must have been pleasant because they were without clothing. They walked in the garden with God, in whose image they were created.

There are many trees in this garden paradise, but only two are named – the tree of life, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The people are free to eat the fruit of any tree, presumably including the tree of life, but they are warned not to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, for if they do, they will “surely die.”

Let’s pause right here. One of my first questions is why, if a tree is forbidden, would it be in the garden in the first place? Is that entrapment? When you tell a child “Whatever you do, DON’T do that!” what is the first thing that child wants to do?

And why do these two trees, the only two named trees in the garden, stand in contrast to each other? The tree of life gives immortality, but the tree of knowledge of good and evil gives death. What is it about the knowledge of good and evil that is incompatible with life? It might be easier to understand if the forbidden tree was the tree of evil. But it seems like knowing the difference between good and evil would be a good thing. Why isn’t it?

One way to think about it might be that knowledge of good and evil created duality. Before this knowledge, there was un-self conscious harmony with God.

What is the first thing that happens after they eat the fruit? They become aware that they are naked and they are ashamed. They try to cover themselves up literally with leaves. And figuratively, they try to cover up what they have done by hiding from God.

So in effect, they become self conscious in a way they weren’t before, and separate from God. They are afraid.

The Tao Te Ching says that we only know goodness because of evil, and that goodness only comes into existence when we have lost Tao. So when we are living in harmony with Tao, concepts of goodness/evil, kindness/cruelty, and justice/injustice are meaningless, because Tao transcends duality. Everything happens naturally and without effort. There is nothing to fear because there is acceptance of what is without struggle.

Putting this back in the context of the Eden story, good and evil had no existence or meaning when we walked in harmony with God. By introducing the duality of good and evil, we also created the cycle of life and death. We separated unity into conflicting opposites. We labeled them good and bad. We tried to hold onto the good and reject the bad. We began to struggle with what is. And we suffered.

So what do we do now? How do we restore unity and harmony? Again, leaving aside religious doctrine for the moment, the generic answer is that we repair the breach in our own selves. Where do I struggle in my life against what is? What do I judge as good or bad? What do I desire or reject? In what ways do I separate myself from others through judgment, unforgiveness, fear?

We might have specific answers to these questions, but we can go deeper by contemplating the nature of what creates the breach. If I am angry, for example, I can get stuck in the story I’m telling myself about why I’m angry. Of course, my story will justify my anger, and will probably blame someone else or some outside circumstances for causing the anger. I will be right and the other person will be wrong.

But what if I put the story aside and just observe the nature of this anger? What does it feel like in my body? How does it shape my experience of myself, my relationships with others, my view of the world? What can I learn from anger? How can it lead me back to harmony?

In contemplating this in my own life recently, I realized that I was judging myself for being angry. As I offered myself compassion instead of judgment, the anger softened and I could see that under the anger was pain, pain that I blamed someone else for. When I looked closer, I could acknowledge that what I was blaming the other person for was something that I either had done or was capable of doing myself. I could see that the other person was in pain too. My compassion expanded to include the other person.

My breathing slowed and sank into my belly. I felt lighter. Free. Without forcing anything, I easily released the anger I had been holding onto. I accepted what had happened as well as my reaction to it. I let it all go.

And I went for a stroll with God in the garden.

[Note: The painting above is by my awesomely talented sister, Susan E. Inman.]

Everything You Need is Nothing

In pursuit of knowledge, every day something is acquired
In pursuit of Tao, every day something is released
~Tao Te Ching

We read or listen to the words of spiritual teachers. We takes notes. We study. We try to remember, hoping that the memory of words spoken or written in the past will somehow lead to awakening in the future.

And all the while we are ignoring the only possible time that awakening can happen – the present moment. And we are doing the opposite of what most teachers teach – to release. Instead we are trying our best to accumulate and retain information about a concept that we reach for as it dances just beyond our grasp.

It is never enough. We are never enough. If only I read one more book, listen to one more podcast, attend one more workshop, do more, try harder, be better....

I get that, as my shelves full of books attest. But just as you can’t learn to ride a bicycle from reading or talking about it, you will never be able to think your way to awakening. Because it isn’t a thought.

It is simply our natural state. It is who we are. Its eternal flame is obscured by our effort, by our thoughts, by our stories. But it shines on without regard for our determined quest to find it. The comparison is sometimes made to a fish in the ocean looking for water. But it is even more basic than that. It is like the ocean itself looking for water, unaware of its own nature.

We think it grand, but it is quite ordinary. It is not an escape from reality. Escaping is what we are trying to do as we search for it. It is reality, and when we finally exhaust ourselves and stop looking for it, it is revealed. We are revealed.

And what can we do then but laugh and go on with our day, our ordinary, marvelous, amazing day.

Before enlightenment, chop wood carry water
After enlightenment, chop wood carry water
~zen saying

Naming

I was sitting by the creek last weekend watching the light play on the dancing water. When I looked downstream, there was a beautiful cluster of snow white flowers blooming on a tall stalk leaning out over the creek. As I got closer I could see that the cluster was made up of tiny star burst blossoms.

In that first moment of sight I experienced a sense of wonder and delight, a gift of exquisite loveliness right there, offering beauty to the trees, the water, the birds and insects...and me. I felt humbly blessed.

All that took place in the nanosecond gap before my thoughts kicked in. My first thought was “What is this flower?” What I meant was the flower’s name, its label. I didn’t know. Not knowing gave me a subtle feeling of unease as my mind searched for what it might be. I made a plan to take a photo and circulate it to see if someone could tell me. As I got caught up in my thoughts and plans, the initial experience of enchantment quietly faded. It was almost as if the flower no longer existed if I couldn’t discover its name.

When I realized what was happening I was amazed by the rapidity of my shift from a receptive state of gratitude to a restless state of thinking. It happened so fast I barely noticed it. But I did notice it, and felt the loss of that moment of pure enjoyment.

Names are not bad. They allow us to function in the world and communicate with each other. But names are a step removed from what is named. If we jump too quickly into our thoughts, we miss the direct experience of what is happening in the moment. We miss the miracle.

Let’s try to watch for that fleeting gap before we shift from experience to thought, and appreciate the gift that each moment generously bestows.

The name that can be named is not the eternal name. ~Tao Te Ching

PS–If you know the name of this flower, don’t tell me!

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 25

Divided into two parts, this chapter first attempts to describe the indescribable Tao, and then moves to a description of humanity’s place in the grand scheme of the universe.

There is something mysteriously undifferentiated
Existing before the beginning of heaven and earth
Silent and formless, unimaginable
Alone unchanging

This opening passage reminds me of Genesis 1:2: Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. 

Throughout the Tao Te Ching, the image of water gives us a sense of the nature and power of Tao. In this passage, the character for undifferentiated is 混 . The three little lines on the left side of the character form the root or radical for water. You might recall that in Chapter 4, the three characters used to describe Tao all have the water radical.

The description as unchanging can be misleading. The nature of Tao is not static, but dynamic, pregnant with limitless potential. However, as the primordial source of all creation, it is unchanging in its dynamic nature, as the vessel that is empty but inexhaustible.

This creative potential is revealed in the dynamic cycle of manifestation and return.

Tao is great
Its greatness flows everywhere 
It flows far away
And returns

We see this cycle of manifestation and return reflected in everything – our breath, birth and death, the seasons, day and night. Science tells us that the universe is expanding. I wonder if at some point it will cycle back and return, like a giant breath spanning a gazillion millennia.

I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. In my early thirties, I was lucky enough to live in Bangkok, Thailand, for three years. I was fascinated by the culture, the climate, the language, everything that was so different from where I came from. (As Dorothy said to Toto in The Wizard of Oz, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”) At some point I realized that geographically, I was almost exactly on the opposite side of the globe from Memphis. I had traveled west to go to Thailand. If I kept moving in the same direction, I would literally be returning home.

After a total of seven years living in three different countries, I did eventually return home, not to Memphis, but to the United States. T. S. Eliot said it best: And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.

The chapter now turns to humanity’s place in the cosmos as one of the four great powers of the universe– Tao, heaven, earth, humanity. And it sets out the proper order of harmony.

Humans follow earth
Earth follows heaven
Heaven follows Tao
Tao follows its own nature

The character for follow is  法 , which also means law. Notice anything familiar? That’s right – the water radical on the left. So the natural order, or natural law, flows like water through the four powers of the universe. When we take our rightful place in the universe, in harmony with the natural law, we feel the power flow through us, as it was meant to. We realize that our true power comes not from imposing our ego will on nature, but from “following.” As Jesus taught, we “inherit the earth” through meekness, not through conquest.

I find this exhilarating...and sometimes a bit overwhelming. Fear keeps us grasping the weak illusion of control. But in doing so, we miss our natural inheritance. We are made in the image of the divine. We are magnificent, not in our isolated ego selves, but in our individual and collective roles as part of the perfect harmony of creation.

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

Walking in Beauty

With me there is beauty
In me there is beauty
From me beauty radiates
 ~Navaho prayer

There is a fundamental harmony in the universe that is perfect and beautiful. The Navaho embrace this concept in their notion of “hozho,” a term that recently crossed my path and captured my imagination. I am no expert in Navaho language or culture (I’m no expert in anything for that matter), but I understand this untranslatable term to mean something like “walking in beauty.”

This concept is at the center of Navaho life, representing the universe as a whole as well as our place in it. When we are in harmony with the universe, we walk in beauty. A life lived in harmony is one of well being, integrity, peace, wisdom, gratitude, and joy.

When we lose this harmony for whatever reason, we seek to restore it. The Navaho have specific rituals for this, including one called the Blessing Way. Isn’t that lovely?

Reading about this reminds me of the teachings of the Tao Te Ching. A life lived in harmony with Tao is one of effortlessness, wonder, resilience, acceptance, and serenity. When we struggle against what is, when we grasp desire, when we react in fear, we lose our way.

Perhaps we can borrow the idea of a ritual to restore us to wholeness when our harmony has been disrupted. We can create our own Blessing Way. What might that look like? It could be anything that would be meaningful to you.

For me, the first thing I thought of was a literal walk in beauty, like a walk in the woods at my cabin.

Sometimes, when something is troubling me, I write a letter to it, seeking understanding and guidance. Then I burn the letter in the fireplace. This represents two things – releasing the issue from my control, and carrying my prayer to heaven.

Sometimes I seek to restore harmony through practices like qigong or meditation, or even something as simple as breathing exercises.

What kind of ritual Blessing Way might you use to restore harmony and walk in beauty?

But the beauty is in the walking. We are betrayed by destinations. ~Gwen Thomas

Response-ability

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

Science has proved what mystics have known for millennia – we are all connected through a network of energy, physical as well as consciousness energy. The Avatamsaka Sutra describes this interconnectedness as the “jeweled net of Indra.” This net stretches to infinity in all directions. A jewel is placed at each intersection of threads, likewise infinite in number. In each facet of each jewel is reflected all the other jewels in the net. And within each reflection is reflected all the other jewels and all the other reflections, thus creating a dynamic phenomenon of infinite reflection.

Through this connection we are not only reflecting, but creating, eternally creating in concert the “ten thousand things,” a term used in the Tao Te Ching to describe what we perceive as the universe we live in. We know from particle physics that observation affects the observed. When we focus on something we affect it. It changes in response to our attention. We, in turn, respond to the dynamic interaction our attention has created. In responding to and interacting with our world, we create the very reality we experience. Furthermore, we affect the reality that others experience by reflecting our experience through the “net.” It all becomes part of the jeweled net of our universe. (“Internet” takes on a whole new meaning!)

Just pause and consider this for a moment. Everything that we do or say or think reverberates through all creation. Yes, even thoughts. A Course in Miracles teaches that there are no idle thoughts. Our very thoughts create the universe that we perceive.

Powerful beyond measure indeed! As John F. Kennedy said, quoting the Bible, “To whom much is given, much is expected.” Our ability to respond to our world through our deeds, words, and thoughts, gives us the power to affect our world, and everyone and everything in it. This response-ability gives us the choice to use this power for good or for harm.

Everything that we do or say or think, according to A Course in Miracles, is one of only two things – an expression of love or a call for love. When we are in harmony with the sacred (Tao, Holy Spirit, universal energy), the beauty of love moves through us and manifests in all creation. It’s not so much that we express love as that love is expressed through us.

When we are not in harmony, we suffer from the illusion of separation. Our spirits seek to restore unity, calling for love. This call can manifest as deeds, words, or thoughts we might label as harmful, such as anger, judgment, violence. Underneath, all these are rooted in fear, the mistaken fear of separation and the desperate yearning to restore unity.

We might label these manifestations as harmful, but here is the true power of our response-ability. They are only as harmful as our own responses allow. If we respond to anger, judgment, or violence with more of the same, the illusion of separation ripples through the jeweled net as the call for love goes unanswered. But if we recognize these manifestations of fear as what they really are, calls for love, we can respond with expressions of love, thus dispelling the illusion of separation and reflecting unity throughout the jeweled net. All creation then vibrates in perfect harmony with God.

As you go through your day, consider the power you hold. Remember that everything that you do or say or think is either an expression of love or a call for love. Recognize the calls for love you see around you, and choose how you will respond – with a further call for love, or a healing expression of love.

And don’t forget that expressions of love can be directed to ourselves as well, especially when we recognize the call for love in our own spirits.

Blessings to you this day, my friend.

Note: Thanks to Judi Jason for inspiring this post by sharing with me the concept of response-ability and her thoughts on the topic. Love you, Juju!

The Season of Forgiveness

To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.  ~Lewis B. Smedes

Fall was the season of courage and gathering energy. Winter was the season of stillness and storing energy. Now we arrive at spring. The light has been quietly returning since the beginning of winter, and now it surpasses the darkness as birds sing the day awake. Sap rises. Buds that have waited patiently through the cold months open timidly or boldly burst forth. Everyone comes out of hibernation. Kids are playing outside as neighbors greet each other. The stores of winter are almost depleted and now it’s time to plant. There is a sense of newness, of promise. We feel alive.

It’s funny in a way that our calendar new year begins just as winter settles in. The new year motivates us to begin new projects, set new goals. But winter’s energy is stillness and quiet, not action and accomplishment. Spring is much better suited for these undertakings. The Chinese medicine and qigong associations predictably express this energy of expansion and growth, but the association of forgiveness might not be so obvious. Let’s look at the various associations to see what they have to teach us this season.

Organ

The organ associated with spring is the liver. The liver is a busy organ, with detox, regulation, and production functions. The detox function purifies the blood and prevents stagnation and is perfect for spring, like perpetual spring cleaning! This function operates in our physical system, cleaning the blood, and also in our energetic system, cleaning our qi, or vital essence.

One of the points on the liver meridian is called the “great surge.” The Chinese character for surge is    冲  . The short lines on the left side of the character stand for water. The rectangle with the vertical line through it means center. So this character suggests the center of water, like a spring bubbling up. We saw this same character used in chapter 4 of the Tao Te Ching to describe the inexhaustible nature of Tao.

This particular acupressure point on the liver meridian is located on the top of our feet, in the “valley” between the bones leading to our big toe and the one next to it.

Massaging this point on either foot is a great pick me up, helping to remove energy blockages so that the qi can move freely through the body. I’m told it can also help with headaches and allergies!

Element

The element associated with the liver is wood. This is not surprising as trees blossom and produce new leaves in the spring. There is also an expansion quality of energy in this season, represented by the rings added around tree trunks every year. Indeed, this quality of growth and expansion is seen in all plant life. Whether it’s dandelions growing through cracks in the sidewalk, or fern fronds unfurling, or vine tendrils curling around porch railings, we see this great surge of life that will not be denied.

Emotions

As stated before, the emotional associations are often categorized as positive or negative, but don’t think of this as good or bad, but more like a polarity, or a balance. The negative emotion associated with this season is anger. We sometimes feel anger when our plans are thwarted in some way, when our efforts to move in a chosen direction are blocked. When this happens we look for someone or something to blame, and when we find a target, our anger is reinforced.

The positive emotion to counter anger is forgiveness. This might not make sense at first, but think about what unforgiveness feels like. We often feel stuck in our righteous indignation. When we can’t “let it go,” we begin to stagnate in our inability or unwillingness to move on. When I used to lead discussion groups on this topic, a common stumbling block was the belief that forgiveness had to be warranted in some way. But this is based on the mistaken view that forgiveness is for the benefit of the forgiven, when in reality, forgiveness liberates the forgiver.  [The topic of forgiveness is vast, and certainly deserves more than I can include in this post, but here is a link to something else I wrote on this topic that might be helpful.]

The healing sound associated with the liver is “shhhh.” What a perfect sound to soothe the beast of anger and allow the angel of forgiveness to release us from whatever blocks the sunshine of our souls.

So this season is a perfect time to clean out the debris, plant a new crop of beauty, and watch it grow.

Spring is nature's way of saying "Let's party!"  ~Robin Williams

The Season of Stillness

Winter is when the earth is pregnant. ~Dave

Fall was the season of courage, a time of gathering and preparing. Now winter draws us into the dark mystery of life. Outward activity slows as we burrow into our cozy nests and settle down for our “long winter’s nap.”

Winter is the season of stillness, allowing us to sink deep inside ourselves, to listen...and wait. The Chinese medicine and qigong associations with this season reflect this quiet energy.

Organ

Kidneys are associated with winter. Physically, kidneys are a filtering system, purifying the blood by removing waste. Energetically, kidneys are the powerhouse of the body, storing qi like a reservoir. (One of the points on the kidney meridian is called the “spirit storehouse.”) When our kidney energy is depleted, our health is weakened. Even our bones derive their integrity from the kidneys.

In martial arts, kidneys take their place front and center as the source of strength and stamina. We learn how to drive our movements from the kidneys, and how to replenish their energy by “kidney breathing.” (See below for a description of kidney breathing.)

Element

The element associated with kidneys is, not surprisingly, water. Water is the element most closely associated with Tao. As we saw before, many characters used in the Tao Te Ching to describe Tao have water radicals. Water is power. Not the power of force, but the power of its very being. Its depths hold mystery, the mystery of all life.

In the Pacific Northwest, the conjunction of winter with water (it rains a lot here in the winter!) invites us to enter into this period of inward reflection, to listen in the cold silence. Indeed, hearing is the sense associated with the kidneys and winter.

If you have done any qigong or taiji or acupressure, you might be aware of the central point of balance and energy located in the center of the sole of your foot just behind the ball. This point is the first point on the kidney meridian and is called the “bubbling well” or the “gushing spring.” Here we feel the energy of water welling up from the earth, entering our bodies through the kidney pathway, which opens in the middle of our feet. Pretty cool. For a quick picker upper, sit down, cross your ankle over your knee, and give that spot a little massage.

Emotions

As stated before, the emotional associations are often categorized as positive or negative, but don’t think of this as good or bad, but more like a polarity, or a balance. The negative emotion associated with the kidneys is fear. The positive one is stillness. These polarities are sometimes surprising. For example, in the fall, the corresponding emotions were sadness and courage. Here, we might think that courage would be the counterbalance to fear, but it isn’t. Stillness is.

But think about it. When we are afraid, what are we most compelled to do? Fight or flight, right? One way or another, we want to get relief from the fear. We want to move, to act.

One of my favorite stories is about the young warrior who had to battle Fear. When she respectfully bowed and asked Fear how to defeat him, he replied that his strategy was getting up in someone’s face to make them react. The way to defeat him was simple, he explained. “Just don’t do what I tell you to do.”

At this time of heightened anxiety and uncertainty in the world, the kidneys offer us wise counsel. If our reaction to fear is to move, either in fight or flight, then how do we defeat fear? By remaining still, like deep water, drawing on the strength of our spirit storehouse, listening to the wisdom of winter.

In quietness and in trust shall be your strength. ~Isaiah 30:15

Note on kidney breathing: You might already be familiar with belly breathing, relaxing as you breathe deeply into your abdomen, allowing your belly to expand. Now take your hands and place them in the opposite position on your back, just over your kidneys. As you breathe in, draw your breath fully into the lower torso, so that not only your belly expands in front, but your back also expands, pushing against your hands over your kidneys. This energizes your kidneys, removing any stagnation or blocks. It also makes full use of your lung capacity. This deep, relaxed breathing pumps oxygen into all our organs, and tells our brains that we are safe and all is well. Thus, it is the perfect practice when feeling anxious or afraid.

You Are My Technique

I am attending a martial arts workshop this weekend with a teacher visiting our school from California. This teacher is a small, slightly stooped, Chinese man in his late sixties. (That’s his photo above.) He said something today that made a big impression on me. Hours later I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.

He was explaining to us the way he responds to someone who is attacking him. My paraphrasing won’t do him justice, but basically he said that he can “feel” an attacker’s energy and intention. He doesn’t try to meet force with force because there is always someone bigger, stronger, faster than you. Instead, he moves his own energy into the empty space around his attacker and is able redirect his attacker’s energy to neutralize him. Rather than trying to control the attacker head on, he controls all the space unoccupied by the attacker’s body.

That might not make much sense, I know. He demonstrated with a tall, heavy, muscular guy. Time and time again, the attack was deflected, and the attacker either fell backwards or fell past the teacher. The teacher didn’t seem to exert much effort or even move that much. A flip of the wrist, a slight turn of the hips was all it took to render his attacker harmless.

Naturally, we were all amazed and somewhat mystified. One student asked him, “What is your technique?” He looked puzzled for a moment and then replied, “You are my technique.” What he meant, I think, is that he does not have predetermined moves and countermoves. He remains empty and simply responds to what is presented to him.

The teacher’s response “You are my technique” excites me because it suggests a way to approach so many situations beyond martial arts. In a way, it is the art of listening.

Someone came to me recently, upset and needing to talk to me about something in his life that was causing much distress. Instead of jumping in with opinions and suggested actions, I stayed “empty,” listening not only to his words, but also to what was not said, and to the feelings underlying both. That allowed me to respond in a way that de-escalated the intensity of his distress, and gave him some breathing room to begin to sort out some things for himself.

“You are my technique” encourages us to pay attention to what is happening, and to work with circumstances in a natural, effortless way rather than trying to force them in a way that depletes our energy.

The sage does nothing, yet nothing is left undone. ~Tao Te Ching

The Illusion of Conflict

I love the taiji (yin yang) symbol. So much so that when I saw these bowls at the pet store, I couldn’t resist getting a pair for my dog. I smile every time I fill them with food and water. Although the significance of this symbol is likely lost on Rosie, it is a daily reminder to me of the perfect harmony of nature.

You are probably familiar with the design in which two curving shapes create a perfect circle. The two curving shapes represent yin (darker) and yang (lighter). Yin and yang are sometimes thought of as opposites, each with various associations–yin with the receptive, mysterious, feminine, earth; yang with the creative, manifest, masculine, heaven.

Rather than opposites, however, the symbol reveals the complementary wholeness of the circle as the two shapes eternally flow one into the other. This is emphasized by the small dots (represented by pawprints in the bowl), a light dot in the darker shape and a dark dot in the lighter shape, showing that the essence of each is contained in the other.

The Tao Te Ching teaches that the complementary movement of the Tao and the “ten thousand things” (the universe) is one of manifesting into creation and returning to mystery.

Nature reflects this in the seasons. The first day of summer is the longest day of the year. As summer progresses, however, the days get shorter, heralding the coming winter. I’m always uplifted on the first day of winter, knowing that as we enter the period of cold, rainy months, each day is getting longer, promising that summer will come again.

Joy and sadness cycle in their turn, yet each is part of the whole process of opening the heart.

Even our breath reflects this, as each inhale and exhale flow in rhythmic exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide.

When faced with an apparent conflict, this symbol helps me shift from a stuck adversarial perspective. It teaches me to look for the movement of complementary ideas, each reflecting some common value. Instead of using force against force, yielding allows the cycle to turn, creating openings for other ideas naturally to emerge. Harmonious resolution is then possible, and if not achieved, then at least my inner harmony is maintained.

I witnessed this recently when two parents were arguing about whether their water-averse child should take swimming lessons. One parent said that the child should not be forced to swim if she was afraid of the water. The other parent said that lessons were important to help the child become comfortable in the water. They were stuck in what they perceived to be opposite, immovable positions.

What I saw was that both parents were in total agreement on the key points. They both loved their child, both wanted their child to be comfortable in the water, and neither believed that forcing the child into the water was the way to achieve this. When they finally recognized their common ground, they quickly agreed to provide opportunities for the child to be around water with a skilled teacher who could (hopefully) gradually and gently help the child learn to enjoy the water. There never really was a conflict.

And really, there never is.

The ten thousand things carry yin and embrace yang. They achieve harmony by combining these forces. ~Tao Te Ching

The Wordless Way

圣人行不言之教

This is one of my favorite lines in the Tao Te Ching. The first two characters 圣人 mean sage. The next 行 can mean to move, proceed, engage in, practice. The next two characters 不言 mean no words. The next 之 is a linking character, like a possessive. And the last character 教 means teaching or lessons.

So this line can mean that the sage practices no words lessons herself, and that she teaches others without words.

This morning in martial arts class, one student was confounded by a particular concept. She kept trying to understand the word used to identify it. The teacher at first tried to address her question in terms of vocabulary. If one word didn’t resonate with her, maybe a different word would. But nothing was quite satisfactory.

Finally the teacher asked the student to put her hands on his body. “Feel this,” he instructed. “Now feel this. Can you feel the difference?”

“Yes,” she replied, “but....” And she continued to look for the right word. It was clear that the concept could not be meaningful to her until she found the right label for it. The problem, however, was not finding the right vocabulary. The problem was that the concept could not be precisely explained. It could only be felt. Once felt, we could try to describe it using various words and images, but it could only be understood by the direct experience.

For me, when I put my hands on the instructor’s body and felt the difference, it was like a light bulb came on. After that, I didn’t really care what words we used. Abracadabra would have worked just fine. Because I had sensed through touch the instructor’s teaching, it was indeed like magic.

There is nothing wrong with words. I love words. My whole career depended on words. But words can sometimes get in our way. When we are struggling to understand something, it might help if we try to quiet the inner chatter, allowing the wordless space to show us the way.

If you think that Truth can be known from words
If you think that the Sun and the Ocean
Can pass through that tiny opening called the mouth
O someone should start laughing!
Someone should start wildly laughing
Now!
          ~Hafiz

Note: The photo at the top is a picture of Bruce Lee with his teacher, Ip Man.