Category: 2016

Recently, I watched a classic movie, The Conversation, starring Gene Hackman. In the film a character expresses compassion for an older man passed out, we assume from drinking, on a park bench. She tells her companion that she imagines how the man was at one time a tiny baby. With parents who loved him. In this way she expresses compassion for a person others look upon with scorn. Later on in the film we discover that she is capable of participating in an truly evil act.

Sharon encourages us to think of categories that allow us to practice extending a circle of compassion until we can imagine it encompassing the world. My categories began with those who engage in acts of kindness towards others and extended out to those who act in ways that, in my opinion, harm others.

I know people whom I have never heard speak an ill word against another. Others who always seem to be there to help others. Thinking of them brings a smile and a lightness. Knowing that they act with loving kindness makes it easy for me to think kindly of them.

As my circle widens I think of others who at times act from kindness and at other times seem to act selfishly. And occasionally, with unkindness. An unkindness that seems to come from hurt or fear or anger. Because I find myself falling short I can still feel loving kindness towards these people because I see them, and myself, as flawed people who do care about others.

Finally, the circle reaches those whom I see as acting not with kindness but in ways that harm others. In ways that dehumanize others and cause them suffering. Here is where practicing loving kindness becomes hard – very hard.

Politics today, including here in Canada, seem to increasingly have become a place where we are urged not to debate with others but to hate and destroy them if they disagree with us. Can I find it in me to extend loving kindness towards a politician like Donald Trump who embodies that type of message? If I am honest I can not. Not yet. But I do think of those who find appeal in his message. Out of their fear, anger and suffering they seek answers. In seeking relief from suffering are they so different from me?

In The Conversation a character capable of compassion is also capable of cruelty. For loving kindness to work for me I have to cultivate the belief that all human beings carry in them the potential for compassion while recognizing their potential to be cruel. That our acts of selfishness and even cruelty come from the same places of suffering that each of us has within us. And that it is the cultivation of loving kindness that offers a path for the relief of suffering – ours and others.

In a doctor’s office, I hunker down, insulated with a book, believing everyone, like me, is wearing a Do Not Disturb sign. We’re here with our angst, our viruses, our aging bodies. We avoid eye contact. We just want to get in and out as quickly as possible. It’s just a holding station.

Then I remembered Sharon’s latest daily mediation and decided this would be a great public place for a lovingkindness meditation exercise.

I close my book, look around and start to pay attention. I found my breath…started noticing each person, felt my heart and started concentrating on them, saying the phrases, sending metta, back to myself, back to them.

As I noticed, I began to see.

A young mother beside me tucks a blanket around her baby, whispers soothing sounds to him in a language I do not know. The baby turns his head and looks at me with big brown curious eyes. I smile at him, sending metta and he holds my gaze with an unblinking stare.

A middle-aged woman crosses over to an older man, reassures him that she’s almost done, that she just needs to get some x-rays. They are relieved. I send them metta. She looks over at me as she reaches for her coat. Our eyes connect and we smile.

A thin pale young man sits across from me, his back rigid, his face sad, his eyes staring straight ahead. I send him metta. Near him, a harried looking mom with two small children is encouraging a game of catch with a little stuffed donkey. The boy throws the toy and it sails over the mom’s head into the lap of the young man. He startles, grabs the toy and looks around, confused. The mom rushes over, apologizes profusely. He offers a weak smile, catches my eye, holds it for moment before quickly looking away.

I felt a shift of something inside me and I struggled to understand. What was that? What happened? I was just sending lovingkindness. The room had exploded. It was warmer and full of light and colour, and the people were actually people. We were connected by an invisible thread. Including me! I was in the circle and I was glowing too.

This wasn’t just being present.

This was the practice. This was love. This must be what Sharon means by freely acknowledging, freely loving…sending unconditional good wishes.

By practicing the practice, I was able to be present, to look past the weariness and heaviness and see the light of humanity in that room. And I was able to feel my place in that humanity.

Did the world change in that moment? Yes it did.

With continued good wishes as we learn, share and practice together.

Carol J.

When I first was introduced to the lovingkindness practice, it didn’t seem to work for me. The idea that I could wish myself well seemed to go against the stories of “I could do better, I should do better” and “I messed up that thing (years ago) so I don’t deserve to be happy” that were (and often still are) part of my usual internal dialog.

A slight variation on the ordering on the subjects to whom lovingkindness is being directed helped me through the rut. Instead of starting with myself, I could start with a benefactor – someone who knows my innate goodness, and who communicates that with eyes filled with love. I could picture myself as a young girl, visiting my grandmother, drinking tea and eating cookies. From there I could touch into that feeling of complete acceptance and love. If Oma could love me that much, surely I must be worthy of love. Then I could say the lovingkindness phrases that I memorized from one of Sylvia Boorstein’s books:

May I feel protected and safe.
May I feel contented and pleased.
May my physical body support me with strength.
May my life unfold smoothly with ease.

In her book Lovingkindness, Sharon Salzberg says:

Looking at people and communicating that they can be loved, and that they can love in return, is giving them a tremendous gift. It is also a gift to ourselves. We see that we are one with the fabric of life. This is the power of metta: to teach ourselves and our world this inherent loveliness.

Looking into the loving eyes of a benefactor helped me look at myself with loving eyes.

Having overcome that barrier, the next stages in the lovingkindness practice aren’t as difficult for me.

Just as I wish to be safe, may you be safe.
Just as I wish to be happy, may you be happy.
Just as I wish to be healthy, may you be healthy.
Just as I wish to live with ease, may you leave with ease.

Looking with loving eyes, there isn’t a separation between me, my friends, the people I encounter in daily life, and even the people that can be difficult.

Now, one of my favorite ways to practice lovingkindness is when I’m walking to or from work. For each person that I meet, I can mentally recite one of the phrases.

You, the woman pushing a carriage with an energetic baby, may you and your child be safe.
You, the person waiting for the bus as a crisp wind blows, may you be happy.
You, the person leaving the coffee shop, may you be healthy.
You, the person talking on your phone as you wait for the crosswalk light to come on, may you live with ease.
And now you… may you be safe. And you… may you be happy… And you…

By the time I get to my destination, I’ve connected with so many people.

This simple quality of heart is utterly profound.

Lovingkindness. It works!

With every good wish for this fourth week of practice together,
Andrea G

Notes on noting

Since Friday I been wanting to submit a blog note but have been stuck until today. Over the past week Sharon’s instructions on noting have proven the most helpful to me. In the past I have tried – often not successfully – to merely let any thoughts and emotions move on. With noting I am beginning to discern the attachments behind those thoughts and emotions.

With time I believe I will learn, as Sharon suggests, which thoughts and emotions to nurture. Without some deeper understanding of what lies below the surface of what we think and feel how can we know what is healthy and what is not. I feel I knew this but to have a practice tool that supports a deeper exploration is invaluable.

For the last week my inspirational reading has been Letters from Seneca – the stoic philosopher. In a series of letters to a younger friend he discusses a number of themes, including friendship, freedom, social responsibility, in ways that sound remarkably Buddhist.

In one letter he writes about how we might approach the death of a friend. The choices being one of pain and grief with the alternative being a celebration of that friendship. He appears to come down on the latter approach.

“Thinking of departed friends is to me something sweet and mellow. For when I had them with me it was with the feeling that I was going to lose them, and now that I have lost them I keep the feeling that I have them with me still.”

For me, choosing how we react to the impermanence of life is the core of the practice. And I believe noting is going to be a very useful ally in making those choices.

Rene R

I want that snowfall back from the other day. I watched the heavy white flakes fall and fall and fall. It was beautiful and meditative and I felt joy. I felt alive and one with the snowfall.

I felt like I had mindfulness superpowers.

Today I feel mortal and impatient and grumpy. Mindfulness of the mind is tough slugging.  Geez Louise. How can something so simple be so hard? Never mind. It’s a rhetorical question.

I understand the significance and value of creating a relationship with the space before we respond. I so get that mindfulness and investigating with gentle, kind curiosity will help me be aware of the stories I tell myself about my thoughts and emotions and in that awareness, I totally believe I can relearn and choose more wisely.  And it’s liberating to understand that our thoughts are just visiting and we are not our thoughts.

It’s just … um… it’s um….well….it’s easier said than done.

It takes… um….yeah…okay…it takes practice.

Sigh. Start again. Kindly.

Go slowly and get there fast.

Best wishes everyone in our practice this third week!

Carol J.

As we have learned in the past two weeks, the body can be a real portal to presence (e.g. body scan, day 10); this week we will realize that it can also help us to unveil our emotions and thoughts, so we can develop a wise relationship with the spectrum of pleasant and not-so-pleasant thoughts and emotions. In this way the body can always be a portal for us to dive into the core of our emotions and thoughts, so we can befriend whatever is happening… right? Well, sometimes. Sometimes my body is a Pandora’s box. As an overachiever, I used to investigate every unconfortable sensation in my body in order to “solve it”, be a “better person” and move on to the next problem. With practice I realized that my approach was a bit misleading, and here is why:

• First, I am not “a problem to solve”.  All the joyous moments and painful experiences are like colourful threads that intertwine to make a unique and one of a kind tapestry that makes me, me. Why would I want to make it different? The aim of mindfulness is not to “get rid of” difficult bits and pieces, but to learn how to skillfully relate with them.  In the words of Sharon Salzberg “Our goal is not to wipe out thoughts and emotions, not even very negative or painful ones. We couldn’t succeed at that even if we tried. Our goal is to establish a more spacious relationship to them, so that we are empowered”. I may have those difficult emotions and thoughts for the rest of my life, but it is the way I relate to them that brings me suffering. I invite you to get rid of any agenda or self-improvement project you may have before you sit. Check your heart’s intention, and enjoy the ride.
• Second, there are some uncomfortable sensations that harbour very powerful emotions or beliefs rooted deep in our identity, and it is counterproductive to directly approach them at the first chance (hence, the Pandora’s box). Sticky thoughts and feelings related to trauma are overwhelming and tricky to handle; thus, they cannot be investigated in a 15 minute body scan. It wouldn’t be wise to ignore them or push them away either. Instead, we can recognize the Pandora’s box sitting on a corner, and without opening it we can acknowledge the shape, the colour, the volume. Moreover, we can get help from our body in case the experience gets too overwhelming. For example, if all the activity is taking place in the chest area, then we can make the conscious decision to kindly turn the attention to somewhere more positive or neutral. Anywhere from the feet to the tip of the right pinky will work just fine as a place to focus. Of note, some of us need extra help to develop the skills to work with these sticky thoughts, and that’s totally okay. Therapy and professional counselling have an arsenal of tools to assist you in this challenge!

My heart goes out to all people who have experienced trauma and still strive to check in. Those who make a conscious effort to befriend the wounds and the scars, to relate to what happened with kindness and compassion, to seek help when necessary, to forgive to the greatest extent possible… to turn themselves to the present.

Wishing all the best in your practice,

Catalina.

Sometimes, when I’m meditating, I’ll feel anger. Other times, frustration. Other times, sadness. Or a whole range of possible emotions.

I used to think, “oh no, there’s anger”, and berate myself – a good meditator shouldn’t be angry, should they?

But I’ve learned through practice, through guidance from my teachers, and through lots of reading, that emotions will come and go, and it’s okay. It’s as Gil Fronsdal states:

No emotion is inappropriate within the field of our mindfulness practice. We are trying to allow them to exist as they arise, without reactivity, without the additional complications of judgment, evaluation, preferences, aversion, desires, clinging or resistance.

I like that Gil says “we are trying to allow them to exist as they arise”. I’m getting better at this – but it’s a practice. On those occasions I lapse into reactivity, I can gently, gently return, with kindness, to the actual experience, or to the breath.

I find that I can approach many of these sticky emotions with humor now. Listening to Sharon’s Day 15 meditation on mental noting left me giggling when she suggests we check in on the kind of mental noting… just the way she said, “Thinking!” in a fretful way – so when I find a bit of frustration during a sit, I can giggle at my “Thinking!”

I also came across another humorous example of how the mind can be busy during meditation, which helps me find humor on “those days”.
If Your Brain Could Text You While You Meditate

With best wishes for week 3,
Andrea G

Modern plane travel seems like an ideal place and time to practice mindfulness. Particularly when travelling economy. And early in the morning. Very early in the morning. Apparently meditation does not prevent one from dozing off.

Having succeeded in achieving a restful snooze I awaken to a body experiencing the sensations of a human levered into a flying sardine can. First, the physical sensations. A leg with a tightness. A tightness in the lower calf.

Focusing on that part of the body there are additional sensations. A tingling that comes from the bottom of the foot. The tightness and a stronger sense of pain that lies behind the knee. Remembering the relationship between pain and suffering I know that this experience will pass. Twenty minutes until we land.

Now my attention moves to the dryness in my mouth. This often happens when I fly. Why do I never bring water? Should I ask for water? The crew seems busy cleaning up and getting ready to land. I do not want to make a fuss. No wonder I suffer. Obviously I am incapable of planning and, possibly my biggest fault, such a wuss that I do not want to bother people who are paid to take care of what I need. I really deserve to suffer. This plane needs to get down so I get some fluids.

As we descend there is the pressure in the inner ears. As I focus on it I can feel a significant difference between the two ears. The left side is stronger. I wonder why. Interesting. As my curiosity is engaged the pressure begins to relieve. I neither welcome nor regret its passing.

A child begins to scream and cry. Their mother seeks to soothe them. Is the child suffering the same pressure? Poor baby. What can she know about the source of the pain? I know it will pass but does she believe her mother when she says it will be better soon.

The final approach. The bump as the plane touches down. The rattling of the plane as the pilots apply brakes and flaps.

The trip is over. What have I learned about the relationship between sensation, pain and suffering? What is the chain and the pattern? And how do I learn to wisely discern the differences?

Hello everyone! We are almost halfway through our month-long challenge. I want to send everyone a virtual pat-on-the-back for all the effort you have put in so far.

In the spirit of this week’s theme on mindfulness on the body, I thought I would talk about my least favourite bodily sensation while meditating – my neck pain. I’ve had it for a number of years now and I don’t really know why it started. Anyways, it’s been a constant challenge in my practice. Whenever I’m following the meditation instruction to shift my focus from the breath to the body sensation is most prominent, I nearly always end up on my neck. It’s an achey, tight feeling. It’s usually more on the left than the right, and it’s always annoying! When I was on my first week-long retreat in December 2014, it was the central theme. I figured I would have to deal with some unpleasant sensations and emotions during the retreat, but having pain take center stage caught me entirely by surprise. I wanted it to go away so badly, but the more I wanted it to go away, the worse it got. Eventually, I made it through the week, but it was a constant challenge.

When touched with a feeling of pain,

the ordinary uninstructed person
sorrows, grieves,
and laments, beats his breast,
becomes distraught.
So he feels two pains,
physical and mental.
Just as if they were to shoot a man
with an arrow and,
right afterward,
were to shoot him with another one,
so that he would feel
the pains of two arrows…

—the Buddha

Wishing everyone well in their practice over the next week!

Keith

I love the inner light that glows from this shared spiritual practice. It’s comforting and reassuring, like the blue flame of the pilot light in my furnace. When I see it, I know my furnace is working and that I will be safe and warm.

I often associate being present with positive experiences such as cultivating joy and happiness, or sending and receiving kindness and compassion. But I am increasingly aware of the value of this practice in helping us deal with difficult sensations or emotions. Through the practice, we learn not only how to develop and store tools in our toolboxes, but also how and when to apply those tools so that we might more wisely choose how to act or react.

The other day I had come downstairs to make my morning coffee. I grabbed my smart phone to check messages and I noticed the date: February 11. It was my mom’s birthday. I felt an immediate rush of pain and I started to slam my heartgate closed to protect myself from the onslaught. It’s been six years since Mom died and while I felt healthy in my grieving, the date had snuck up on me and I wasn’t prepared for the wave of grief that hit.

As I became aware of my body, investigated the sensation with kindness and curiosity, I realized I wanted to leave my heart open, to stay with this emotion and to feel it. I trusted my healthy heart and allowed the memories to flow. I felt my heart expand and absorb the pain. I felt Mom, smiled through my tears and loved her and myself more in that moment.

It is indeed big enough to hold it all.

Carol J.