Going Beyond

Going Beyond.

“Ultimately, the word ‘beyond’ captures the true meaning of spirituality. In its most basic sense, going beyond means going past where you are… beyond the sense of a restricted self.”
~Michael A. Singer, The Untethered Soul

Here I am, riding the waves of transition again—in fact, not just one, but a few of them—all perfectly messily coming at me at the same time. Some I have chosen, some I have not (although I already see a crack in that argument). Ready or not, willing or not, the fact is it’s happening. Given the range and depth of the matters at hand, I can practically hear a voice calling from the cosmic sidelines, “Go big, or go home”.

I’ve been sitting with this idea a lot lately, this idea of going beyond. Clearly, it is what’s being asked of me. To this, I humbly ask back, how to do so gracefully?

This inquiry has led me to examine what my habits are, my patterns, my fears, my beliefs. It is causing me to question where exactly the boundaries lie that keep me in my comfort zone, and what happens when I willfully (or unknowingly) take action to eradicate them.

This is not light work. This is not a summer beach read.

As this experience continues to unfold, I find myself feeling moments of sheer terror, mixed with slight discomfort, coated in lukewarm anxiety, sweetened with pure excitement, which then erupts into total joy before turning back to sheer terror again about every 90 minutes or so.

Loneliness gives way to awareness of infinite divine guidance and support, which folds back into loneliness again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Despite the spin cycle I’m in, there have been moments of crystalline awareness where I recognize that life is in a state of flux—not just mine, not just now, but everyone’s at all times. The suffering comes when we forget that this is the natural state of things; when, in our forgetfulness, we attempt to hold on for dear life to the moment we’re experiencing, and when we do so successfully for long enough that we trick ourselves into believing that we are actually the ones in control.

Right now, it is clear, I don’t have control over much. It is at times insanely uncomfortable over here, but it’s a good reminder of the few things I do have control over: my mind, my breath, my choice of response. This realization has led me to rekindle my dedication to practice, to mindfulness, and to breathing deeply before acting out.

Byron Katie writes, “ When you finally realize that every stressful moment you experience is a gift that points your way to freedom, life becomes very kind.”

In that case, I can honestly say, life is sweet indeed.

From Vacation to Staycation: A Survival Guide

During the closing circle on the last night of our retreat in Costa Rica, 14 of us sat together, eyes closed but hearts wide open, basking in the support of the community we had co-created over the previous six days. Despite the love that was pulsing through the group, there was also a tangible sadness, accompanied by her shadier companion, fear. For many, the question loomed: “How can I return home to my 9 – 5 life after an experience like this?” The answer, so wisely stated from one of the many teachers in our group: You bring this back with you.

And then, the bigger question followed: How?

If you’ve ever experienced a powerful retreat, workshop, or even just a much-needed vacation, you’re probably familiar with the heart pangs that accompany the realization that reality awaits you as soon as you leave the space you are in and begin the journey home. Depending on your relationship with the reality you’ve created, this can be bitter or sweet, or a mixture of both. Regardless of whether the transition is smooth or turbulent however, it’s a transition just the same. Blame it on the laws of natural selection, but it seems to be a part of the human condition that transitions, for most of us, require practice and skillfulness in order to navigate them with ease and grace.

Over the past few weeks, as I’ve gone through the now familiar ups and downs of my own homecoming, I feel fortunate to have gained some insight (along with many more days’ worth of practice) on the subject. What follows is a survival guide of sorts, which may come in handy the next time you find yourself jetting back from paradise on a crash course towards reality.

(Suggestion one: Buckle your seat belt and breathe deeply through the clear plastic mask. Although oxygen will be flowing freely, the bag will not inflate.)

From Vacation to Staycation: A User’s Manual and Survival Guide

In my experience, the three main reasons I suffer from anxiety, discomfort, sadness, grief, longing and fill-in-the-blank, when I leave paradise and head back into my “real” life are:

1. I go from a state of expansion to contraction.

2. My daily life isn’t entirely congruent with my highest values, needs and goals.

3. I am trapped in the illusion that paradise is something conditional and outside of me.

After observing these three traits in myself, I posed the following questions:

1. What would it look like to be in a state of expansion more often in my daily life?

2. What would my daily life look like if it were totally aligned with my highest values, needs and goals? How can I bring my life into this alignment?

3. What are the limiting conditions I place on experiencing peace? How can I be centered in peacefulness despite the fluctuations of the world around me?

I could tell you my own answers to these questions, but honestly, I’d rather hear yours…

In the meantime, here’s to the practice.

With love,
D

Open hamstrings, open heart.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship to the physical practice of yoga recently. And so, after a very long hiatus, I’m finally finding time (on this rainy afternoon, as I’m getting over a cold) to write about it.

While talking to a friend the other night, I heard myself saying, “I can pinpoint the moment in time when my whole life shifted.” That specific moment happened to be at the end of a midnight yoga class many years ago. (Since then, at least one other moment of equal or greater magnitude has occurred. But, I digress).

During the first few years of practice (and I’m still a complete beginner, mind you) most of my focus was on the physical level. Through the practice of the physical poses, I began to connect to my body in a new way, and I felt strong and empowered in my own skin for the first time in my entire life. (I was 19 at the time, and I’m not exaggerating).

As I continued to practice, however I soon caught myself falling into the pitfalls of the ego. In an effort to master more advanced poses, I ambitiously pushed my body, once or twice even to the point of injury. With injury came a new way of practicing, as well as so many important lessons about where exactly I was practicing from (my head or my heart) and to what end.

Although I am still deeply moved by and committed to my physical practice, my focus has begun to shift: Where once I rearranged all my activities to fit around my yoga schedule, I am starting to see that my true yoga really only begins once I am off my mat. I am starting to view my physical practice as something I do so that I have the energy and strength for the real practice that is my daily life.
I recently had the opportunity to study with a wonderful teacher who, on the first day of training, talked about something he referred to as “the weave.” (You could replace “the weave” with “the matrix” and you wouldn’t be too far off).

Essentially, he said that the illusion is to believe that we are ever outside of the weave. We think, “Ok, I’m here, on my sticky mat. I’m breathing. I’m connected. My chakras are spinning. I see pretty lights. I’m in the weave.” And then later, we have a Big Mac or a fight with our partner and we suddenly despair, “I’ve fallen out of the weave.” But everything, he said, is the weave.

In the practice of my daily life, I recognize how often I have been caught in that illusion. That duality has often played through my mind: "this is my spiritual practice; that is not. This is yoga; that is not.” But at the heart of the real practice, the real teachings, there is never a separation from this or that. Every activity is a spiritual practice because we are spiritual beings interacting with other spiritual beings. Every activity can be an opportunity to experience yoga (union/connection with the divine) because it is all a part of universal creation.

My teacher continued to say that our real work as yogis, (or simply as awake human beings), is to first and foremost, recognize that we are always in the weave, and therefore, to engage fearlessly and headlong into it. If we are always in the weave, then there is nothing to resist, nothing to fear. Whether an experience is comfortable or uncomfortable, joyful or painful, we can relax within the knowing that we are still, in those moments, a part of the weave.

This message in particular, struck a major chord for me. Living in New York, with the intense amount of stimulation and energy surrounding us at all times, my tendency is to seek solace in my very chill apartment, and to as much as possible, limit any extra exposure to what is, whether I like it or not, still a part of the weave.
Hearing that message, it at first struck me as paradoxical that I am engaging in a practice where the main purpose is to become increasingly sensitive and aware, while living in a city that is so over-stimulating. And yet, that’s what I’m doing, and this is where I am—in this crazy and exhilarating part of the weave.

So, how do I fearlessly engage? Essentially, this teacher said, we engage by trusting in our resilience and inner resources, and by learning how to navigate the outer world while using the tools of our inner practice.

A simple theory. A profound practice.

OK, New York. I’ll try again.

On allowing...

After an uncertain November, the cosmos aligned and my prayers were answered, so that I can joyfully report I am writing this on my way to Panama in order to meet Kevin, ring in the New Year, and yoga our faces off. As I prepare for six weeks of jungle and beach life, (Costa Rica is next!) and treasured days spent practicing and sharing yoga with others, I also have to observe the difficulty with which my mind is struggling to unwind and let go. Sitting in the terminal, anticipating six stress-free weeks of self-exploration, sun, and professional development, my mind is at work and my heart is racing.

For me, these trips mark a time of growth, intention-setting, clearing and surrender. Upon each subsequent return home, I have arrived a different person— more open, more trusting in the role of divine guidance, and ready to share my gifts with increased courage, confidence, and (hopefully) grace. Given the level of discomfort I’ve been feeling—something I can only liken to emotional growing pains—I am ready for this time of restructuring and renewal to say the least.

For the past month or so, I’ve been intently imagining a life increasingly in line with my passions, with more time spent teaching, cooking, and assisting others to achieve wellbeing. Of course, the reality of this life path so far, is that financial abundance has been slow to build. As I dream about transitioning out of waiting tables and more fully tapping into my skill set, I have encountered a lot of fear, doubt and uncertainty about how this is all going to work out.

As in yoga, this experience is a practice, a delicate dance, and a union of opposites. On the one hand, I feel the need to take action: to set intentions; to make contacts and connections; to visualize my life as I want to live it. But there must be a balance, for on the other hand, I sense the need to let go, to literally allow these things to come into my life by trusting in the universe and letting them flow to me.

In this age of the Law of Attraction, it takes a lot to let go of the idea that we, mere mortals, can make anything happen. This is not to discredit our abilities to manifest our reality. In my experience, I just don’t manifest things the way I may think. Often times, what I deem to be positive and necessary action is motivated by a lack of faith and an undercurrent of fear that things will fail to open up, and so in my doing, I am actually undoing any hope of progress.

When I look at my life up to this point, I can recognize time and again that in moments when I felt unsure, when I lacked a solid plan or sure-footing, or when my best-laid plans didn’t materialize, the moment I chose to surrender my will and trust what was to come, a major shift occurred. Even in moments of clarity, when I knew exactly what I wanted to attract, it was by releasing that I was able to receive.

My experience just over a year ago, which brought me to Nosara is one real-life example. Meeting Kevin after four months of dancing this same waltz of intention and surrender, attraction and allowing, is another.

I have my wish list, my goals, and a mind full of ideas and inspirations I’d like to bring to reality. Over, the next six weeks, the only task on my to-do list will be to clear enough space within me to allow the grace of the universe to unfold.

May you all find that same space within you as we welcome 2010.

With love

Know your place...

Have you ever attempted to support someone close to you by listening to a story about a recent trauma, conflict or upsetting event?

Have you, after hearing that story, ever tried to offer some guidance, wisdom or perspective, or tried to shed some light on a seemingly obvious aspect of their experience?

Have you, after generously offering such support, then had the person turn their anger, sadness, frustration or confusion on you, leaving you feeling dumbfounded, hurt, and confused yourself?

Ah yes, welcome to the complexities of human relationships. Just when we think we are being a good friend, a helpful guide, or a wise teacher, our best efforts go unrecognized, or at worst, shoot us in the foot.

I recently witnessed some interesting interpersonal interactions that, although less than enjoyable for all involved, were deeply illuminating. Twice in the span of a few days, someone close to me had the unpleasant experience of opening their heart and offering what they thought was support, only to have the person on the receiving end respond less-than-graciously. Now, not only was the original person in a bad spot, but my friend now too was feeling deeply hurt.

Already seeing a pattern emerging, I asked for permission before offering “support.” When permission was granted, I spoke:

“Sometimes, people don’t need anything from you but to be heard. Sometimes, people don’t even need to be heard, they just need to be held. Sometimes, people don’t even need to be held, they just need you to hold the space while they go through whatever they’re experiencing. Despite your best intentions, it’s important to know your place…“

The next time someone comes to you with a problem, a story of woe, or some other situation, before you act (or react) ask yourself what your role is. If you’re not sure, ask the person involved, “do you want my advice or do you just need someone to listen to you?” It might come as a surprise, but most of us are adept at figuring things out ourselves if we just have the time and space to process things. Your role may not be to problem solve or fix anything, but to be present while the person works through things themselves.

Being present with someone may not look like much on the outside, but it takes a lot of inner work. If you find yourself in such a situation, consider the following technique, known as active listening:

Allow the person to speak without interruption, listening and witnessing without judgment until they are completely through. (If they pause, wait a few moments to see if they begin again, before you begin to respond).

When you are sure they are finished speaking say, “I’d like to repeat back to you what I heard you say, so that I can be sure I heard you correctly.”

Begin to repeat back, in your own words, the main ideas or feelings the person shared. Don’t worry about repeating things verbatim, or remembering everything they talked about. Just pick up the core concepts, and repeat objectively in your own words.

Ask, “did I hear you correctly?” Wait for their response. Then ask, “is there anything you would like to add?”

At that point you may ask, “would you like me to share my thoughts or offer some guidance?” Only proceed if the person requests you to share.

If nothing further is requested of you, you can thank them for sharing their experience with you and finish the conversation.

That’s it. Seriously.

On fearlessness

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over again to our own annihilation, can that which is indestructible be found in us.”

-- Buddhist teaching

The beginning of November marks the time, a year ago, that I set off for Costa Rica with a map, a backpack and a plan… Luckily, the backpack was well constructed, because the other two items went to hell pretty quickly. The happy ending to the rough start of that story, of course, was that the gravitational pull from Nosara Yoga Institute lured me in like a ship to the Bermuda triangle. I can’t speak for the boats, but I know that I was certainly not lost there. I was found.   

It has been almost a year since I began teaching yoga, and while I feel blessed and deeply nourished by the journey so far, that in no way has made it a completely smooth ride.

My first several months of teaching I was filled with fear. One of the major obstacles to pursuing a teacher training in the first place was that I felt nervous speaking in front of people. With a certification finally under my belt, I now felt even more nervous about what I would say when I finally got the courage to stand in front of a class.

Then there was the logistics of creating a class. Even though my body knew the practice intimately, directing others through familiar asanas felt like learning a new language. Would my directions be clear? Would I be able to discern right from left? Would I forget what I had planned? I would be instructing my students to link their movement to their breath, but would I be able to speak and breathe myself? (The answer to those questions, I would soon learn, depended entirely on the day and the class).

Then there were the familiar pangs of the desire for approval and the fear of rejection. Would anyone come to class? If they came, would they like it? If it was too hard, would my students hate me? If it was too easy, would they be bored? Will they like me? Will they come again? You see, as much as this practice is about dissolving ego, mine still raises hell on a regular basis.

All together, it’s been an incredible year. I feel like I’ve grown tremendously as a teacher and a student. It turns out the lessons I learn while teaching, are just a continuation of my own personal yoga practice. Just as I continue to grow every time I step on my mat and begin breathing deeply, I evolve every time I step in front of a class and ask others to do the same. Just as in my own personal practice, I have gained confidence and clarity, but I also make missteps, have moments and areas of weakness, and so keep myself humble.

I don’t experience the same level of nervousness prior to teaching, but I also remember what those early months felt like.  As another teaching says, “courage is not the absence of fear, but the determination to move beyond it.” And so, I keep moving on.  

If not now, when?

A couple of weeks ago, I attended a four hour long group meditation in the city. (Although 20 minutes might be par for the course for most people in search of enlightenment, we New Yorkers apparently need a bit more warming up in order to find inner peace).

 

Although I like to think I know better than to expect anything from a situation like that (or any situation, really) part of me was definitely hopeful that I would break through to some insanely blissful state at some point during the process. So, I sat. And I waited... and I kept sitting... and waiting. 

 

Ahem. I'm sitting here! Bliss can come find me any minute now.

 

I kept waiting. Nothing happened. And then, something did happen: the torment sunk in. All of a sudden, I was being pulled by my thoughts. I wanted to move; I wanted to stop; I wanted to sit still, but my skin started to crawl. Then the judgements sunk in: "If you only meditated more, this would be easy for you. Why can't you concentrate? Do you really think you deserve to have this be easy?"

 

After roughly an eternity of this, my thoughts then turned to the words our guide for the evening had spoken prior to the start of the session. "Your thoughts and actions are like ripples in a pool of water. Any fluctuations of the mind or body will effect the whole, so be careful with your thoughts and be conscious of unnecessary movement. We are all carrying each other, so be present not only for yourself but for the good of all who are here." 

 

I then remembered a few interesting and intense exchanges with various members of the group prior to the start of the session. These conversations were charged with a negative and heavy quality, and had left me feeling a bit knocked off center. Now knee-deep into the process, I began to place the burden of my emotional turmoil on others. "Oh great," I thought. "These are the people responsible for holding up the ship... I think I want to get in another life raft, thanks. Maybe this isn't even MY stuff coming up. Maybe it's that dude's stress from across the room. Thanks, guy!"

 

Wave after wave, thought after thought kept crashing over me, and it was all I could do stay afloat. And still, somewhere, part of me was waiting. Waiting for the waves to stop; waiting for something better to step in; waiting to be relieved of my misery; waiting for my fellow meditators to get their shit together so that I could shower them with unconditional love and thanks and feel better. 

 

Not surprisingly, this did not happen. Here is what did:

 

Some how I received the message that this waiting was exactly the thing that was keeping me from being in the space I wanted to be in. This waiting was a denial of the fact that joy and love and peace were there, right on the other side of all this darkness, just waiting for me to see it. This waiting was keeping me out of accepting and being in the present. 

 

How often in my life am I waiting for something to happen so that I can be happy?

 

“I’ll be happy when I have a different job.”

 

“I’ll be happy when I’m out of New York.”

 

“I’ll love that person more once they get their act together.”

 

It suddenly became apparent that love, peace, and happiness are not conditional states, although I often try to make them that way.

 

The tables had turned. I wasn’t waiting for peace or happiness. They were waiting for me. 

 

Angels didn't exactly start to sing in ecstasy, but things certainly got lighter from that point forward. Although I didn't reach enlightenment in four hours, I was finally able to accept exactly where I was, and everyone who was there with me, and that was more than enough.

 

Peace.

 

(At last).