04/07 2011 Posted In Difficulties & Loss, Non-attachment/Letting go, Perceptions & Thoughts, Thoughts From Annie

The Glass is already Broken

Dear Friends,

Spring has arrived!  How wonderful to see the daffodils blooming and to feel the sun on our faces again.  And at the same time, we had more tragedy than usual this past month: the terrible earthquake and tsunami in Japan, and, closer to home, the tragedy in our local yoga community at Lululemon in Bethesda.  How can we reconcile the beauty and excitement of spring with the horror and suffering of events like these?

My husband will often tell me that I see the glass half empty, while he sees it half full, meaning that he looks at the positive side of life, while I focus on the difficulties.  I have never liked that metaphor, and not just because I am usually portrayed on the seemingly negative side of it, but because it never helped me to understand life.  It’s similar to something my mother said to us when we were kids when we were upset about something — “stop feeling sorry for yourself.”  Both my husband and my mother’s words create more angst for me, because they leave me wondering what to do with the difficult feelings I have, such as sadness, anger, or fear.

This week, I was reminded about another way of looking at the glass that can help us to celebrate all that is beautiful and dear to us and also still recognize the pain of tragedies like the ones our world has been experiencing.  A very wise Buddhist teacher, Ajahn Chah, said this to a student many years ago:Do you see this glass? I love this glass. It holds the water admirably. When the sun shines on it, it reflects the light beautifully. When I tap it, it has a lovely ring. Yet for me, this glass is already broken. When the wind knocks it over or my elbow knocks it off the shelf and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, ‘Of course.’ But when I understand that this glass is already broken, every minute with it is precious. What I hear him saying is that when we go all the way into our fear, sadness, or anger, we are liberated from them.  So when we look at all that is beautiful and precious to us, and see that our separation from them is certain, we can truly value them.  When we experience the beauty of spring and the glorious daffodils, we can also see the wilting and disappearance of the daffodils and feel the muggy heat of the summer. And, somewhat paradoxically, instead of making us morose and sad, that insight actually brings us more joy in the present moment.  It wakes us up to the incredible preciousness of this moment and helps us find the beauty in each moment that we might otherwise miss.

This spring, we can practice looking at all that we love — our families, friends, favorite yoga teachers and classes, places in nature, our health, delicious foods, etc. — and see them as already broken, and we can practice letting them go.  The paradox is that only when we have truly let them go can we really be present with them and feel the magnitude of how dear they are to us.  The Buddha suggested that every day we recite the five remembrances:

(1) I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old. (2) I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape having ill health. (3) I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape Death. (4) All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them. (5) My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground on which I stand.

I have practiced this letting go by silently saying good-bye to the precious things in my life when I am with them — good-bye to my husband and children, good-bye to Rock Creek Park, good-bye to the yoga studio and all the students and friends there, good-bye to my sisters, and even good-bye to my comfy home and bed.  And the moment that I touch the true nature of my loved ones’ impermanence, I wake up, and my actions begin to line up more with my true feelings for them.  I begin to treat them the way that I deeply want to treat them, rather than in my habitual, less present, and less compassionate ways.  It’s a little puzzling, but try it and see if you have the same results that the Buddha predicted and that I experienced.

I believe that this is how we can hold all the terror and beauty we are experiencing this spring.  Instead of looking at the glass as half empty or half full, we can see it as already broken.  And we can celebrate the brief moment that we have to enjoy it.

I am so grateful for this moment of connection with you.with love,
annie.p.s.  Please go and see “The Agony And Ecstasy of Steve Jobs” at Woolly Mammoth Theater Company. It is one of the best shows I have seen.

 

with love, annie
02/08 2011 Posted In Contentment/Happiness, Difficulties & Loss, Love & Compassion, Presence/Showing up, Thoughts From Annie

Gus & Coco and Leaving the Door of our Hearts Wide Open

Dear Friends,

Happy February!  I hope that you have endured the freezing temperatures and ice this past month, and have been staying warm with your yoga practice.

After the death of our 12-year-old chocolate Lab about a month ago, our 11-year-old Standard Poodle started acting strangely.  Our dogs had been together for nearly 11 years.  In 2000, when we brought home Gus, an 8-week-old poodle, he met Coco, who was 18 months old at that time.  Last month the vet told us that Gus’ extended sleeping and clinginess was probably due to his grieving the loss of Coco.  It surprised me that Gus had such a visceral response to Coco’s death, and it started me wondering about relationships and love, and what it means to love another being.

Gus and Coco’s relationship wasn’t similar to what we traditionally call love.  They didn’t have many shared interests.  Coco always struggled with her joints, and didn’t really like to run much, and in later years rarely walked past our back steps.  Gus always and still loves any kind of walk or run in the park or the city, and tends to leap vertically several feet off the ground when he sees us arriving at the front door.  The dogs really never played together.  The most physical contact they had was when Gus licked up Coco’s eye gunk for her.  Ugh.  And even though they were so different, clearly they shared a intimate connection and openness to each other.

What I am discovering in my own practice and in my relationships, is that my ability to love isn’t based on what the other person does or doesn’t do.  It has mostly to do with my own inner peace and strength.  The more solid and free that we are, the more we are able to leave ourselves open to love.  Thich Nhat Hanh’s poem Call Me by My True Names

includes the line: “Please call me by my true names, so that I can wake up, so the door of my heart can be left open.”  In my own relationships, I am finding that when I am able to leave the door to my heart open, love is there, no matter who or what the other being is or does.

But leaving the door to our hearts open may be the most difficult part of our practice.  As you probably know, the word courage comes from the word heart, and means a kind of inner strength.  When the Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree on the evening of his enlightenment, he was approached over and over again by Mara, who tested his open heart with fear and temptation.  And because of his years of practice sitting and walking and staying with his fears, the Buddha had enough courage to stay open and recognize Mara rather than getting carried away by his fears.  How often do we get carried away by our anxieties in relationship to other people?  By continuing to face his own demons in his practice, the Buddha reached a point where he was able to attain a permanent state of open-heartedness.

To begin to reach such a place of open-heartedness, our focus must be on our own heart and our own practice, and not on who or what the other being is, or even what they do.  Our hearts can be free from their conditioned responses to close up and turn away.  All of this is our own practice, and doesn’t require the other person to be any particular way.  We see how every other being is truly a mystery, and we can accept that, and instead of trying to solve the mystery of the other person, we focus on strengthening our own open hearts.  Regardless of who we meet–a dear friend, a dying dog, a fellow yogi, or a difficult relative–when our practice is strong enough, we can respond from an open heart with loving-kindness, however that looks for us.  When I watch my dog, I see that kind of pure open heart that accepts anyone regardless of who they are or what they have done in their life.  Gus will put his head on anyone’s thigh with the same vulnerability and openness, and accept love from whomever offers it.

So this Valentine’s season, together we can keep the focus on our own practice, rather than on finding or having the perfect loved one(s).  Perhaps we can do more sitting or walking meditation, more asana, or more pranayama, with a focus on strengthening our courageous hearts.  We probably won’t reach full enlightenment and a permanent open heart this month, but we can definitely grow our courage so that we leave the door of our hearts open more often.  So that someday every being, including ourselves, can be our Valentine.  Even an old dog with eye gunk.

with true love for each of you,

annie.

with love, annie
10/01 2010 Posted In Difficulties & Loss, Friends & Community, Presence/Showing up, Thoughts From Annie

Intebeing with Suffering

Dear Friends,

One of the joys of having older children is that we learn so much from them.  This summer, one of my daughters read an inspiring book, Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide and recommended that I read it also.  Reading that book started me on a journey toward a deeper understanding of some of the most painful and difficult issues we face today, including the sex trafficking of young women around the world.  My sister then recommended that I watch the film Very Young Girls.  It documents the struggles of many young girls in New York City who have been coerced into prostitution from the age of 13 or 14.

Watching Very Young Girls reminded me of the first time I went to the Holocaust Museum.  Before I visited the museum, I could not understand how something like the Holocaust could have happened.  As a result, up until that visit, the Holocaust wasn’t entirely “real” in my mind.  After spending many hours studying the museum exhibits, I started to understand the conditions and mindset that could lead to such a horrific series of events, and so it became much more real to me.  And it was the same way with this movie.  I began to understand how young girls are pushed into such miserable situations because they are longing for a kind of stable “family”, material goods that they hadn’t been able to afford, and a deep fear of being harmed or killed if they leave.

I fell asleep right after watching the movie, and I awoke in the middle of the night with a horrible nightmare.  In my dream, a mother killed her teenage daughter out of anger because the daughter was desperately clinging to her and demanding care and attention that the mother was unable to give because of her own unhappiness and difficulties.  In the dream, and even after I awoke, I wasn’t able to determine if I had been the daughter, the mother, or just the observer of the events.  It was as if I had been playing all three of the parts in the dream, and experiencing the desperation of the daughter’s desire for closeness, the frustration and fears of the mother, and the shock and horror of the observer.  And in a way, I believe that this is the truth of life.  It’s what Thich Nhat Hanh calls interbeing, or nonself.  I am the daughter, the mother, and the observer.  And in the same way, I am also the young prostitute who wants to be loved, her mother and father who don’t know how to respond to her, the pimp who is looking for power and respect, and the woman who watches the movie from her safe home and feels compassion and a desire to help.

If I had been raised with the same conditions and the same situations, I would most likely behave in the same ways as the men and women in the movie.  The Buddhataught, “This is, because that is.”  Without the conditions in their families, their societies, and in the world, and without the existence of the pimps and the johns, the prostitute would not exist. Thich Nhat Hanh describes interbeing in this way: “Because the sunshine is, the sheet of paper is.  Because the tree is, the sheet of paper is. You cannot be by yourself, alone. You have to interbe with everything else in the cosmos. That is the nature of interbeing.”

And so knowing the truth of interbeing, I ask myself, what can I, the woman watching the movie, do to help the situation?  And it occurs to me that the answer is to practice as best I can.  To practice being present, fresh, and behaving in the most wholesome and healing way that I can in every situation.  It’s like the way we come back to our most beautiful tadasana (mountain pose) each and every time we complete a sun salutation.  Even when we’re tired, even when we want to quit.  It’s hard work to stay present and to continue to express our most beautiful selves!  But by being our most present, awake selves, we can contribute to the world in the way that heals the world and ourselves.
During a question and answer session at a retreat I attended with Thich Nhat Hanh this summer, he answered a question with the following:
I would suggest that we stop thinking that we have done our part, only he has not done his part.  We can very well improve our quality of practice. And we should believe that when we have become true compassion, true freshness, true understanding, things will change.

So our practice, whether it’s asana, pranayama, mindfulness, sitting meditation, walking meditation or something else, is our true work, and is what we cultivate in order to support the changes we want to see happen.  When we encounter a difficult person, can we shift our mindset so that instead of having the intention to make our point, we have the intention to be respectful and leave the other person feeling valued?  When we meet with obstacles, in yoga class or outside of class, can we still bring our most beautiful and caring selves forward?  The more we cultivate our own freshness and compassion, the more we are offering that freshness and beauty to the world, including those who are suffering throughout the world.

And we don’t have to do any of this alone.  Together, as a sangha, a community of practice, we can support each other.  As we deepen and strengthen our practice, we can make even more of a difference in this world — one breath, one asana, or one step at a time.

with much love,
annie.

with love, annie
09/16 2010 Posted In Contentment/Happiness, Difficulties & Loss, Family, Love & Compassion, Perceptions & Thoughts, Thoughts From Annie

Are You Sure?

Dear Friends,

I hope that you had a very relaxing summer! I had the pure joy of visiting the Caribbean, seeing family, and going on retreat with Thich Nhat Hanh. In my last e-news, I wrote about whether or not it’s best to always share our suffering, or if it’s more productive to share only our joys. So it’s funny because this month I have been meditating on perceptions. And perhaps underneath the question about what to share with others is how we interpret our experiences in the light of mindfulness of our perceptions.

Take this example. We went on our first ever full family Caribbean vacation this summer. The six of us (4 nearly-grown children, my husband and myself) flew to San Juan, spent a few days in the old city, and then flew on to the very beautiful island of St. Barths. I was very excited about spending time on sparsely peopled beaches and swimming in the clear blue-green Caribbean sea. We visited a beach on the first day of our visit there, and after a few minutes, some of our crew decided they wanted to go back to our place. Well, I figured we still had a week to spend at the beach, so that wasn’t any problem.

As the days passed, it was quite difficult to get agreement from such a large number of us, and toward the end of the week, we had only been twice to a beach. Unfortunately, my kids started getting various ailments, and the beach time was becoming less and less of a possibility. On our second to last day on the island, I was determined to go to the beach, and had planned my early morning departure. One of my daughters was sick and wanted me to sit with her on the sofa. I was disappointed, but, of course, I stayed with her, and she rested her head on my lap. At that point, my perception of her was of someone who prevented me from getting what I wanted. I had the feeling that our kids were a problem, and I judged them as selfishly trying to ruin our vacation.

Later we discovered that my daughter was actually suffering from Dengue Fever (from a mosquito bite). In that moment of diagnosis, my perception of her changed completely. I became more loving and caring, even though nothing had changed on the outside. Now I wanted to sit on the sofa and rub her head. She was still sick, and I was still unable to go to the beach, but my feelings toward her had completely changed. My negative ideas of her and the other kids had been based on nothing more than my mind’s unskillful thinking. I had taken a few facts (kids sick, on vacation, I like the beach) and created a structure of my own (not good to take kids on vacation, they want to ruin it). And I caused myself real suffering by believing my made-up perceptions. So how much can we ever really rely on our perceptions?

As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “Our creations become real to us and even haunt us.” As our practice deepens, we can become more aware of our perceptions, and not become so attached to them. We can start to see them like the fabrications that they are, rather than the facts that we think they are. So when something difficult happens in my life, I can see how my perceptions contribute to the situation. For example, while I sat and rubbed the head of my 20-year old daughter, I could have chosen to stay stuck in my idea about how I would rather be at the beach. But by practicing awareness of the present moment, I started to truly experience and appreciate what a wonderful and rare opportunity this was for connection with her. Once I did that, I could relax and find the joy and ease in that moment. That then allowed me to share with my friends what a wonderful moment that was with my daughter, rather than how annoying it was that I missed the beach again. This ripples out to everyone I connect with, and we are all that much happier. When we can recognize how random and rapidly changing our perceptions are, it helps us to put less value on them, and to choose instead to keep coming back to the beauty and richness of each moment.

So I am practicing asking myself questions like, “Are you sure?” to see how much I am getting caught in my perceptions. I also try to remember how I felt about someone or something in the past, and ask myself whether they have changed, or whether only my perception of them has changed. We may never be sure whether we are seeing clearly or not, but for me, the proof is when I feel happier and more content with the moments in my life. I bought a calligraphy while on retreat that helps remind me of this practice. I have it hung in my kitchen. It says, “This is a happy moment.”

May we all have many happy moments today and every day.

with much love,

annie.

with love, annie
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