08/07 2010 Posted In Contentment/Happiness, Difficulties & Loss, Family, Meditation, Perceptions & Thoughts, Thoughts From Annie, Yoga

What’s Still Alive in Your Garden?

Dear Friends,

This past week I received an unexpected letter from an old friend of my mom’s. My mom passed away, quite unexpectedly, about 5 years ago at the young age of 71. My mom, Sally, was a vibrant, energetic, and positive person, who did a whole lot for a lot of people, and was well-loved by many.

My mom’s friend described some of my mom’s wonderful qualities – always making the best of every situation, her enormous capacity to care for others, the importance of her family, her ability to work endlessly for causes she cared about, and her love of being surrounded by friends. She also reminded me of my mom’s tendency to be very private with her feelings, and her ability to get her own needs met without much sharing, and her endless capacity to put others’ needs before her own.

My mom was almost always in good health. But even if she wasn’t, you would have had a hard time knowing it. Within a short period of time, she went through treatment and recovery from two kinds of cancer, lost her mother, and had a serious thyroid disease. And yet I never saw her shed a tear, or in fact complain about any of the treatments. She always had time for entertaining her friends, cooking dinner for her family, and working. In some ways, she was a model of strength. And yet, because I didn’t ever see her vulnerable, I think I might have missed out on a deeper connection with her.

If you have met me, you probably know that, while I share some of my mom’s wonderful qualities, I am not one to hold my tongue about my feelings. Since my family members weren’t big believers in feelings, it took me many years and some expensive therapy to figure out what I was feeling, and learn how to share my feelings in a way that actually helped get my needs met. And I like to share my negative feelings. I consider this processing to be a part of my spiritual path.

And yet after reading this letter, and remembering my mom, I started to wonder whether there was something I could learn about not always needing to share my negative feelings. Is there something between Pollyanna (“I’m fine, everything’s perfect”) and needing to vent every time something difficult comes my way? I recently saw a dear friend who is going through a difficult break-up, and when I asked her how she was, she said she was fine, with a smile on her face. When I prodded a little deeper, she confessed that she was having a very hard year, but she didn’t want to keep dwelling on the negative. She wanted to start to focus more on the positive aspects of her life.

So I ask myself, and I ask you too, how do we keep our joy and gratitude alive without losing touch with our authentic feelings? And how much time and energy is most helpful to spend “processing” our negative feelings? Can we simply feel them and let them go? I have found that sharing difficulties in my life has been a way to connect on a deep level with other people. If you saw the movie, I Heart Huckabees, you may remember in the conclusion of the movie, they suggest that human beings connect with each other only by witnessing each other’s suffering.

The Buddha discovered that dukkha or unsatisfactoriness is a necessary condition of living our life. He suggested that our dukkha is caused by either grasping at pleasant sensations, or pushing away difficulties. If we spend too much time complaining or dwelling on our negative feelings, are we grasping at the instant gratification of getting attention rather than sitting with the difficulty itself? And if we pretend that nothing is wrong, are we pushing away our difficulties? How much sharing of our suffering do we need to do in order to connect to others, and when is it too much?

Thich Nhat Hanh describes using our mindfulness to bring awareness to our positive elements:

Our body and our consciousness are like a garden: there may be a number of trees dying in that garden, but that does not mean that the whole garden is dead. Maybe the majority of the trees are still vigorous, beautiful. That is why we should not allow the negative to overwhelm us, because there are still many things that work well within our bodies and our consciousness. The therapist can invite his client for a walking meditation session, and during that session, he will try to put his client in touch with the positive elements within him or around him. In the Buddhist practice this is very important. Mindfulness is the energy we generate, and first of all we want that energy to help us get in touch with the positive things-joy and happiness.

Dear friends, this is the koan (an unanswerable question/riddle) that I am sitting with. If you have any insights, I would love to hear them. What I do know is that the practice of yoga, including sitting meditation and everyday mindfulness, are what I trust to help find the way. I am heading off for several weeks of vacation and retreat, and perhaps I will discover some insights sitting on the beach, listening to a dharma talk by Thich Nhat Hanh, or being together with extended family. I will certainly let you know. And if it rains the whole time, or we have other difficulties while we are there, I am sure I’ll still want to tell you all about my troubles. But with practice, perhaps I can avoid getting stuck in my dukkha, and remember all of the positive parts as well. I’ll let you know.

much love and joy,

annie.

with love, annie
07/05 2010 Posted In Difficulties & Loss, Friends & Community, Love & Compassion, Non-attachment/Letting go, Perceptions & Thoughts, Thoughts From Annie

We are All Holding Hands

Dear Friends,

In June, I had the rare and humbling opportunity to speak on a panel with three very distinguished Buddhists and peace activists: Colman McCarthy, Hugh Byrne, and Bill Aiken. The panel was part of the first annual BuddhaFest, and there were over 100 people in attendance. I agreed to speak on the panel because a friend of mine recommended me, I was in a good mood when they asked, and I wanted to encourage myself to move out of my comfort zone.

While backstage, I was given a microphone, signed a video waiver, heard the applause from the other room, and when they told us it was “two minutes” until we went on — I panicked. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I would have agreed to do this. My insides turned to mush, and I couldn’t comprehend anything that anyone was saying to me. I was sure that when my turn came to speak about engaged Buddhism, I would go completely blank, fidget around in my chair, stumble out a few words, and basically make a complete fool of myself. Worse yet, I’d be doing it in front of a crowd of yogis and fellow Buddhist practitioners. I thought I might throw up.

I practiced being aware of my breathing, which reduced some of the sweating at least. But my mind went back to my college speech class, in which 10 of us would sit around a conference table and give speeches on various topics. Each and every time I had to give a talk, I would literally freeze, manage to hurry through some portion of the words on my note cards, and sit down. Later I couldn’t remember anything I said. I wasn’t capable of giving a speech without going into full fight/flight. Remembering this was not very comforting.

If it weren’t for two things, I probably wouldn’t have even walked onto the stage. First, my pride. The thought of telling the moderator that I couldn’t go one was just too embarrassing. But most importantly, what got me on the stage was my faith in this practice. There was some quiet voice in me that knew my practice would support me, and that I wouldn’t completely disappear into panic-land, if I could just keep remembering my practice. Keep staying present in my body, keep breathing, and keep connecting with people.

The time came to walk out, and I followed the moderator out onto the stage, and took a seat. One of the organizers read through our bios. Because I was a late addition to the panel, my bio was only a couple of sentences long. From what I could hear, each of the other panelists had written several books, founded multiple non-profits, and been practicing meditation since before I was born. But perhaps I am exaggerating. Suffice it to say that I had three major items on my hand-written bio, one of them the announcer skipped, and one of them he couldn’t pronounce. It was pretty embarrassing.

It may surprise you to find out that I actually gave a nice talk about engaged Buddhism, without looking at my notes even once. And what saved me? Well, as soon as I really looked into the faces in the audience, I knew that I would be ok. I could see that everyone was just like me, everyone there had suffering just like me, and everyone was in that audience because they wanted to learn how to suffer less. That’s the motivation that leads all of us to these practices. When I was able to sit still and look around, I could see who was really in front of me, rather than listening to what my fearful thoughts were telling me.

I spoke for a few minutes about how I found my way to creating this space and this studio, and how the practice of mindfulness and yoga helped me get here. And as I sat on that stage, I felt just how interconnected we all are. I was reminded of the poet Hafiz who said,

“Out of a great need, we are all holding hands and climbing,” and “Admit something: everyone you see, you say to them, ‘Love me.’ Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops. Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.” We all want the same things – happiness, ease, love, connection, safety, care, freedom. And the practices of mindfulness and yoga help our minds settle to the point where we can really see and know this.

And the more we know this truth, the more we can relax into our lives without fear. And then we can really live our lives to the fullest.

may your life be lived to its fullest this summer.

xo,

annie.

with love, annie
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