encouragement – Generous Wisdom

Gravity: A Poem-Prompt

Below is the poem-prompt from yesterday. It now has a name 🙂

I wanted to share it again because I practiced with it after I posted, and I discovered some things.

It was late in the day, and the earth and sky were moving from evening into night.

As I was guiding myself, I noticed how deeply I had been in the practice during its writing, at my computer. I also noticed the familiarity of this gravity-awareness practice. It felt easy to sink myself into the earth, but difficult to stay present with it. My mind was busy offering me other things to pay attention to. I kept bringing myself back to the softness of my neck and the slope of my shoulders. The weight of my arms and hands pressing into my lap, my hips and legs pressing into the chair, my legs and feet pressing into the ground. Bringing myself back to these sensations. Gently. I invited myself to shift my body position when I needed to. After experiencing an insect bite during my meditation the day before, I allowed myself to brush a mosquito off my nose. When I noticed the change in air temperature, I allowed myself to pull my sleeves over my hands and tuck one inside the other.

In case I haven’t said this before (I don’t think I have), please remember that the meditations and prompts and practices are here to serve you. They are here as an invitation to self-discovery. They are not here to demand, control, or oppress you. They are gateways to freedom inside a frame of tenderness, loving-kindness, and care.

Only you can offer yourself these things: tenderness, loving-kindness, and care. Please try them out. Liberally and with joy, as you would praise a puppy for his sweetness and delight running through the grass after the white cabbage moth.

Gravity asks us what we want to set down and what we want to pick back up. When I arrived at these inquiries, happiness and kindness arose in my mind. I want to set down the weight of other people’s happiness. By this, I mean I want to set down the weight of thinking and feeling that I need to create, enhance, fix, and sustain everyone else’s happiness at all times. I’m not sure when or why I picked this up. But it’s real, and I need to set it down now.

Happiness comes and goes, just like overwhelm, just like sadness, just like tears, and just like giggles. When I attempt to fix or change someone else’s emotions, I’m making it about me. Instead, I want to pick up kindness and offer that. I want to offer the gift of sitting with someone in their despair. The gift of resting beside another person in their overwhelm. Without making it about me. And also, without looking away. To stay beside them by becoming porous enough to allow their emotional energy to swirl over, under, past, and through me, without it knocking me off balance. To have them know they don’t have to hide or fix or feel bad about their emotional experience in order to stay with me, physically present next to me, in the same room with me.

So, I’m going to try that today. Setting down the weight of other people’s happiness and picking up the ease of kindness. Kindness is being expansive enough, spacious enough to allow what is to be what is. Acknowledging the truth of the moment is a kindness deeper than almost anything else I know.

Please try out the body-scan meditation, the poem-prompt, Gravity, below. Even if you tried it yesterday. (Especially if you tried it yesterday?) As you open up to your inner knowing, see what wants set down and what wants picked up. And it’s okay if it doesn’t feel peaceful at first, or at all. Peacefulness comes and goes, too. What’s glorious is that we can create the circumstances that allow peacefulness to arise. We can create situations that invite peacefulness to bloom more often and hang out with us for longer and longer stretches of time.

Gravity

When you hold one hand in another
there is a heaviness
that is both light and solid

your hand, I mean,
I’m talking about when you
hold the weight of your own hand

resting one hand
inside the other
a nesting

Try it now ~

Cupping your hands
one inside the other
sense the weight of you

sense the weight of tenderness.

How tender is your care for your own sweet self?

Try resting your shoulders
and arms and let them be pulled
toward the earth…

Allow the gentle downward force of gravity
to be a soothing balm
like you’re setting down
every single thing you carry
every
single
day

the things you hold even in the night
in your sleep you’re carrying them ~

Just for now, just for this moment,
set down what you are carrying.

Try this ~

Notice the sensation of your feet
resting against the ground
the grass
the growing world.

Notice the sensation of your hips
resting in the seat of your chair
that’s resting against the ground
the grass
the growing world.

Notice the way the crown of your head
is floating into the sky
even as the the sides of your neck are softening
the tops of your shoulders sinking
and your arms
elbows
arms
wrists
hands
fingers are moving closer to the ground
the grass
the growing world.

Notice the sensation of being held by creation.

Even as your body stretches upward
with each of your breaths
your body relaxes downward
with each of your breaths

You are a growing being
resting against the ground
the grass
the growing world.

So as you nest your hand
inside your hand,
become the tender loving care of the creation that holds you
because you are what you have always longed for.
You belong to your own dear, sweet, and precious self,
a gift, from you to you.

Just for fun? Try this~

Notice if you’d like to switch the nest of your hands
allowing the other hand to be the cradle
of tenderness and loving care.

Feel the difference.
It is new. Awkward. Lighter Maybe?
It is similar. Odd. Fun Maybe?

Switch them back if you’d like.
Notice the ways you are opening into choice, ease, and freedom
inside the frame of this earth and sky,
this greening grounding
growing world.

You get to chose what your hands hold.
You get to chose which things you pick back up.
You get to chose to lift with your legs instead of your back.
You can allow the earth to lift you and all the things you choose to carry.

Remember that as much weight as presses down on her, the sweet, dear earth pushes back up just as much.

You are not alone.

How do you feel now?
What do you notice most?
What is resonating deep inside you?
What mysterious door have you walked through?

What is challenging you and what are the judgements your mind offers?

What kind of poem would you like to write now?

What kind of art would you like to create?

What kind of breath would you like to take?

xoxoxo,

Good Morning, Lovely: Opening Into Self

I have many teachers who invite me to see myself as worthy of love. Do you want to meet some of them?

My dog, Daisy. She always used to come to me when I was crying. Reminding me I don’t have to hide or perform anything for anyone in order to be loved. I can feel everything I need to feel. And she will check on me. She will stay with me. I practice remembering to stay with myself, even when it feels unbearable.

A friend in my community, KC. Every single time she sees me, whether at work or at our kids’ events, I hear her voice: “Hey, Gorgeous!” or “Hello, Beautiful!” with a huge smile and bright eyes. Every single time no matter what. It’s at such odds with my experience in society that it takes me by surprise every time. Eventually, I hope to not be surprised. I hope to just know. I say it back to her, “Hey, Beautiful.” It’s good practice.

One of my yoga teachers, MV. She tells us the story of tucking her kids in at night and telling them, “You are so lovable.” And she exhorts us to tell ourselves the same thing. And so now I end a lot of my yoga, resilience, and social-emotional-learning classes with these affirmations for my students to repeat if they’d like: I am awesome. I am amazing. I am soooooooooooo loveable.

Insight meditation teacher, Sylvia Boorstein, encourages self-compassion through terms of endearment in place of self-criticism and self-loathing. Among other invitations, she offers herself these words, “Sweetheart, you are in pain. Relax. Breathe. Let’s pay attention to what’s happening and figure things out.” I practice calling myself Sweetheart.

Another friend in my community, ST. Every singe time she sees me, whether at the grocery store or our kids’ activities, she literally yells, “Heeeeeey, Gorgeous Woman!” It doesn’t matter if I’ve just rolled out of bed or not. It doesn’t matter where we are or how far away she is from where I’m standing. It takes me a minute. I have to process. She also likes my hair? I say it back to her, “Hello, Gorgeous.” It’s good practice.

My restorative yoga teacher, Judith Hanson Lasater, shares her practice of self-compassion: Whenever she has moments of frustration or discontent, she says, “Oh, how human of me.” I love this. It reminds me to ask myself why I ever thought I needed to be something I am not.

Our rescue foster pup, Bruno. After months of living unabashedly as himself, growing and blossoming every single night and every single day, Bruno showed us who he was. He showed us who he is, who he wants to be, who he needs to be, who he must be. He taught me that there is absolutely no thing more freeing on this earth than being fully and unabashedly one’s truest self.

My sweet kids. They read my face. They ask me if I need hugs or help. When they are in the throes of their own brain-restructuring and hormone spikes and drops, they forget I’m human, just like I do. And then they remember, just like I do. They also honor their impulses to love. They say I love you when we part; they say I love you when we’re together; they say I love you when we’re nowhere close – whenever they feel it. I don’t do anything to win or earn their affection. I just am and they just are and love just is.

All the friends I text when I’m trying to figure out Life: CS, JS, KS, SD, SR, MD, JM, CC. They text me back. They are essential to my joy and my growth.

My husband. He shows up. When everything is terrible. When everything is pleasant. When everything is boring. When everything is tenuous. When everything is shit. When everything is sweet. He is: Constant. True. Consistent. Unflinching. Honorable. Considerate. Honest. Open. Willing. Integral. He is essential to my growth, my successes, my contentment, my ease, my mission, my vocation, and to fulfilling my heart’s desire, my sankalpa. His qualities and actions remind me that there is nothing I need to prove or attain. I am lovable simply because I am alive. Simply because I am me. Simply because I am.

Our new permanent pup, Bodhi. He is named for the tree of Buddha’s enlightenment. He is also named after surfers and gods, oceans, and air. Bodhi sits. Bodhi watches. Bodhi waits. Bodhi pays attention. Bodhi looks, at first glance, as if he has no thoughts – like he’s not thinking anything. And do you know what happens when you have no thoughts, when you are not thinking anything? The possibilities are endless. That kind of nothing is fully pregnant with everything. So when you look back at Bodhi long enough, all of a sudden you are full. He is comfort magnified. You can’t feel anything but love when he runs to you. I am practicing drinking this in.

Silence.
A silence that is planted and cared for.
A communal silence ushered into being.
A retreat space structured with ritual,
ceremony, gentleness, and support
so carefully curated it creates a circle
unspeakably spacious
and infinitely deep
the well
of unconditional love
pours over you from the inside –
from
the
INside (!)
And when I looked at her, wordless,
my yoga teacher cracked open
the silence and cradled my gaze,
my tears, my life
with her whisper,
The silence, she is so generous, isn’t she?

My invitation to you now is to open into your fullest self by acknowledging what is already true – so full that you break open into every color, every shade, every line, every texture, every curve, every spiral, every sound, every silence that you hold inside. Please, please write yourself a poem today. At some point before midnight, before morning, write yourself into being – with words or images – with letters or sketches – with lyrics or pictures teach yourself how to love you. Love yourself the way you’ve always wanted to be loved. Because you ARE.

Good morning, Lovely,
You are precious
golden and radiant,
You are gorgeous
kind and loving,
You are more than anything
I could have ever hoped for.
Please, please keep being
because I couldn’t
wouldn’t
won’t live without you.

P.S. Please keep your eyes and ears out for your teachers, all those beings who teach you the fullness of your worth.

What Happens When Joy Fills You?

Do you break open? Do you fall down? Do you float away?

Are we vessels for joy? Maybe. And, like, a lot of others things, too, right? Like pain and despair and incredulousness and dignity, honor, pride, grief, and boredom, and…

We carry EVERYTHING.

Joy makes us feel alive I think. It feels like the opposite of pain (most times). Sometimes joy makes us cry, though. And sometimes joy can hurt – even though it’s the opposite of hurtful – because it’s all wrapped up in more than one experience, more than one moment. Joy is bittersweet with remembering and pride and impermanence, layers of dark chocolate with raspberries. Maybe.

What was the last thing that filled you with joy?

Some people describe joy as “really really really super happy.” But, you know, happiness comes and goes. Other people describe joy as the thing that is always there because it exists outside of time and space. It’s like this all-pervasive essence because it doesn’t come from material things; it comes from spiritual things. Even if you don’t believe in spirit.

For me, joy is that lasting thing that exists all the time. It is a brightness. It flashes and sparks. It’s like that emoji with three 4-pointed stars of varying sizes.

So, joy’s always there, but it swells. Joy SWELLS. Are you thinking of the ocean? Yeah, I think it’s kinda like that, like waves.

The most recent thing that filled me with joy was watching a genius musician THRILL at the awesomeness of another musician’s art. Watching a musician experience another musician’s song and appreciating the hell out of it is magical for me. I feel it in my face around my mouth where I can’t stop smiling. I feel it in my forehead around my eyes where my brows are lifting. I feel it in my chest around my heart where my blood is pumping.

This also happens to me when I see a writer in awe at another writer’s words. But it’s a little quieter. I feel this kind of joy settling in my gut and connecting me to the chair, and pressing me into the floor. It’s because of the depth.

Those practiced musicians, writers, artists, they know what it takes to create. They understand technique, nuance, texture, tone, subtly, craft, discipline, decision, inspiration, failure, serendipity, dryness, synchrony, expression – which is connection, to self outside of self where you can see it from a different angle. Artists know when something feels unfinished. They know when something feels complete. They know because they live it, too. And they know what happens when they collaborate – WOW – everything is multiplied.

That’s really what joy is: depth and connection – depth and connection that expands and sparkles. Joy is not a surface thing. It bursts from the deepest places and brightens the skies in its explosion.

Joy is not an alone thing either. I mean, I can experience joy when I encounter the scent of wild onions, but it’s not about the scent of wild onions, you know? It’s about the first time I remember smelling wild onions, one of the first times I remember connecting with the earth, so it’s me and the earth. The joy is reliving that connection. In reliving that connection I’m also connecting to another version of My Self. I am re-membering myself, putting myself back together. And because those kinds of moments are so powerful, they exist outside of time. I know there are neurological explanations for this, but I don’t care about any of that right now. In this moment, I don’t care about the explanation.

I want to be
in joy.
Inside it.
I want to create joy
and receive the joy that I create.
I want to thrill at someone else’s joy,
and I want to bring our joys together.
That’s where art is. Even when it hurts
I want joy to swell up from the depths of me and
knock me over so many
waves in the ocean on the shore in the sun
in the morning in the rain in the bright
and glowing dusk of change.

I am a curving vase.
I am emptying at the same time
I am filling,
water holding dying flowers
at the same time I am filling,
dirt holding living flowers

I am dying and living

I am paying attention

I am filling up

I am breaking open

I am remembering and reliving and receiving and
I am
So
Deep
In it
I am
Outside of it,
the vase
I am inside the flowers
I am the water
and the dirt
and the emptiness
I am EVERYTHING

What does joy mean to you?
What does it feel like – if you could reach out and touch it, or lift it into your arms and carry it – what does it feel like?
Where do the sensations of joy show up in your body?
What do those sensations feel like in your muscles? in your bones?

What makes you joyful; what fills you with joy?
What kinds of joy do you create, in your mind and with your hands?
How much joy can you hold before it spills out of your eyes and breaks you into pieces even as it puts you back together?

Joy and gratitude are different,
but my, my, my are they the same.
When you go so deep into the present,
you touch the everlasting instant.