Now of all voyagers I remember, who among them
Did not board ship with grief among their maps?
Till it seemed men never go somewhere, they only leave
Wherever they are, when the dying begins.

For myself, I find my wanting life
Implores no novelty and no disguise of distance:
Where, in what country, might I put down these thoughts,
Who still am citizen of this fallen city?

On a cot by an open window, I lie and remember
While the birds in the trees sing of the circle of time.
Let the dying go on, and let me, if I can
Inherit from disaster before I move.

O, I go to see the great ships ride from harbor,
And my wounds leap with impatience; yet I turn back
To sort the weeping ruins of my house:
Here or nowhere I will make peace with the fact.

by Mary Oliver

Against the backdrop of spring, we accompany American poet Mary Oliver on her cot by the open window. Lying there, listening to birdsong, she – and we through her – connect with the infinite; to the countless moments since time immemorial, when one human or another has meditated in the sweet company of the birds.
Lying there Mary entertains the mind’s antics, contemplating the human compulsion to try to escape from grief, disaster and dying. With remarkable surety she is not swayed. She has enough insight to know that what Tara Brach calls ‘True Refuge’ can only be found by staying present and making ‘peace with the fact’; allowing the truths of life to be just that, true.

So much of the time, at the first twinge of discomfort we head straight to the harbour and jump on a boat heading for the horizon. We each have a repertoire of ways to not remain here when the going gets tough. When we ricochet into ‘False Refuges’ – addictions, technology or any habit that promises something nice initially but drains or disconnects us in the long run, we abandon the moment, ourselves, others we love or would like to respect, and reality as it is.

Mary Oliver recognises this deeply. She is resolved to stay to ‘sort the weeping ruins of her house’ even though her ‘wounds are leaping with impatience’. ‘Wherever you go, there you are’ says the grandfather of mindfulness, Jon Kabat-Zinn or in Mary’s words ‘Where, in what country, might I put down these thoughts?’ Having the insight, tenacity and compassion to do this is no small feat, but the rewards are great.

What can we inherit from disaster? I find I’m often able to ask this question in the midst of the disaster! Standing there even in the thick of it, I already know and trust that there’s a gift somewhere hidden in this apparent wreckage. This doesn’t sugarcoat anything, and it doesn’t make life nicer. But it does feel real, and in my experience feeling real, is often better than feeling nice. Feeling nice can have a fragility to it, you somehow know it’s shaky ground, somewhere you are twisting yourself out of shape in order to resist the truth. Feeling real is connection. It is alignment with truth, and it brings resilience. You are with life rather than against it.

And this, of course, is the promise of mindfulness training and practice.

Ps. Do you feel inspired to develop the skill of ‘being real’ in order to find true resilience? Come along to our free live guided twice daily meditations on Zoom to start your journey, or sign up for an in-depth progressive training in mindfulness here.

blows terribly here,

the moonlight also leaks

between the roof planks

of this ruined house.

by Izumi Shikibu translated by Jane Hirshfield

This poem by Izumi Shikibu, who was one of the greatest female poets of the Heian period in Japan, captures what is, I think, one of the biggest lessons life can teach us.

But sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of our nose.

At each crisis point in our lives we so easily remain convinced that it’s a total disaster. We love to jump to conclusions and have endless fixed opinions express themselves with finality. Why is ‘Full Catastrophe Living’, as the grandfather of mindfulness Jon Kabat-Zinn called it, so hard to actually ‘get’? In Buddhist teachings we are encouraged to not believe in the duality of good and bad experiences. It’s a tough lesson when difficult emotions are coursing through us and our nervous system is going haywire.

When we have seen umpteen times that things are not what they seem, does this eventually change us, though?  A family crisis such as one that happened a couple of weeks ago in my life (different needs clashing and big feelings being triggered and acted upon) feels like an utter mess on the face of it, like identities and worlds are crashing into ruins.

Now, sometime later, there’s fresh air in the space between us all and all is well! But even at the time, the possibility of ‘moonlight’ was mentioned. So yes, I think we do get it, but very slowly, our preferences worn down by mindfulness practice and maybe also by age.

When a strong reaction or feeling sweeps through our inner environment like wind or fire, how might it be to not hold on so tight to the way you think it should be? Not trying to hold up the roof and all the walls in a great struggle against reality. Letting the ruination, that might be as much a clearing and opening to fresh air and moonlight, happen…because it is happening.

When I listen to my body’s response to this idea, I feel lightness, softening and the possibility of grace. I’m reminded of John Kabat-Zinn’s well-known phrase ‘you can’t change the waves but you can learn to surf’.

Ps. If the possibility of a more graceful surfing of the waves calls to you, try joining our Level 1 Being Present course here.

Photo by Jason Mavrommatis on Unsplash

Rumi, as interpreted by Coleman Barks

When I read the above poem (an excerpt from the full poem, one of the ecstatic poems collected in The Soul of Rumi) I recognise truth. It brings a soft heartbreak, a kind of love-based melancholy. It also brings fear of the potential devastation of crumbling. And then there’s also a longing to surrender that feels inviting.

If I follow the possibility of surrender there’s a delicious relief – a ‘Thank goodness!’ and a big sigh. There’s so much effort involved in assuming all this personal control. For me the jagged rock is a perfect description of the way my body feels in this maintenance of personal control. It’s as if I’m saying ‘I will personally hold back the continual Autumn’ on a moment-by-moment basis!

My struggle against the reality of life’s tragedies small and large could be given up. This often feels impossible, and yes, it’s sometimes possible. But crucially, I need to trust that it’s worth it.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer says of surrender:

Oh surrender!
It’s the surest medicine that exists.
There are infinite side effects.
Wonder. Freedom. Rawness.

I imagine a little wildflower of wonder, and one of freedom and one of rawness pushing up amongst the rubble of my broken-down control tower. When we let the truth be so, little blessings do push up from the devastation, each a poignant affirmation. Mindfulness practice invites us to trust and to gradually face the reality of how little control we actually have. It’s a long journey for most of us, but the little affirmations can bring the encouragement we need.

Have you noticed the little affirmations in your own practice? Can they become your motivation to practice surrendering to what is?

PS. Join our Level 1 Being Present training to begin your journey into life’s truths. Find out more here.

Photo by Tyler Mower on Unsplash

by Safire Rose

A mindfulness classic, this poem by the spiritual life coach, facilitator and poet Safire Rose. How does it land with you?

I think it raises a very interesting question: what enabled her to let go? Some issues – or ‘holding ons’ – may be in place for years, decades even, and it can be hard to believe they will ever shift, despite practising with it, journaling on it, therapy about it etc. I found that there was a certain paradoxical comfort in dropping into a place of acceptance that ‘this might just be with me for the rest of this life’. And yet (or maybe because of that?) I’ve found that an unexpected letting go is possible (and ‘in the space of letting go, she let it all be’), and that a profound shift can happen in these same ancient issues that leave them as ‘not an issue anymore’. Wow, who’d have thought!

But what enables it? How come now, after all these years? Maybe it’s a bit like an apple, ripening on a tree branch. Until it drops it may feel like it never will, and there may be a real wisdom in accepting its hanging there. This is how it is, in this moment. But just because that’s how it is, doesn’t mean it will be like that forever. And you may find that for no discernible reason, one day, wholly and completely, letting go happens. And meanwhile, practising kindness and acceptance definitely won’t go amiss!

PS and what better place to practice kindness and acceptance than within a supportive group of fellow mindfulness and compassion practitioners? A recent feedback form from a participant in a weekend course in Samye Ling said ‘I gained so much more from being in a group setting than I thought was possible. Very helpful to have the support of others…’ There may be one just right for you in our list of upcoming courses or retreats!

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

All night long, while I let go
you pumped blood through veins
to fingertips and toes
grew cells and eyelashes and nails
inhaled and exhaled
countless times

all this while the sun
tirelessly
birthed new
life

all this without a thought or a word
or a worry
without a drop of help
from me

I laugh when I remember
that just yesterday in a torrent
of heart-numbing
stories

I seriously thought
I
needed to do something

by Julia Fehrenbacher

Does this sound familiar, this belief that everything depends on me, that I need to make things happen, almost as if the world would stop turning if I didn’t keep running on the treadmill? I love the surprise and laughter in the poet Julia Fehrenbacher‘s poem-voice, catching herself on it. Of course there’s a time and a place for doing, for initiating this and putting a stop to that. But it seems to me that many of us, myself very much included, could do with a little more reverence for and surrender to that which is happening without my involvement. The miraculous workings of the body, of nature, of others with their own resourcefulness and wholeness… and in practice, the moment-by-moment unfolding of our experience.

Can I let go a little more? Can I actually rest in the midst of what is here, without grasping at some of it and pushing the rest away?
Resting with what’s present in practice, wise effort in daily life. How about that for a daily intention!

PS if you’d like to practice a life of more ease and joy, join us in this journey of discovery starting with an in-depth course in mindfulness…

Photo by Tyler Casey on Unsplash