Find Your Sacred Place

I've been toying a lot lately with the idea of committing to a consistent meditation practice. I know I need one: a place of stillness and peace where I practice awareness and breath and just sitting and *being* for a few minutes every day. I do have a regular yoga practice, but while complementary and integrated, they are not one in the same.

I've been returning to Joseph Campbell again lately, as he is the one voice who, for me, can cut through all the clutter and noise and remind me how to return to what is highest, truest and timeless. I found this exchange in "The Power of Myth" the other day, and it has given me new motivation to find my sacred spot in the day where I can meditate and fill my cup.

Bill Moyers: You write in The Mythic Image about the center of transformation, the idea of a sacred place where the temporal walls may dissolve to reveal a wonder. What does it mean to have a sacred place? 

Joseph Campbell: This is an absolute necessity for anybody today. You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know who your friends are, you don't know what you owe anybody, you don't know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something will eventually happen. 

Doesn't that sound exciting?

Here's to each of us finding our sacred place, and experiencing "what you are and what you might be."

Peace,
Tiffany

p.s. What ideas do you have for where or when your sacred place might be? How will you commit to being there each day? Since I'm serious about finding this, I'll post an update on how I've made this happen in my life.

Someone Would Find Your Suffering Pleasant

In my yoga class last week, we got a handout on "Mahamudra & the Practice of Patience."

Here are the six points of the practice as listed:

• This too will pass.
• I cannot control this in the present moment.
• I have put this and myself here.
• There is somebody who would find this pleasant.
• I can use this problem as a path.
• We must be as gardeners.

All are worthy of contemplation, but the one that spoke to me particularly was the fourth, about finding something uncomfortable or upsetting as pleasant.

What a wonderful way to reframe pain or suffering, whether it be emotional, mental or physical!

I thought of the most physically painful experience I've ever had, which was childbirth.

No surprise there, except for I purposefully went into it refusing any drugs of any kind. Not because I enjoy pain or am some kind of martyr, but primarily because I wanted to be fully aware, fully functioning and, of course, because I didn't want my baby to be influenced by anything unnecessary. Millions have given birth without medication, and I knew it was possible.

It's a personal choice, of course, but in knowing this—knowing I didn't want pain relief—I had to do some serious work to prepare mentally for something all-consuming, painful and completely involuntary. There is no way to run away from childbirth. In classes and through reading and self-study, I worked with my breath and with pain-coping techniques. But above all, I had my mindset.

After that experience, I had no doubts about the whole "mind over matter" thing. Indeed, though each contraction was intense, overwhelming and painful, I never once countenanced the notion of getting drugs, because my mind was made up. (And a good thing I was prepared, too: my labor was so fast I would not have been able to have an epidural if I'd wanted one. Imagine if I had wanted one, and how great my pain would have seemed to me when compounded by dashed expectations!)

Still, it was painful. But thinking "Somebody would find this pleasant" casts the pain in a whole new light.

Who might find it pleasant? Someone who wants nothing more than to be a mother, but who is struggling with infertility or who has miscarried. Someone who has been paralyzed from the neck down. Someone whose body has been injured or is deformed such that a desired pregnancy is impossible.

Even in the moment, I knew the pain was for something good. But, what about pain nearly as bad, but that has no seeming benefit? A few months ago, I had kidney stones. (Misdiagnosed, so at the time I didn't know why I was writhing in pain.) It was excruciating--just horrible. I was so scared, because the doctors didn't know what was wrong with me. At the time, I had nothing positive going on in my head. But imagine if I could have at least tried to mitigate the clenching in my body and breath. Maybe I could have seen the pain as something positive: A body trying to let me know something was wrong--and therefore the chance to heal. If we didn't experience pain, how would we know to address whatever was causing such an insult?

At the furthest point, you can always look at suffering this way: Because of this suffering, I know I am alive. This requires that we look at life as a gift, no matter how tough. (I imagine that can be very difficult in very extreme situations, but that's a topic for another post. For now, it's worth thinking on as a thought experiment. How might even the worst situation be something we can be grateful for?)

Or from an emotional perspective: Remember the couple I discussed a few posts back? The pain of an impending divorce must have been overwhelming, depressing. But who might have seen it as pleasant? Perhaps a woman in Afghanistan, whose rights are so curtailed that divorce (no matter how terrible the husband) is not an option?

I think you can see the direction of these thought experiments.

So, I invite you: Look at your pain, your suffering, your problems, whatever they are, however transitory or permanent.

Now ask yourself, who would find your problem pleasant?

Please Do Touch

If you’re an American (or know one), you may already know how little affectionate touch we receive or give on an average day. Somewhere along the line, we decided, as a culture, that touch is meant to be romantic or sexual, and that was that. Touch became taboo.

I’m here to say fie on all that, and to encourage you to do the same.

When my son was nine weeks old, I took an infant massage class. With a small bottle of sweet almond oil and some basic instructions, I began figuring out how to give this tiny, wiggly human gentle, caring touch.

Now, a year later, not only does he ask for massage—carrying the little bottle of oil to me and signing “massage”—but I gladly give it. It is one of the most calming, sweet and peace-filled moments in my day.

I relax. He relaxes. He breathes more slowly, more deeply, and so do I. I feel boundless love and warmth for him, and he smiles the serene smile of a baby Buddha. It is divine and beautiful.

Of course, I feel good around my baby most of the time, but I know that this daily, affectionate touch is good for anyone, even (and maybe especially) those you are having difficulty with. (No, I’m not suggesting you offer your boss a massage, though if touch weren’t so proscribed in our society, we’d all probably get along better!)

What I am suggesting is that you begin with people you feel safest and closest with, and explain why. (So, don’t start hugging or massaging someone without letting them know your intent behind this new behavior.)

I think touch builds trust, strong bonds, and understanding, not to mention kindness and empathy and love. It is a form of nuanced communication that we hardly ever use, which is a damn shame.

This is a big button pusher for some people, because we’re so uncomfortable with it. But why should we be? I think exploring this is very worthwhile precisely because we’re so uncomfortable with it. My yoga class often does partner work, and it is always awkward at first. To help get around this, my teacher recommends touching someone with the idea that they can read your thoughts. So, if you’re thinking something lewd, or just being distracted or careless, that will come across. Good touch is open and honest and selfless and kind. It is given freely without expectation. By the end of partner work, usually everyone is much happier and relaxed and just grateful.

My son loves to give hugs. He just runs up to people, the dog (to her eternal annoyance), his stuffed animals, and hugs. It is innate. It is only through social conditioning that we squelch that need for human contact.

So, if you have a friend or partner you trust, start with more hugs. Play with the person’s hair. Massage tired hands and arms, or simply sit closely, head on the other’s shoulder.

Touch more. Be not afraid to utilize this great sensory gift. You will benefit. Your close relationships will benefit. You will be happier and more at peace when you meet this intrinsic human need.