G is for Go

A friend of mine likes to remind himself about pacing: Slow, Flow, and Go. It's a good teaching for me to come back to exactly where I am right now, before I go rushing off ungrounded.

Slowing down to acknowledge how things are with you now is a kind of gentleness towards yourself. Yesterday in a movement exploration class I found myself trying to do things right, pushing, going too fast. Working way too hard to try to get into ease and flow. But pressure brings constriction, the opposite of flow.

I wasn't giving myself time to rest in the physical support that was there. The floor meeting my hand, the chair holding up my hip, the breath and sounds that help extend and suspend the limbs. I couldn't feel any of that, just frustration. I wasn't letting myself rest in what did feel good and nourishing. I was missing the moment.

So that's the pushing the river. On the other hand is inertia, forgetting there's always one step we can take. We can get self-indulgent, fall into our helplessness and hopelessness. Sometimes the best action we can take is grounding in the body and be present with what's here, even if it's terrible pain and discomfort. Can we just stand it, since it too is part of us? Making effort for the good is honoring where you are right now and supporting where you want to be.

We've all had enough practice bulldozing our way through what we call resistance, with mixed results. What if we could just take a moment to be really present and notice what is here and what is needed next? So where do you Slow, Flow, and Go? And where are you stuck?

E is for Emptiness, F is for Fullness

Facing the blank canvas, the big nothing can be terrifying. In a culture that prizes mastery over the Mystery, experiencing emptiness can make us truly uncomfortable. Other cultures make room for emptiness. Think about zen gardens, where the 'negative' space hums in relation to the rocks and trees. Consider the Navajo people who view their land, not as mesas lost in vast areas of nothing, but large potent areas delineated by land formations. The interval or what's in between is full of possibility.

In our lives when it seems like nothing is happening, the Mystery is moving. It might not be apparent, like a stream that goes underground for a span, then emerges where we're not looking. How do we hang out with the Emptiness?

Can we be thankful for the letting go, the making room for what comes next?

Fullness is a fearful tendency in our culture. We fill our homes with stuff, we fill our bodies with stuff, we fill our days with activity. When there's no discernment about what is enough, we over-consume and take on too much. People who want a relationship are sometimes so busy avoiding being lonely that they forget to make room for another person to enter.

There is another sense of fullness, the image of a cup spilling over. To be filled with so much joy that it has to be shared, or so much sorrow that it naturally moves out with tears. Our body-minds know how to self-regulate if we pay attention.

Where are you on the spectrum of emptiness to fullness?

D is for Dedicating Merit

Somewhere along the way I learned to Dedicate the Merit. Dedicating Merit is a practice of generosity, connection, and blessing. Buddhist in origin, it's about making effort for the good, and offering the benefits of that effort to others.

I used to be part of a sound healing collective, where we'd take turns doing improvised ceremonial healings for each other, using shamanic voice and all kinds of instruments. Wonderful compositions were created uniquely for each person. We each received the benefit of this vibrational restoration. And at the closing circle we always named those to whom we wanted to send the benefit of these healings. Some people would direct this extra goodness to loved ones or the earth or people they were struggling with.

Dedicating merit can be an everyday act. All the effort of my climbing hills and stairways in my neighborhood this morning generated the merit of a healthier body, more energy, clearer mind. I receive that for myself AND dedicate the merit to those who are not able to take such walks, like my friend recovering from ankle surgery. I dedicate the merit and give it out to her and those unable to enjoy the yellow monarch butterfly, the beautiful unknown plants, the friendly dogs and their people, the heatwave. And the way the ground rises to meet me tired feet.

What merit would you like to dedicate today? And to whom?

C is for Commitment

I wear two simple silver rings. On my left hand is a ring with a medicine wheel on it, to remind me to return to the sacred center even while traveling through the cycles of life. It reminds me of my wedding ceremony with all the celebrants in a sacred circle. In each cardinal direction sat representatives of the distinct life phases on the medicine wheel. I remember the red, round altar of candles on the floor, with our tobacco prayer ties spiraling out from the center, lit by our wedding participants' candles.

On my right hand is a spoon ring, with one end a spiral for water. Traveling along the ring, there's a sunburst for fire, smooth space for air, and finally markings that feel like seeds, plants, and earth. I remember nature and the vital forces within and outside of me.

Both rings remind me of commitment. It is a challenge to balance commitment to my sacred marriage and commitment to my sacred work. And really they are the same, to stay connected to what is truly important - the sacred and how it manifests in all I set sacred intention to. When I forget to wear them, my hands feel naked and vulnerable.

What reminds you of your commitments?