This morning I went on a walk in the woods with a friend and her dog. I had been sitting in two zoom meetings beforehand so I was ready for some fresh air, movement, and natural light. It felt so good to be outside with trees!
My friend is also a student and teacher of Eastern philosophy and practices. We hadn’t seen each other in awhile so we were catching up on what’s been on our minds and in our hearts. I was excited to hear her talk about her own practices becoming more spiritual and how she was beginning to lean into sharing that with her students and how she was yearning to do more of that.
I’m finding myself on a similar journey so having a fellow traveler is always good company. The more I practice yoga and use the tools of breathwork, meditation, and chanting, the more connection I feel to something bigger than myself and the freer and more content I feel. I feel more my true self and am seeing more clearly and having more determination to make the choices that are best for me rather than yielding to my habits and my fears. It feels like an answer I’ve been craving.
At a case review meeting at the pain clinic where I work a few days a week, one of the doctors was offering an opening meditation and he talked about the qualities of the third eye, or Ajna cakra. It is the seat of our innate wisdom, sometimes called intuition. He called it the cakra of clairvoyance-which means “to see clearly”. We can often sense our wisdom as a gut feeling or instinct. It’s underneath or even beyond all the stories we have about ourselves and how we relate to the world. Our wisdom is also a bridge to our spiritual selves.
That makes sense to me. When we lean into our own wisdom and intuition and use that to clarify what’s true about what we believe and think, then the narratives that we have that keep us separate and hold us back start to dissolve. We begin to recognize at a deep level how connected we are to everything. Ultimately that leads to realizing that everything is not separate but one—one pure consciousness, or God if you prefer.
That’s not meant as a religious idea but a spiritual one and one that offers a sense of meaning to our lives. Where do we come from? Why am I here? Where are we going?
I’m finding these ideas and the energy that I create with these practices are a needed balm for our times. It softens and slows me and my interactions with others and reactions to the stresses of life are more human and compassionate.
I think this is actually one of the best things about aging. When our bodies start to slow down and our mortal form also starts to break down, we have space—literally and figuratively—to expand our awareness of life beyond the world of name and form. Living becomes less about doing what we want to do and more about being who we want to be. We can slow down and tune in to connect with spirit and release ourselves from believing our own bullshit as my teacher is fond of saying.
Sound good?
It’s not a formula. It’s a journey and the practices and timeline are different for each individual. It may be a bit too beyond the poses for you now but just know it’s there for you whenever you are ready and it’s never too late. I’d be honored to support you.
Here is a beautiful poem that I’ve loved for years and has been resonating with me again recently. It speaks to what I’m hoping to convey some of here for you. I hope you enjoy it.
Monet Refuses the Operation by Lisel Mueller
Doctor, you say there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don’t see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don’t know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and change our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.
Sending love,
Jen
