We practice sitting to find the stillness within ourselves.
Because in there, inside our beautiful, ever changing, dynamic bodies resides our Spirit. The place where truth speaks to us. The place where the Knowing starts to happen. The place where we can free ourselves. The place where we can deepen our connection to our hearts.
It is hard to sit at a time when the world feels so unsteady. It is hard to sit at any time really. The stillness and the quiet can be unwelcomed friends. We may not want to hear what our Knowing says. We may not be able to quiet the thoughts (yet) that dance through our minds. Our worries. Our desires. Our longing. Our pain.
It may feel all too much.
The practice of sitting is not a new experience for me. I am comfortable with stillness. If anything, I long for it more than anything else in life. I yearn for silence. I love the quietness. It fills me. It soothes my soul. Utterly nourishes me.
Teaching it is another experience.
Every day, I must be aware of the Self, my self, because of what I am about to offer.
There are days where I am inspired as I accidentally stumble upon words I must share to my students.
There are days where I have been on the verge of tears overwhelmed by my own sense of grief.
There are days that I end class and am elated with the feel of the practice, the Bhav.
And others, where I would probably only give myself a passing grade.
The perfectionist in me — The one who wants every day to be perfect no longer seems to care because I am not in charge of it. I cannot be. The more I teach daily, the more I realize every day is different. Every damn day. In uncontrollable ways. And each experience of teaching becomes a microcosm of what is truly a real, accurate portrayal of life.
Even in the sameness of every passing day in this particular moment, no day has been the same. It has all been different, and knowing that has brought a sense of welcomed relief. It cannot be replicated. It’s essence may have fleeted. There will be another kind of joyous moment, but not the one that has passed. There will be another kind of deep sadness, but not like the one wept over.
It will be different. The landscape of our lives is ever shifting. Daily. Moment to moment. Breath to breath.
To be living in the present is to know that every day is different and to be willing to bear witness to it. We can ask ourselves to start to notice it, to pay attention to the minute shifts. To pay attention to how it feels in our bodies. Bring awareness to whatever is calling our attention. Be with it. No matter what it is.
Through it, we can learn to trust that thoughts and feelings that appear crushing will leave. New ideas will filter through and be gone. Laughter will follow a passing thought of negativity. Hope will float.
It is ever evolving. Never static. Ebbing and flowing. Contracting and expanding. A coming together and a falling apart.
It is the universal experience of life.
And it has awakened in me as a teacher to witness it in my own daily life and acknowledge what I will be able to offer others.
Humanness, not perfection.
This experience of teaching 40 consecutive days of meditation has freed me, no, rather showed me, I have no choice but to accept whatever shows up.
Because we are growing with every breath we take in this rich experience of our lives.
May we all welcome it, sit with it and become friends with it.
