March 21

To Harbor or Release

How can you follow the course of your life if you do not let it flow?

—Lao-tzu

The pollen collects until the rain washes away whatever has not been taken as seed. The moss forms on stumps and rocks until the feet of animals wear it off. The leaves that cover the path disintegrate in time to show the lost their way.

It is the same with us. Our dreams collect like pollen until the sweat and tears of our living them washes away whatever has not become possible. Our soft gnarly clumps of attachment grow out of our stone—joy and sorrow alike— until what is food is eaten and what is not is worn away. Like fallen leaves, our memories cover our path until they are remembered out of existence, setting us free.

Often the pain of resisting makes us rust like iron, and in order to re-enter the flow of life, we need to be scraped back to our original surface. Our feelings, if not released, bread the heart with their grit. Like windows filmed by weather, we wait on loving hands to be rubbed clear. It is inevitable.

Experience covers us over, and the expressive journey lets us come clean to the table of light. Again.

All things in existence participate in this involuntary cycle. For human beings, the process of living stains us repeatedly with the grit of being here, with heartache and disappointment and the pointedness of being human, which can sicken us if harbored or make us whole if released. Again and again, we, more than any other life form, have this majestic and burdensome power to harbor or release the impact of our experience.

Humbly, we are asked to keep the flow real between what is taken in and what is let out. We have only to breathe to remember our place as a living inlet. Experience in, feelings out. Surprise and challenge in, heartache and joy out. In a constant tide, life rushes in, and in constant release, we must let it all run back off. For this is how the earth was made magnificent by the sea and how humankind is carved upright, again and again, by the ocean of spirit that sets us free.

• As you cross the doorway of your home into the world today, breathe deeply and ask yourself, What is it about being human that you are most grateful for?
• Be with this question as you move through your day.
• Tonight as you re-enter your nest, breathe deeply again and ask yourself, What is it about being human that continues to surprise you?
• Be with this question as you rest and sleep through the night.

The above excerpt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

March 15

The Power of Symbols

If you truly hold a stone, you can feel the mountain it came from.

A caveman picking berries was cornered by a wild and now extinct creature, and when he was spared by the sudden snap of a tree limb that scared the beast off, he took a piece of the fallen bough as a good luck charm. And so the story of symbols began.

People have always saved scraps of their experience to help remind them of the forces of life that can’t always be seen. Filled with the timeless rhythm of the ocean, we pocket a shell and carry it thousands of miles to know that presence of ocean when we are hours from the sea. It is why we treasure certain songs, why we save ticket stubs and dried out flowers.

Symbols are living mirrors of the deepest understandings that have no words. I know of two friends who made it through Vietnam. They were rehabilitated in Italy, and before coming home, they split a copper lire, each holding dear the other’s half, as if it were the break of heart forever left in that godforsaken jungle.

We ask the smallest items of everyday life to carry unbearable meaning for us, and the dearest ones work like Aladdin’s lamp. All we have to do is rub them slowly, and feelings and times long gone come and live again, or basic truths hard to keep in view return.

As a boy, I remember visiting my grandfather’s house. He had a milk-white bowl filled with M&M’s. It was a simple magical treasure to me. No matter how often I reached on tiptoe, it never emptied. It has been thirty years since he died, and now when depressed, I hold that milk-white bowl in my lap and eat a few M&M’s.

And I feel better. This isn’t illusion or escapism, but rather using the milk-white bowl filled with M&M’s as a living symbol that can call into my moment of sadness a deeper sense of plenitude and generosity that is always there, but not always accessible.

This is the proper use of symbols, not to coldly represent ideas, but to call into being all that lives in us and about us.

They help us bear witness to the painful mystery of living, and whether a crucifix, a small weeping Buddha, or a broken shell from a long-forgotten sea, they help us bear the days.

• Recall a special moment in growing up.
• Meditate on the feeling of that moment until the scene comes into view.
• Slowly feel your way about this special moment and focus on a detail—a certain chair or smell of lilac or a rainy piece of glass.
• With reverence, lift up this detail as a living symbol of all this special moment means to you.
• The next time you feel less than, bring yourself in contact with this very personal symbol.
• Let it open you to gifts you don’t always remember.

The above excerpt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

February 29

Who’s to Say

Who’s to say the effort to be real isn’t the beginning of wings?

Who’s to say that the budding of wings from the ribs of small birds doesn’t begin with the impulse within them to live? Who’s to say that the butterfly breaking through its cocoon isn’t the result of its being tired of living in a tight weave of its own making?

Who’s to say that the migration of flamingoes from South America to Africa doesn’t begin with a yearning to eat the yellow ribbon that keeps lining the horizon?

And who’s to say the color of passion doesn’t line our faces the instant we grow tired of living in a tight cocoon of our own making? Who’s to say the journey to love doesn’t begin the instant we give voice to that loneliness that no one wants to hear? Who’s to say the journey to peace doesn’t sprout like a small wing the instant we let our feelings find their place in the world?

In truth, every effort that is allowed its full beat within will ripple as a birth of some kind in the world.

• Center yourself and breathe deeply.
• At the high point of inhalation, imagine the still center as the inner sun of spirit.
• Let it flood you with its light each time you exhale.
• Enter your day, inviting one deep feeling to sprout from you.

The above excerpt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

February 22

Opposing Voices

Let the opposing voices in your head speak.

They are only finding their part in a larger, yet-to-be-heard song.

Being alive is a paradox, an ongoing mix of things that on the surface don’t always seem to make sense. But voicing what doesn’t seem to make sense helps. It’s like an orchestra tuning up to play together. We have no chance of discovering the fullness of our inner music, if we don’t let the players in our hearts and minds and spirits tune.

Often, confusion is the tension of trying to make sense of things too soon, before enough of the inner players have learned their parts. Often, experience is the way that the heart and mind and spirit practice what they need to play.

Isn’t the trail of our relationships the time it takes for the heart to practice its part in the movement we call Love? Isn’t the trail of our honest questions the time it takes for the mind to practice its part in the movement we call Wisdom? Isn’t the trail of our changing beliefs the time it takes for the spirit to practice its part in the movement we call God?

And isn’t our trail of Oneness, those brief moments when everything comes together, isn’t this the time it takes for Love and Wisdom and God to bring the common place in us alive?

• This is a guided thought meditation. Center yourself and bring into view an issue that carries indecision or confusion for you right now.
• Though it will feel initially chaotic, breathe slowly and let the opposing views of this issue bubble up uncensored.
• Take your time, breathe deeply, and let the opposing energies play themselves out.
• Rather than struggle to understand how these things go together, breathe steadily and, as if each energy is an instrument, feel the duet they are trying to play in you.
• Enter your day humming that tune.

The above excerpt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

February 15

Being a Spiritual Warrior

Until the heart becomes an inlet, it cannot be free.

It is true; there is such sadness in the world. But there is a difference between feeling the pain of things breaking, ending, or drifting apart, and the sharper pain that comes from measuring the inevitable events of life against some ideal of how we imagine things are supposed to be. In receiving hardships this way, life is always a falling off. Life is hard enough without viewing all our pain as evidence of some basic insufficiency we must endure.

There is a beautiful Tibetan myth that helps us to accept our sadness as a threshold to all that is life-changing and lasting. This myth affirms that all spiritual warriors have a broken heart—alas, must have a broken heart—because it is only through the break that the wonder and mysteries of life can enter us.

So what does it mean to be a spiritual warrior? It is far from being a soldier, but more the sincerity with which a soul faces itself in a daily way. It is this courage to be authentic that keeps us strong enough to withstand the heartbreak through which enlightenment can occur. And it is by honoring how life comes through us that we get the most out of living, not by keeping ourselves out of the way. The goal is to mix our hands in the earth, not to stay clean.

I remember, in getting to know a new friend, how we shared our stories in an increasingly personal way. As I kept taking my turn, I heard myself tell of loved ones who have died, of my struggle through cancer, of a marriage that, despite the deepest commitment, didn’t last, of years of being rejected as an artist, of losing a teaching job that was dear to me, of suffering a brutal estrangement from my parents—and just as I was feeling a strength come over me for facing life and being authentic, he wiped his mouth and said, “What a sad life you’ve had.”

It took me some time to withstand his judgment and his pity, but I looked at him across the night and kept breathing deeply through the break in my heart. In daily ways, we are judged, discounted, and even pitied for glories that only we can affirm. In the end, life is too magnificent and difficult for us to give away our elemental place in the journey.

• Stand quietly by the sink and let the water run.
• Close your eyes and meditate on how life—like the water you hear—runs through our broken hearts, cleansing our hurt.
• Breathe deeply and feel the mystery wash through the break in your heart.
• Open your eyes and enter your day.

The above is an excerpt from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

February 8

Greed

The greedy one gathered all the cherries, while the simple one tasted all the cherries in one.

We suffer, often unknowingly, from wanting to be in two places at once, from wanting to experience more than one person can. This is a form of greed, of wanting everything.

Feeling like we’re missing something or that we’re being left out, we want it all. But being human, we can’t have it all. The tension of all this can lead to an insatiable search, where our passion for life is stirred, but never satisfied. When caught in this mindset, no amount of travel is enough, no amount of love is enough, no amount of success is enough.

I am not saying that we shouldn’t explore our curiosity and venture into the unknown. I very much want to experience the world and love to encounter new people in my life.

What I’m referring to here is that seed of lack that makes us feel insufficient, and then, somehow, to compensate, we start to race through life with one eye on what we have and one eye on what we don’t.

Greed is not restricted to money. It can work its appetite on anything. When we believe we are behind or less than, we somehow start to want more than we need, as if what we don’t have will fill in our pain and make us feel whole, as if the thing we haven’t tasted will be the thing to bring us alive.

The truth is that one experience taken to heart will satisfy our hunger to be loved by everyone.

• Bring to mind something you want to experience.
• Meditate on what this experience might give you.
• Breathe openly and meditate on what part of this gift is already at work in you.

February 1

Live Slow Enough

Live slow enough

and there is only the beginning of time.

Follow anything in its act of being—a snowflake falling, ice melting, a loved one waking—and we are ushered into the ongoing moment of the beginning, the quiet instant from which each breath starts. What makes this moment so crucial is that it continually releases the freshness of living. The key to finding this moment and all its freshness, again and again, is in slowing down.

Often, when we are inconvenienced, we are being asked to slow down. When we are delayed in our travel or waiting for a check in a restaurant, we are being asked to open up and look around. When we find ourselves stalled in our very serious and ambitious plans, we are often being asked to re-find the beginning of time. Unfortunately, we are all so high-paced, running so fast to where we want to be, that many of us are forced to slow down through illness or breakage. In this, we are such funny creatures. If we could see ourselves from far enough away, we would seem like a colony of insects running into things repeatedly: thousands of little determined beings butting into obstacles, shaking our little heads and bodies, and running into things again.

Like the Earth that carries us, the ground of our being moves so slowly we take it for granted. But if you should feel stalled, numb, or exhausted from the trials of your life, simply slow your thoughts to the pace of cracks widening, slow your heart to the pace of the earth soaking up rain, and wait for the freshness of the beginning to greet you.

• Place a dry sponge and a glass of water before you. Set them aside for the moment.
• Center yourself by letting the energy of all that feels urgent rush through you. Exhale and try to let it go.
• Now drip a small amount of water on the sponge and, as you breathe slowly, watch how the sponge opens.
• Keep dripping water on the sponge as you breathe slowly, and feel your heart open.

The above excerpt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

January 25

Loving Yourself

I begin to realize that in inquiring about my

own origin and goal, I am inquiring about

something other than myself. . . . In this very

realization I begin to recognize the origin and

goal of the world.

—Martin Buber

In loving ourselves, we love the world. For just as fire, rock, and water are all made up of molecules, everything, including you and me, is connected by a small piece of the beginning.

Yet, how do we love ourselves? It is as difficult at times as seeing the back of your head. It can be as elusive as it is necessary. I have tried and tripped many times. And I can only say that loving yourself is like feeding a clear bird that no one else can see. You must be still and offer your palmful of secrets like delicate seed. As she eats your secrets, no longer secret, she glows and you lighten, and her voice, which only you can hear, is your voice bereft of plans. And the light through her body will bathe you till you wonder why the gems in your palm were ever fisted. Others will think you crazed to wait on something no one sees. But the clear bird only wants to feed and fly and sing. She only wants light in her belly. And once in a great while, if someone loves you enough, they might see her rise from the nest beneath your fear.

In this way, I’ve learned that loving yourself requires a courage unlike any other. It requires us to believe in and stay loyal to something no one else can see that keeps us in the world—our own self-worth.

All the great moments of conception—the birth of mountains, of trees, of fish, of prophets, and the truth of relationships that last—all begin where no one can see, and it is our job not to extinguish what is so beautifully begun. For once full of light, everything is safely on its way—not pain-free, but unencumbered— and the air beneath your wings is the same air that trills in my throat, and the empty benches in snow are as much a part of us as the empty figures who slouch on them in spring.

When we believe in what no one else can see, we find we are each other. And all moments of living, no matter how difficult, come back into some central point where self and world are one, where light pours in and out at once. And once there, I realize—make real before me—that this moment, whatever it might be, is a fine moment to live and a fine moment to die.

• As you sit quietly, let each breath take you deeper into your center, and without sorting or selecting through what you find, become aware of an old and original part of who you are. It could be your laugh or your stubbornness or your love of flowers or your love of rain.
• Hold that old and original part of you in your breathing as you enter your day.
• Be open to finding this deep part of you in others, for the same wind touches many leaves.

The above excerpt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

January 18

The Spider and the Sage

I would rather be fooled

than not believe.

In India, there is a story about a kind, quiet man who would pray in the Ganges River every morning. One day after praying, he saw a poisonous spider struggling in the water and cupped his hands to carry it ashore. As he placed the spider on the ground, it stung him. Unknowingly, his prayers for the world diluted the poison.

The next day the same thing happened. On the third day, the kind man was knee deep in the river, and, sure enough, there was the spider, legs frantic in the water. As the man went to lift the creature yet again, the spider said, “Why do you keep lifting me? Can’t you see I will sting you every time, because that is what I do.” And the kind man cupped his hands about the spider, replying, “Because that is what I do.”

There are many reasons to be kind, but perhaps none is as compelling as the spiritual fact that it is what we do. It is how the inner organ of being keeps pumping. Spiders sting. Wolves howl. Ants build small hills that no one sees. And human beings lift each other, no matter the consequence. Even when other beings sting.

Some say this makes us a sorry lot that never learns, but to me it holds the same beauty as berries breaking through ice and snow every spring. It is what quietly feeds the world. After all, the berries do not have any sense of purpose or charity. They are not altruistic or self-sacrificing. They simply grow to be delicious because that is what they do.

As for us, if things fall, we will reach for them. If things break, we will try to put them together. If loved ones cry, we will try to soothe them—because that is what we do. I have often reached out, and sometimes it feels like a mistake. Sometimes, like the quiet man lifting the spider, I have been stung. But it doesn’t matter, because that is what I do. That is what we do. It is the reaching out that is more important than the sting. In truth, I’d rather be fooled than not believe.

• Recall a time when you were kind for no reason. It could have been as simple as picking up what a stranger dropped. Or leaving an apple in the path of hungry birds.
• Meditate on what such acts have done for you. After being kind, have you felt lighter, more energized, younger, more open in your heart?
• Enter your day, not trying to consciously be kind, but rather with a kind outlook that allows you to naturally be who you are and do what you do.

The above excerpt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.

January 11

Ted Shawn

To know God

without being God-like

is like trying to swim

without entering water.

—Orest Bedrij

Underneath all we are taught, there is a voice that calls to us beyond what is reasonable, and in listening to that flicker of spirit, we often find deep healing. This is the voice of embodiment calling us to live our lives like sheet music played, and it often speaks to us briefly in moments of deep crisis. Sometimes it is so faint we mistake its whisper for wind through leaves. But taking it into the heart of our pain, it can often open the paralysis of our lives.

This brings to mind the story of a young divinity student who was stricken with polio, and from somewhere deep within him came an unlikely voice calling him to, of all things, dance. So, with great difficulty, he quit divinity school and began to dance, and slowly and miraculously, he not only regained the use of his legs, but went on to become one of the fathers of modern dance.

This is the story of Ted Shawn, and it is compelling for us to realize that studying God did not heal him. Embodying God did. The fact of Ted Shawn’s miracle shows us that Dance, in all its forms, is Theology lived. This leads us all to the inescapable act of living out what is kept in, of daring to breathe in muscle and bone what we know and feel and believe—again and again.

Whatever crisis we face, there is this voice of embodiment that speaks beneath our pain ever so quickly, and if we can hear it and believe it, it will show us a way to be reborn. The courage to hear and embody opens us to a startling secret, that the best chance to be whole is to love whatever gets in the way, until it ceases to be an obstacle.

• Before work or during the day, sit quietly outside for a few moments.
• Close your eyes and be still. Feel the air on your closed lids.
• Let your love wash through your heart up your chest.
• Let your love breeze up your throat and behind your eyes.
• When you open your eyes, stretch and focus on the first thing you see.
• If it is a bench, say I believe in bench. If a tree, say I believe in tree. If a torn flower, say I believe in torn flower.
• Rise with a simple belief in what you feel and see, and touch what is before you, giving your love a way out.

The above exceprt is from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.