Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 37
The day starts with a diary mix-up. It looks like I’m meant to be speaking with a supervision client at 9am but when I try to Skype her she thinks we’re talking at ten. She’s got a Tai Chi class she’d like to go to and I’m happy to speak later, no problem.
I spend the free hour doing some mindful movement and editing the interview I did last week. I’d like a five min version for people who aren’t going to watch a 40 min video. A friend in the US has agreed to do the editing, but needs me to let him know what I’d like him to cut.
Then I’m back on the phone with my client. We quickly get into inner critic material. I take her through a process of grounding, opening to space, feeling into the places in the body where the inner critic shows up and giving those sensations permission to move and change in their own way.
A few strong images emerge. A bull in a wide, open field. A phoenix rising from the ash. A dragon guarding a treasure.
It’s deep, tender work. I’m pleased with her receptivity and willingness to go to tough places. We comment on how the real difficulty is simply in remembering to do it!
Then I’m almost immediately onto another call for a charity board I sit on. It’s easy work from the point of view of task. I can do it with little effort because of my experience and training.
But from the point of view of process and relationships, I’ve had to put in so much time over the last month on this particular project I can feel resentment settling in.
Resentment is such an interesting emotion. It has the quality of creeping up on me when I’m not paying attention, taking me by surprise. It’s accompanied by a voice that wants me to pay it no mind. Suppression, such a tried and true coping mechanism.
Good Buddhists shouldn’t get resentful. Bury it deep inside, keep calm and carry on.
But I know there is no freedom there.
An alternative, where there is also no freedom, is indulgence. Oh, the fantastic stories I can tell myself about how under-appreciated I am, how misunderstood, how unsupported and unloved. I’ve learned to not give in to these stories, simply allowing them to arise and pass away in awareness.
I’ve also learned over the years that it’s best not to put myself in situations where resentment may arise in the first place. And if it does, doing my best to try and communicate with others about it as soon as possible. It’s not great to sit on resentment, it has a tendency to fester.
Of course, once I do become aware of it the working ground is to try and engage with the energy of it, what lies beneath the stories.
It’s a tightening in the throat. The feeling that my needs have not been adequately heard or taken in by others. This part of me wonders if I could have done a better job communicating my needs.
It’s a stone in my heart. The part of me that needs appreciation, doesn’t feel supported and needs to feel loved is hurting and requires tender attention.
It’s a heaviness in my belly. Yes, there are definitely things I could have done differently. I reflect on these, trying to walk that delicate middle road between self-blame and self-reflection. I did not intend this, and yet it’s had this effect. What could I have done differently? What do I need to request from others?
There’s also blame. A deep rush of heat rising from the pelvic floor. The middle road here is to recognise where I’d like others to take more responsibility from a place of metta and a deep heart wish that we all try and do better. Asking for accountability without blaming anyone.
This is the trickiest area.
As I keep attending to the sensations something in me begins to soften. I connect with ground and space and slowly gain perspective. The thoughts and emotions quieten.
By mid-afternoon I’m so tired I need to take a nap. As I begin to drift off again it occurs to me it’s probably time for my period to start. No wonder. Has it really been a whole month since my last one?
My partner wakes me and we go for our daily constitutional. You guessed it! Another lap around Hackney Downs. Then it’s back home for a quick dinner before leading an evening of teaching tonglen.
It’s a delightful evening. I feel alive with the practice, in touch with that wide, open, loving space of awareness. I’m trying out new material, linking tonglen to the greater context of our meditation practice, calm abiding and insight.
There is a palpable feeling of connection to the people in the class. They ask great questions, share beautiful and poignant experiences of the practice. I could do this all day.
I’m in touch with the magical quality any moment when awareness meets suffering, mine and others. There it is, right now, in my direct experience. Breathing into the contraction of that moment of clarity brings instant relief. It’s that simple.
When we broaden out to include the whole wide world breathing together, together in our suffering, I feel that I can take in just a little bit more than before. Of course, it’s not me taking in anything, it’s the truth of suffering being invited into the warm light of awareness, dissolving and transforming into freedom. It has absolutely nothing to do with me.
And yet here I sit, breathing in, breathing out.