Śānti Yoga BLOG, 5/18/2010, from Chris Warner
“You find, of course, that you end up getting a lot more if you start with the attitude of giving.” Thanissaro Bikkhu (Geoffrey DeGraff)
In the publication, Meditations, Thanissaro Bikkhu discusses, in the selection ‘Generosity First,’ how meditation (and, I might add, Yoga) is taught backwards in the West. That is, students in the West come to learn mechanics in classes, on retreats, at talks, at yoga studios or dharma centers without any understanding of or grounding in the foundational precepts of practice, as classically taught in the East. In Buddhist meditation traditions (which include, among others, Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction [MBSR] and Insight Meditation), as in Yoga (most styles, that is), practice develops from the moral and ethical ground of non-harming, non-stealing, non-lying, moderation, and non-covetousness. Practice progresses, and happiness is cultivated, through the six perfections: giving, moral discipline, patience, effort, mental stabilization, and wisdom.
Undertaken either formally, as vows, or informally, as wise guidelines for living a life that is healthy, happy and free from suffering, the moral agreements and, following closely, practice of the six perfections, provide students with something to fall back on during those times when practice itself is challenging or painful or all-too-easy to put off. Without an understanding of why we practice, the multitude of challenges that we encounter when actually on the cushion or the mat often prove too much, and thus, we do not practice. We shrug, and say, ‘I don’t like this, it’s not for me,’ or ‘I’m just no good at this,’ or, ‘well, I’ve tried this once or twice and it just doesn’t work for me,’ or, ‘maybe tomorrow.’ Tomorrow comes, and still, we find a reason not to come to the mat or to the cushion.
Many years ago, when I began to ‘do yoga’ and to ‘meditate,’ it was only because my husband, the athlete, the marathon-runner, the club-champion-golfer, was frantic to find a way to get me to ‘exercise’ with him. I, being a life-long ‘bookworm’ with a strong aversion to sweat and absolutely no desire to meditate, did everything in my power to gently discourage him. However, he soon found a yoga teacher to come to our home for private instruction, and with the exception of a few early times ‘hiding-in-my-office-or-bedroom-playing-sick’ to get out of practice, thus began my yogic journey and spiritual path. For many years, I saw my teacher weekly, often 2 or 3 times each week; I went on retreats; I attended special ‘yoga events;’ I bought more than a few ‘yoga outfits.’ And though this continued for some time, and I noticed some deep changes in my body, in my thinking, and in my life as a whole, I did not really commit, I did not think much about the moral foundations or precepts, nor did I develop a daily personal practice of my own. When left to my own devices, I might set up my mat and fluff up my meditation cushion, but was easily distracted—often gratefully!—by the ringing of the telephone, or some other terribly important and pressing matter. Therefore, my ‘personal practice’ often consisted of little more than 10 or 20 minutes, sometimes every moment of it spent daydreaming, or lolling about, ‘hugging knees to chest.’
And then in 2006, everything changed. I’ve shared this story many times, so will only say here that, for me, it took a dramatic personal trauma and my husband’s life-threatening illness to wake me up. As I nursed my husband back to health through Mindfulness Meditation and Yin Yoga, I was granted the grace of, as Thich Nhat Hanh calls it, the ‘miracle of mindfulness’—the miracle being the dawning realization that happiness and peace are available in this moment, in each and every moment—not in some mythical future time, when all conditions are ‘perfect.’ Not when we have everything we think we need to make us happy—not when we are healthier, or get that new Lexus, or that grand new home with a swimming pool. Not when we’re thinner or stronger or less anxious or less stressed or less depressed or more flexible or calmer or have more money or more time. Now. In this moment—the only moment that truly is.
As I taught my husband meditation and yoga during his time of recovery, and bore witness to his return to health and to happiness, and his commitment to regain strength so as to continue to be of service to those in need, my own commitment deepened, my willingness grew, diligence took hold, and my practice flourished. As my husband’s health—physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health—grew stronger, thus developed my intention to serve, to offer the gifts of practice to all who desired them, in whatever way I was able, in gratitude for all that I’d been given. And what I found was how much I received. No more ‘poor me,’ no more ‘life is so unfair,’ no more blaming or bitterness or fear. Simply gratitude. Grateful each morning, to awaken, to notice the breath in and the breath out, to hear the birdsong at dawn, to feel the warmth of the sun on my face or the velvet touch on my skin of air dampened by morning rain, to feel the steady heartbeat of my husband, alive, next to me, his soft sleepsounds like an orchestral symphony, playing only for me. And then all of the teachings that I’d been hearing in so many classes and on so many retreats for so many years began to make sense. I began to actually listen to what I heard when taught, and to open to what might be possible, rather than holding fast to my own ways of doing things and to my own habitual ways of thinking. I opened. I practiced. I began to give more consciously, more often, and more freely. And, of course, I began to receive.
“A lot of things in life are uncertain, but a couple of things are certain. Aging comes. Illness comes. Death is going to come, for sure. So when you know something is going to come for sure, you have to prepare for it. And when you realize that this is the most important issue in life, you have to look at the way you live your life. Meditation—the practice of the Buddha’s teachings—is not a question of sitting with your eyes closed every now and then. It’s about how your order your priorities.” Thanissaro Bikkhu (Geoffrey DeGraff)
May we begin our practice of yoga and meditation anew, today, each day, grounded in what is most important, in ‘setting our priorities straight’—that is, with both the intellectual understanding as well as the daily commitment through our speech and our deeds to the foundations of practice: non-harming, truthfulness, non-stealing, moderation, and non-covetousness. May we continue to practice, cultivating happiness for ourselves and for those around us, on our mats and off, through giving, moral discipline, patience, effort, and wisdom. May we allow our practice to heal us, and thus heal our world.
Although it may sound trite, too simple, or too good to be true, it is through giving, through generosity, through service to others, that we heal our own wounds. Through giving, we unite instead of isolate; we let go instead of grasping and clinging; we provide an antidote to our own miserliness, to our own personal and cultural tendencies to ‘hoard,’ to take, to get, so that we might have ‘enough’ or ‘more’ for ourselves. Through generosity, we connect instead of comparing and contrasting—practicing generosity allows us to viscerally experience our own abundance, that we already have all that we need to be happy, and allows our hard shells of suffering to soften, allows our anxiety to dissipate, alleviates our depression, relieves our stress. Through service, without thought of personal reward or benefit, we are reminded that all of the conditions that we need to be happy are already here, always available, in this moment, and that by sharing them, our lives become richer, our families happier, our communities and our world better, happier, more peaceful places in which to live. All this we know, all this we experience for ourselves, all this we are freely given—if only we stop for a moment, pause, create a gap in our own dramatic storylines long enough to notice, and then, to actually do something. As Jack Kornfield so aptly puts it: In the end these things matter most: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you learn to let go?
Namaste, Chris
