Category Archives: The Love of Meditation

Refinement of Your Individuality

At the beginning of chapter 2 of the Yoga Sūtra, Patañjali outlines kriyā-yoga, a yoga of action (YS 2.1). In the following sutra he describes how this yoga works to refine one’s being in two ways. First, it helps attenuate the kleśas/impediments; second, it serves to cultivate samādhi, the deep state of meditative absorption. YS 2.2 says that yoga helps address the root obstructions to the heart, the kleśas, and yoga/meditation also creates samādhi. Remember that samādhi is a series of progressively deeper and immersive states of awareness resulting from the practice of meditation.

YS 2.2 samādhi-bhāvana-arthaḥ kleśa-tanū-karaṇa-arthaś ca
samādhi: state of meditative immersion
bhāvana: cultivating, causing, bringing about
artha: meaning, purpose
kleśa: affliction, impediment
tanū-karaṇa: attenuating, making weak
artha: purpose
ca: and
The purpose [of kriyā-yoga/the yoga of action] is samādhi/meditative immersion and attenuating the kleśas/afflictions.

This is exactly why meditation is an effective way to create changes at the surface of life by directly addressing these underlying mechanisms of the kleśas and saṃskāras, which prompt us toward feeling and acting in particular ways based on past actions/karma. It is very hard to get to the root of the saṃskāras by working only with the surface mind and behaviors. Through meditation, you go deeper than the surface to the saṃskāric seeds and burn them up, so they will no longer sprout. This is the teaching of the dagdha-bīja, the burnt seed, which is alluded to in several places in the text (See, for example, YS 2.4). These seeds can be latent, just waiting for the right conditions to sprout. When the mind finally comes to rest in meditation, the seeds of saṃskāras are burnt up and can no longer sprout.

In the Yoga Sūtra, meditation is emphasized as the method for knowing our true selves. The process of meditation acts on the deepest layers of individuality to remove (burn up) the saṃskāras and attenuate the kleśas, clearing a pathway to the true Self. YS 1.47 says that in the deepest states of samādhi, awareness is clarified, revealing the inner Self.

YS 1.47 nirvicāra-vaiśāradye-adhyātma-prasādaḥ
nirvicāra: a state of samādhi without any thought
vaiśāradye: lucidity, clarity, pure flow
adhyātma: inner Self
prasādaḥ: clarity, purity, luminosity
In the lucidity of nirvicāra-samādhi, there is clarity of the inner Self.

When you meditate, several things happen simultaneously that serve to shift and refine awareness, thus supporting the recognition/pratyabhijñā of the deepest Self. When turning the mind inward during meditation practice, awareness starts to traverse from the surface layers to the subtler layers. With repeated practice the habit pattern of moving into deeper places inside is cultivated. You are creating inward-moving saṃskāras. Meditating establishes the saṃskāra/habit pattern of moving awareness from the surface to deeper layers, to the deepest part of oneself.

The experience of steeping awareness in the deep spaces of consciousness creates a different type of saṃskāra. YS 1.50 teaches about two types of saṃskāras. First are those more conventional saṃskāras, the imprints of our past actions. Second, a different type of saṃskāra arises in deep meditative states of awareness, which acts to obstruct other saṃskāras. So the practice of meditation creates obstructor saṃskāras that don’t activate awareness with citta-vṛttis like other saṃskāras. Instead, they put a damper on the outward-moving saṃskāras, even destroying them. With continued practice, this has the effect of eliminating the influence of those old saṃskāras/subliminal activators we’re carrying around from previous life experiences. And this is a continuing and reiterative process.

YS 1.50 taj-jaḥ saṃskāro ‘nya-saṃskāra-pratibandhī
tat: that [truth-bearing wisdom]
jaḥ: born
saṃskāra: subliminal impressions/activators
anya: other
saṃskāra: subliminal impressions/activators
pratibandhī: obstructing, preventing
Saṃskāras born from that [truth-bearing wisdom] obstruct other saṃskāras.

At the same time we’re burning up problematic saṃskāras, our meditation practice produces the obstructing or inhibiting saṃskāras (YS 1.50). A commentary on the Yoga Sūtra says that these blocking saṃskāras enhance the experience of samādhi, creating more of the wisdom saṃskāras, which block the others, and so on. As well, remember that meditation helps establish the habit of moving awareness internally. All of this eventually leads us to have fewer citta-vṛttis and experiencing more calm during meditation. The obstructer saṃskāras are a way that our awareness is reorganized. In this way, awareness is slowly clarified.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Contemplate any of the teachings you find drawn to or find challenging and consider how you’ve experienced them.

How have you noticed the release of old patterns and/or a greater clarity?

How do these teachings relate to how you approach the practice of yoga?

The Churning of the Ocean

One of the most famous and important core myths from India is that of the Churning of the Ocean. Its teachings are relevant not only to the practice of yoga, but also to life in general, and how to live your yoga. As with many myths in the tradition, there are different versions from different sources, so we will be dropping into the middle and extracting an abbreviated version of this story known as the Samudra Manthana or Sāgara Manthana. Samudra and sāgara are both words for the ocean, and manthana means “churning.”

Once upon a time, the devas and asuras—the gods and anti-gods (demons)—who usually were at odds with each other—realized they needed to work together to obtain the nectar of immortality, which resided in the ocean. To obtain the nectar, they had to churn the ocean to bring it forth. To do so, they upended a mountain to use as the churning stick. They stuck its top into the ocean with a great tortoise as a base. Around that, they wrapped the snake named Vāsuki to use as a rope.

They churned and churned, yet the nectar was not emerging, and they became a little discouraged. Viṣṇu was summoned to help, and he gave them a pep talk that re-energized them to continue churning. Finally, a great variety of treasures began to emerge from the ocean, including the crescent moon, the goddess Śrī (or Lakṣmī), a great gem, and an albino elephant with four tusks. As these things emerged from the ocean, they were claimed and distributed in various ways to both the devas and the asuras.

As the gods and demons continued to churn, what began to emerge was a viscous, deep-blue, radioactive-like substance that could paralyze the world with its vapors. This was a poison called kālakūṭa or halāhala. As in many of these stories, when things got difficult, Śiva was called upon to deal with the problem. Some accounts say he drank the poison; others say he put his finger in it and absorbed it that way. In either case, so that the world would not be obliterated by the poisonous substance, Śiva held it in his throat, where it was transmuted. The poison turned his throat blue, and this is how Śiva got his name Nīlakaṇṭha. Nīla means “blue,” and kaṇṭha means “throat.” Once the poison was dispensed with, the churning resumed, and several other things emerged from the ocean, including a wish-fulfilling cow. Finally, the physician of the gods emerged, holding a pot in which the nectar was held.

One way to interpret the overall story is as a metaphor for the practice of meditation. The ocean is consciousness, which is churned as we practice. Often we practice and practice and nothing seems to be happening, and we might even want to stop. Hopefully we continue, perhaps with some encouragement from a teacher or someone else who is our Viṣṇu. There may also be challenges and “poison” that arise. We, as Śiva, must be able to hold and transmute that poison. It is part of the process. In the story, it is only after the poison has been emitted that the nectar emerges.

When we do yoga, whether the physical āsana practice or meditation, there’s a naturally occurring cleaning-out of all that obstructs us: the saṃskāras, all the old crud from previous actions. On the physical level, āsana can take us to the sticky places, physically or psychologically— or both. When moving in āsana practice, we come up against physical limitations. These can be patterns in the body established from lack of movement, from holding ourselves in particular ways, from old injuries, or for any number of reasons. Working through these limitations can be challenging and even painful at times, yet hopefully we eventually receive the joy of more ease in the body. In āsana practice, we may also have to deal with old, reactive psychological patterns.

Likewise, when the mind is moved inwardly in meditation practice, we encounter whatever blocks us. The muck is invariably stirred up. When meditating, we might begin to feel agitated physically, emotionally, or mentally. Or, we might simply start having thoughts. The thoughts or agitation that arise during meditation are a byproduct of this natural cleansing of awareness when moving from the surface to the depths to contact the deepest layers of our self, toward a greater awareness.

As we move along the path of yoga, doing our practices, at times there will be delight/ānanda, health, and healing. But remember, the nectar/amṛta emerges only after the poison has been dealt with. And truthfully, sometimes what we think is poison is actually nectar, once it is held and transmuted. Finally, I love that one of the things that emerges from the act of churning the ocean is the wish-fulfilling cow. As my practice has progressed, it is my experience that my wishes—my desires and intentions/saṃkalpa- become more auspicious and aligned with the Highest.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

– Contemplate any aspect of the Churning of the Ocean story that speaks to you.

– How are you every character in this story? For example, consider the role of Viṣṇu on the path of yoga and life. Who has been your Viṣṇu? How have you been Viṣṇu to others?

– What treasures have emerged from your practice(s)? Consider the practices of āsana, meditation, and any other practices you do.

– How have you experienced poison arising in your practice, and how have you handled it?

– How have you eventually noticed more healing or joy after a “poisonous” experience?

Naṭarāja and the Two Paths of Yoga

The image of Naṭarāja, Śiva as the Lord of Dance, encapsulates many beautiful teachings. To begin, take a moment to pause and consider your impression of Naṭarāja (there is an image below).

– For a few moments take in the feel of Naṭarāja —not so much the specific details, but the overall presence of the image and how it resonates with you.

– Write about your general sense of this image.

Whatever you see is what you see, but one of the main things the image elicits is, of course, a dance. Naṭarāja is dancing, but there is also a sense of serenity. His face is serene; he is very steady and aligned along a central axis. Yet this is a wild dance, and Naṭarāja’s hair is flying about. So here there is a representation of both the wild dance and a serene center.

One way to think of these qualities relates to the meaning of Śiva as the ground of being, the unmanifest, quiet and centered, stillness itself. But also in the image of Naṭarāja, Śiva is dancing the world into manifestation. From the center of his dance, everything begins to pulsate, and all of manifestation occurs. He’s starting the whole wheel turning, from which all that is manifest is created. So there is an aspect of Śiva as the cosmic dancer dancing life itself into existence.

These two aspects of Naṭarāja are related to a thread that runs throughout yoga philosophy and is mirrored in the modern yoga scene: the contrast and choice between what are termed nivṛtti and pravṛtti paths of yoga. The term vṛtti relates to turning or revolving. Nivṛtti is turning away from the world. This path requires renouncing the world and all associated desires. Pravṛtti is turning toward the world. This path involves engaging in the world. So there is a general contrast between two paths of yoga: the nivṛtti, or renunciate path, and pravṛtti, the householder path.

When I first began my yoga journey, the perceived push toward asceticism in the yoga world was very confusing to me. I began my practice in a very rigorous yoga school that emphasized breath, a steady gaze, and a prescribed sequence of postures. It required immense discipline, focus, and dedication. Through that practice, I got a glimpse of the quiet mind, a still point, that part of me that was watching, the draṣṭṛ/seer, that serene center reflected in Naṭarāja’s face and centeredness.

I began to have larger questions about the path of yoga and started exploring the philosophy underlying the practice. At that time, there weren’t many texts or books on yoga, but one that was available was the Yoga Sūtra, which delineates an ascetic or renunciate path, turning awareness inward and away from the world. I began to understand how such a philosophy could lead to a strict and controlled approach toward the body and mind, which was what I was experiencing in my āsana practice. I was so perplexed by this perspective, which didn’t resonate with me. Again and again, I found myself asking, If the goal of yoga is to subjugate the body and withdraw the mind from the world, why are we born into these bodies, into this world, with the gift of such active minds?

When I encountered a different yoga āsana school that honored the body, mind, and all of manifestation as part of a divine pulsation, it drew me in. It resonated with what I sensed intuitively. I found out that this approach was based on Tantric yoga philosophy, a development that came later than the Classical Yoga of Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra. And Tantra acknowledges a householder path for those who choose to function in society and all that entails.

I felt lucky to have experienced both of these schools, and it felt that each had a piece of the truth, yet I struggled to reconcile them. This is the paradox represented in Naṭarāja, the serenely quiet yogi and the wild dancer. Eventually I realized what was missing from these schools of yoga āsana was the practice of meditation. In both, there was a sense that one should be meditating, but no method was explicitly integrated. So when I saw the opportunity to begin practicing and studying a Tantric-based meditation method, I dove right in.

Along with receiving a meditation practice for householders, I learned how the practice worked, which allowed me to assimilate my previous experiences. I came full circle back to the teachings of Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra with its emphasis on meditation and practice. And as I began studying Tantra, I confirmed that there was more than the ascetic path, as I’d always intuited. The meditative state is not the end but the beginning. Through meditation, we connect to the ground of being, which supports us as we then move through everyday householder activities.

Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra tells us the ultimate limb of yoga is samādhi, that state of enstatic, or internal, awareness. But Tantra represents a path that leads to more stages of yoga beyond samādhi. These further stages allow one to live a fully embodied life from a place of expanded awareness. One can experience the Divine while embodying the householder life. In this way, Yoga and meditation can be a support in the many dances in life.

Reflect and Explore

How do you see the relationship between practices that move you inwardly and living your life fully as a householder?

Have you experienced any conflict regarding these two paths of nivṛtti/inward turning/renunciate and pravṛtti/outward turning/householder?

How have you experienced yoga practice supporting householder life?

Seeing the Highest

During a recent at-home retreat, I opened my eyes after meditating and saw a fabulous golden sunrise. A candle was flickering on my altar and everything was bathed with an exquisite golden light. The whole scene was filled with both peace and a vibrating luminosity. I grabbed my phone to take a photo, but was disappointed in what I was able to capture of the moment.

This has happened to me repeatedly recently, especially out in nature, moments when I can readily see and feel the shakti-filled vibrancy, the tejas, the shining brilliant beauty. And I try to capture it in a photo, but it generally falls short. Perhaps my camera isn’t the best, or my photography skills are lacking. But as well, the camera can never capture what we can see from the deeper awareness of our Heartself.

You may have had at least glimpses of this experience as well. Many of us are overwhelmed by the beauty and vibrancy in nature. Or when we look at a beloved, a partner, child, parent, teacher or pet we may be able to see their inner beauty. Or when we experience a piece of art or music, we may be filled with awe. It is due to our hearts being open and connected. Personally, I yearn for this to be my everyday reality. And I know the increasing experiences I’m having of this is a result of my meditation practice.

When we do our internal practices, like meditation, we clarify our whole being so that we come to a place beyond the everyday thoughts (and in my world today, a lot of agitation), to rest in a place of quiet calm clarity. Then we quite naturally begin to see in an unobstructed way from that place of increased awareness. In the nondual philosophy, it is said that everything is a manifestation of the one still, yet pulsating, energy of Consciousness. And as we move along our path of practice, our ability to actually experience our external world as such increases.

According to tradition, this increasing ability results quite naturally from our internal practices. And it is something we can actively cultivate. For example, in the Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam, Kṣemarāja outlines the process of vyutthāna, a slow emergence from a meditative state. We can revel in this increased state of awareness, and continue the heightened perception as we move into our world.

On a very practical level, whenever we emerge from the resting pose shavasana, we can pause with a more gradual emergence to experience this heightened and calmer state, and remind ourselves this place is always available and we can cultivate it in any moment. As we move deeper in our practices, our ability to see the highest in each and every thing in our world increases.

It is my greatest hope that we can all begin to interact with our world from this perception of connectedness. As more and more of us do this, we can begin to shift the energy around us, bringing more of the higher qualities of being into the world.

Freedom

Let’s take a moment to remember a fundamental teaching from the tradition: Consciousness in her freedom brings about everything in the universe (Pratyabijna Hridayam 1), and let’s focus on the second word of this aphorism: svatantrya. Usually translated as “freedom,” but remember the prefix “sva” means self, and “tantra” can mean loom, so another interpretation of this word is “self-looming.”

The tradition provides teachings on the various ways the highest Consciousness becomes concealed as we manifest as individuals, including the samskaras, all those latent impressions stored inside each of us that serve as activators of our thoughts and behavior. These samskaras can be negative habit patterns that lead us into suffering. And our practice of yoga, particularly meditation, attenuates those negative samskaras while at the same time laying down more positive samskaras. Our practice allows us greater access to the highest within us, which serves as a guide, if we listen.

As we loosen ourselves from the bonds of our samskaric patterning through our practice of yoga, we are better able to enact svatantrya, freedom. We are better able to consciously loom the fabric of our lives. Our journey of yoga yields the freedom to pause and make conscious what was previously unconscious. We gain what my teacher Paul Muller-Ortega calls “the ledge of freedom,” a resting place on our journey where we can pause and consciously choose our next step.

This is the pause that Arjuna takes at the beginning of the Bhagavad Gita, when he asks his charioteer Krishna to bring their chariot into the middle of the battlefield to consider the most prudent course of action. Instead of galloping automatically into battle, Arjuna pauses to ask questions of his highest Self, and he listens carefully to the answers. In this way he then mindfully chooses the highest course of action.

Continuing to enact our samskaric patterns without pause, without reference to the highest, demonstrates a lack of freedom. Often we think we are behaving freely when in fact we are slaves to our habit patterns. We are simply doing what we’ve always done without even considering our options. We have so many opportunities to exercise our freedom that we aren’t even aware of. Our meditation practice supports us in breaking these habitual patterns, allowing us instead to pause and understand we have another choice that may be more optimal.

We are seeing this play out in the COVID-19 pandemic in ways both small and large. Our habitual patterns of behavior have been brought to a halt. Our choices are limited. We are forced into being more mindful.

For example, on a small scale, we’ve had to pay attention to our hands: how we wash them and what we touch. This is an exercise in seeing how mindlessly we have done these things in the past.

We are seeing how our habitual ways of thinking, our general mindsets are being activated with regard to how think about the whole situation. Do we tend toward fear, blame, paranoia, kindness, compassion, depression? As our lives are stripped down, we have the opportunity to look at these patterns and out of our freedom choose how to be. Or we can unconsciously allow the old patterns to dominate and reiterate.

We yearn to go back to “normal,” which essentially means we want to enact our old behavioral patterns. That may not necessarily be bad, but we now have the opportunity, in this moment, to pause in the middle of our battlefield and evaluate whether “normal” is actually the highest way of being for everyone involved. Is there a better choice when we pause, listen to our higher self, and think about it? We have the freedom to choose to do something different.

For me, this ability to take this pause, listen, and envision different options has broadened as I’ve become a regular practitioner of meditation. Honestly it has surprised me to observe my ability to more readily watch an impulse arise, pause to consider whether I want to enact it, and make a conscious choice.

Perhaps freedom isn’t about our ability to do or enact anything without recourse. Ultimately this can lead to bondage on so many levels. Instead, I think of freedom as being free of the bonds of unconscious patterns, and acting out of a conscious consideration of what is the highest action in any given situation.

CONTEMPLATE AND PRACTICE

To what degree do you feel free? Consider your thoughts, feelings, and actions.

What inhibits you from feeling free?

What encourages a feeling of freedom?

Are there circumstances in which you limit your freedom of choice and/or expression?

Observe yourself as you negotiate the COVID-19 circumstances. What is it teaching you about freedom?

 

THE OCEAN AND THE WAVE

Something that was quite confusing to me as I became more serious on the path of yoga was a pervasive message indicating that the spiritual path required renouncing all worldly desire. The images I had of being a yogi was of swamis in robes who lived apart from society so as not to be sullied by impurity.

As well, the practice and lineage I first landed in required harsh discipline of body and mind, and commitment to the method, further confirming the notion that to be a yogi required great effort and negation of any individuality. Together, all of this did not sit well, in my body and in my heart, and I kept searching until I found a path in the Tantric tradition that honored the journey of embodiment and living as a householder.

I learned there were different paths in the tradition. There was a renunciate path for those whose destiny was to withdraw from the world (and note that many of the early proponents of yoga in the west were in fact renunciates). But in addition, there is a path for those committed to living fully embodied in the world.

A wonderful teaching about these paths is that of the ocean and the wave, which is used in the tradition in different ways. For example, in the Classical Yoga of Patanjali, the definition of yoga is the calming of the fluctuations of the mind. From this perspective, our individual awareness can be thought of as an ocean or lake, and the waves are the vrittis, the fluctuations, all the thoughts and emotions that inhabit our awareness. Here the goal of yoga is to calm the waves of our thoughts and emotions so the lake is smooth and clear.

In my Tantric lineage, the ocean is often considered to symbolize Consciousness, the underlying ground of being, also called Shiva, or Shiva-Shakti. In this view, we as individuals are each a wave that emerges from that ocean of Consciousness. As our individual wave arises from that ocean, we look around and see the other waves of manifestation, and we tend to think that is all there is. This represents a forgetting, a lack of recognition of the source from which our individual life arises.

Here the path of yoga, especially meditation, is the means to remembering and recognizing that we are nothing but the ocean of consciousness, manifested as our particular individual life wave. Everything manifest is an expression of the absolute Consciousness, including each of us. But we have forgotten this.

Traditions that are renunciatory have as the goal to subside back into the ocean. The goal is to merge back into the ocean of consciousness. There is an associated withdrawal from society to help alleviate anything that creates waves in our individual consciousness.

From the Tantric perspective, instead, we want to resource the energy of the ocean to support the activities of our individual wave. We are successful to the degree we are able to clarify our awareness such that the ocean of consciousness is revealed to us. The means to this understanding is our practice of yoga, particularly meditation. In this way we recognize that we are nothing but the Consciousness ocean.

This connection then allows us to harness the energy of the ocean. We utilize that connection as householders to live to the fullest in a way that is aligned with our highest desires. Our work and our relationships are positively impacted. We become channels, if you will, for all the attributes of yoga we hear about: nonharming, truth, compassion, and so on. As well, it allows us to bring forth our own unique gifts. In this way we can be of greatest service, whether it is through something we bring into the world, or simply shifting the energy in our everyday realm through our demeanor and actions.

Reposing in the Heart

A beautiful Sanskrit phrase I learned from my teacher is “hridaya vishranti.” Some of you may remember that hridaya means heart. Vishranti means repose or rest. So hridaya vishranti is reposing in the heart, or perhaps taking refuge in the heart.

Heart here doesn’t mean our physical heart, or a romantic heart, or even the heart chakra. It is more like the center, like the heart of a tree. It is the essence, the core essence of everything. A poetic rendering of its meaning could be to repose into the arms of the Divine.

We each have an essence, core, innermost self. It is that part of us that is pure light and love, and unchanging. That part of our self that sits in the middle, silent and clear, as the rest of our chaotic world unfolds.

Vishranti, repose is such a beautiful concept. Could we relax into, allow ourselves to repose in our Self, our heart? Sometimes life feels exhausting, trying so hard to do all we want to do requires so much effort. Wouldn’t it be nice for it to feel more like a flow and less like a struggle?

For me, this is part of hridaya vishranti: to accept nourishment and support from a deeper source, to make it less about our individual will and more about channeling the Divine will.

What a wonderful idea! Drawing on our heart of hearts, not having to effort so much through our ego, or constantly try to manipulate our exterior world, but instead to feel authentically that we can rest assured that the heart will support and guide us. We can relax knowing this.

To authentically feel this, we need to make contact with that essence, and this is precisely what yoga, especially meditation, does. At the end of our yoga asana class, we physically repose in shavasana, and if you take a moment at the end you may palpably taste an increased centeredness and clarity. As we rest and repose in shavasana, our whole being integrates and assimilates the effects of our practice. We soak in the benefits of the practice which then colors our following activities, at least for a time.

And even so much more when we meditate. When we meditate, we align not only our body, but all of our being, our individuality becomes saturated with the qualities of fullness, love, and centeredness that is the essence of who we are. We have this place of refuge within us. As we meditate more and more, we become more steadfast in these qualities, reposing into the arms of the Divine.

SEED

Seeds are powerful things, as many traditions have noted: from a tiny seed the greatest of trees can grow.

In the yoga tradition, every one of our actions lays down a samskara, which can be thought of as a seed which is waiting for the right conditions to sprout. Just like physical seeds can be dormant until the conditions are ripe for sprouting, the seeds of each of our actions reside in our subtle body, awaiting fruition. They emerge as conditioned responses or habit patterns.

As you sow, so shall you reap.

So in every moment we have an opportunity to sow what we want to reap. A beautiful thing about our capacity as human beings is that we are free. The tradition calls it svatantrya – we have the freedom to choose which seeds we want to encourage, and of course which we want to discourage.

The external conditions of our life create the initial impulse for a seed to sprout. For example, the holidays bring up many old samskaras, both positive and negative. And this is super important to remember: samskaras can be positive, negative, or neutral.

So as conscious, mindful beings, we can exercise our freedom of choice to work with these samskaras, choosing to nurture those which are life enhancing and choosing not to enact those which degrade our lives and are not in alignment.

Our practices, especially meditation strengthen our ability to exercise our freedom. This works in a variety of interacting ways. Our daily practice lays down the seeds of connection to our deepest self, which allows an easier and more automatic access to that place at all times. Then this can allow us a moment of pause that is so important in reshaping our lives. There is a moment we have between an impulse arising, a seed beginning to sprout, and our conscious choice to allow it to unfurl into fruition, or instead choose to not lay down another one of those particular seeds.

In this way we slowly, slowly, transform our lives such that we are creating the potential for seeds that produce more positive impulses in our life to dominate.

Samdhana

I had the wonderful opportunity to study one of the foundational texts of Tantra, the Shiva Sutras, with my teacher Paul Muller-Ortega. He pointed to the theme of “samdhane” from the first chapter of the text, that I have found so useful. The word “samdhane” has the verbal root “dha” in it, which means “to place or put.” “Sam” means “with” or “together,” so samdhana means putting together, drawing something together, joining, uniting.

From what I learned from Paul, and contemplating the text, this concept of samdhana encapsulates so much of what our practice is about. My understanding of this concept of alignment is that it manifests in stages, and in all the different levels of our life.

When we take a step toward aligning with the highest through our practices, that intention accelerates an already set-in-motion movement toward alignment. It makes sense that a primary purpose and result of our meditation practice is to connect with the highest, the source of everything, and that from which everything manifests. But taking it back on step: there must have been some prior impulse within you, some seed that seeks the light, that encouraged or urged you to seek that connection in the first place.

And having heeded that impulse, that call to connect with your innermost self, the practice of meditation sets into motion the establishment of that connection. Through the practice of meditation, your awareness traverse the depths of consciousness to its source. This absolute source place is the root matrix from which everything comes into being in the relative world, which we see on the physical surface of our life.

Connecting with that source place of creating and manifesting energies sets in motion another aspect of samdhane. Our life at the surface begins to reflect and resonate with the source. On a practical level, we begin to experience that flow of creativity and manifestation rearranging our lives on its many levels. We find our desires, our thoughts and our actions, aligning with the highest such that aspects of our life that are more occluding, less supportive of the highest, begin to drop away, to be replaced by what is more affirming and supportive of the highest.

While this is an automatic result of our practice, it is a process, it is not instantaneous. It may take some time for the connection and alignment to come fully into fruition, as there are obstacles that must first be removed, all our old pain and patterns must be addressed in some way.

I see this process unfolding within myself in ways that are both delightful and painful. In my everyday life, I see more loving and compassionate responses arise naturally. I don’t have to force a kinder response, it is as if I am unable to do otherwise.

Yet because this process is still unfolding and evolving in me, at other times I see myself enacting old reactive patterns. But what happens now that I’ve been meditating a while, is that most times (sadly, not always…yet!) I immediately detect my misaligned pattern before I actually enact it. The pain of misalignment has become greater than any satisfaction from enacting old patterns that no longer serve.

So these teachings on samdhane indicate that initially our meditation practice allows us to align with the highest place from which all activity unfolds. So that unfolding of activity naturally begins to line up with the highest possible in any given moment. In this way, our entire life begins to be rearranged so that it is reflective and supportive of the highest.

 

LISTENING and RECEIVING

During my recent meditation retreat I received darshan* from the animals three times.

The first was a hummingbird that roused me from my meditation with its flutter buzz of wings I could feel on my face. I opened my eyes and it was so close I couldn’t focus on it. (I think it was attracted by my rose quartz earrings). I felt kissed and blessed by the merging of our auras.

The second was again when I was meditating by a fountain pool area. I heard a distinct rhythmic lapping sound and I opened my eyes to see a beautiful fox getting a drink just 4 feet from me. I was hidden in the shadows so I was able to enjoy its beauty for a few moments. I felt blessed by that beauty.

The third time I was out on a walk and sat down on a log to meditate. I looked up and in the clear desert sky I saw a hawk soaring, circling and circling. It came closer until it was right over me. I felt blessed by the grace and freedom of its movement.

I received many other blessings as well on this retreat, but these visitations from the natural world remind me of the blessings of beauty, connection, freedom, and grace.

When I recounted this experience on Facebook, I got a comment that perhaps I was exuding some special energy. Perhaps, but mostly I was simply quiet and listening. These beings are always there, it is simply a matter of sitting quietly, allowing them to come closer, and receiving their presence.

This is a lot of what meditation is: just getting quiet and being present for what shows up. “Listening” with our awareness, our senses turned in to receive the blessings of our innermost Self, the heart in the core of our being. Many things will appear, sometimes challenging, sometimes sweet, sometimes informative. All are blessings in their own way.

To receive these blessings, we must take the time to sit and be quiet, listening, then “look” at what is offered to us from the depths of our being. Life in its many forms is precious. May we slow down enough to receive its many blessings.

*darshan: the beholding of a deity (especially in image form), revered person, or sacred object. The experience is considered to be reciprocal and results in the human viewer’s receiving a blessing. (Britanica.com)