PONDER
Nothing like quiet undulations of the sea
to inspire the heart
and make a man free.
Seagrass dancing,
swell rises and falls;
underwater choreography
soothes one’s consciousness,
washing distractions upon the shore
buried in grains of sand.
Ocean,
its depths and shallows,
engulfs one’s being
releasing the mind
from squalls of anxiety.
Image by Sarah Lee Photo.
The things I remember
about my grandfather
are the nuances missed by many;
his white pocket tee
that carried the grease stains of wrenching on some worn out tractor;
his trucker-hat
that sat cockeyed on his head
conveying
“I don’t give a damn what you think;”
his calloused and crooked old hands,
frozen by years of plowsharing
and wood splitting;
his rolled up Beech-Nut pouch
that lived in the back pocket of his britches;
his way he called my name
from the time I was a boy,
to the time I carried his casket as a man.
Life is measured
by memory;
with ease
we reminisce on the big events
that paint the timeline of our lives,
but it’s the mundane,
the everyday,
the tones,
the textures
that give our retrospection
an emotional hue
filling the empty space of our canvas
with the technicolor
of being human.
Mighty is the vastness of the human heart,
like the heat that drew water from stones to form seas
our paths are all written by the living surroundings,
this life that has lived since long ago;
And you shall not see them in the words of the ancients,
nor the spoken wisdoms so many know.
Before you in crimson, illumined creation holds all our heart beatings, fills our lungs.
With hands made for working and feet build for walk’n;
live with the body in service;
And use your time wisely, you children of mothers,
born of her flesh, her toil and love.
If you are hearing this with me, blood flows within you
and numbered are the beatings of your heartbeat. - Ryan Power, Sonoma County, California
I once heard the human experience of time described in terms of zones; much like how Eastern Time is divided from Mountain Time, or Central Time is divided from Pacific Time, there are zones that we as conscious beings inhabit and move through, each providing its own unique lens that influences our perceptions, behaviors and conclusions.
There are moments in which the mind is hurled three-hours ahead, scanning for possibility and pitfall, and there are moments in which one’s existence is drawn into the past evaluating decisions and analyzing consequences. Each of these zones, and everything in between, is important and has its function to living a breadth of experience. It is significant to reflect on the route that we traveled to get to the present; we need to weigh the efficiency of our plans and the lessons learned from our steps. As the saying goes, history is the best teacher. Equally important, is the horizon; we cannot fully know the direction in which we head unless we have a bearing to chart the course. Peering into tomorrow is a valuable practice that births dreams, vision and hope.
However, dwelling in the epochs of history and future can be detrimental. The teachers of memory and expectation possess an unruly shadow; the past handing out judgements of regret and shame, the future casting fears of deficit, “maybe” and perfectionism. Worse than these malaises, the “happened” and the “will happen,” rob us from the present moment, the open field in which our divinely inspired existence is animated, activated and actualized. The here and now is the thin place where transcendence and immanence mingle, where our lungs fill with primordial breath, our eyes behold the dawn of creation, our ears resonate with the vibration of the universe and our hearts pulse with infinite love. The present moment, even when under the duress of difficulty and pain, is where we see and encounter our truest Self, it is where we encounter the gift and mystery of the Other. It is the only thing that is genuinely real; the only space and time that can be inhabited; the only stage that the drama of our immediate life is lived out; the only landscape where being and becoming authentically human takes shape. As Thoreau says, “Now or never! You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”
Throughout human history, cultures have understood the fecundity of the present moment and have distinguished it over and against clock-time that is consumed with the work of completing daily tasks. The moment has been understood as the portal to ground one’s self, to discern greater meaning, to awaken kindness, to ignite bravery, to spark innovation and to rest in gratitude. The ancient Greeks distinguished these peculiar zones as chronos and karios; the former being a chronology of seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months and years, and the latter being a point of invitation to behold the infinite possibility of human greatness.
While everyday life is lived out in the constraints of dawn and dusk, if it is only embraced as a succession of tasks and events, and never reflected upon to understand its meaning and potential, a frenzy emerges that “is violence to the soul,” as Thomas Merton says, “killing an inner-capacity for peace which makes our work fruitful.”
To quote the famous passage in Walden, “Most [people] lead lives of quiet desperation and die with their song still inside them.”
How much of our waking moments are spent with only the toil of a calendaring existence, a reduction of our identity to dates and places, past and future, all the while missing purpose, benevolence, resilience, generativity and intuition, the stuff that reveals divinity’s indelible imprint upon humanity’s musical score?
Human history is written with the ink of existentially perplexing questions of reason, belonging, intent, morality and beauty. Though modern-day technologies and lightspeed activity nuance this chapter of that narrative, humankind has always struggled with the shrewd task of meaning making. Spiritualists, poets, artists, musicians, philosophers and sages have whispered, and at times shouted, to the mind-numbed masses in fields and cities that there is more to life than the temporal activity marked by pocket watches and clocktowers. Each generation births prophets who enter in into Plato’s Cave seeking to free the hearts of minds from firepit-shadows, inviting them to step outside and see with renewed vision what lies beyond the veil, what calm rests beneath the surface, what threads strengthen the rope of our toil, what virtue informs our action and what kindness motivates our civility. This ancient summons that echoes today, is not a call to a life devoid of activity, tasks and responsibilities but a life enriched by the substance, the essence and the value of these labors; an informed presence that responds to the depth of the moment, not simply reacts to the trigger of the instant.
Time has always been understood to be pregnant with messages that re-member and re-collect the core of our enterprises shifting them away from a fragmented exertion to a wholeness that permeates our ethics, interactions and principles with excellence and goodness. Even the etymology of our words that we use to denote calendar periods are rooted in the rich soil of sowing and harvesting, suggesting that time is the framework in which our actions and interactions plant seeds and reap qualitative fruit.
Spiritual traditions across cultures have literally and metaphorically rang bells throughout each day to remind its people to live attentive lives. This mindful presence is a cognizant awareness of one’s surroundings, but even more so, a discerning watchfulness to perceive the potential significance of that snapshot in time. This attentive life is not simply living in the moment for the moment’s sake; rather, it understands that the moment is where encounter happens; encounter with the Self, with the Other, and with the Natural world around us.
The mindful self, as psychologists have coined the term, is a broader observation, a “meta-awareness” of the micro-circumstance that creates space for an objective observation that actually yields an authentic subjective experience; one that is empowered to examine emotional triggers, psychosocial stimuli and prejudices, self-regulating negative and irrational reactions with prosocial and non-judgmental responses. Like aperture and shutter speed on a camera, mindfulness opens the internal eye allowing greater light to illumine the sensor of the soul, while simultaneously slowing the discernment process of capturing all pertinent data.
Living in the present moment, self-awareness, daily-examine, etc., all are terms and practices that invite us to recognize the often distorted and biased images that color and influence our perceptions of the Self, the Other and the external world. By slowing the tempo and scanning the knee-jerk reactions of fearful egotism, it opens us to the possibility of actualizing an altruistic identity that is marked by awe, wonder, empathy, hospitality and generosity. Moving from the circumference of selfishness - a worldview that sees the Other as an object to be used or worse as a threat to be defeated – the mindful self is centered, seeing with clarity what the twentieth century Rabbi/philosopher, Martin Buber called, I-Thou – a mutuality of worth, dignity, meaning and significance; a synergistic posture that celebrates and maintains the particularity of each and the unity of both.
This observant self is developed by addressing the concentric circles of being and relating, mind and body. The act of meditation, even prayer, focuses the process of the intellect training the mental muscle toward an attentiveness that distinguishes the forest from the trees, an awareness permeated with calm and emotional stability. “It is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest point of view,” says Emerson. “The soliloquy of a beholding and jubilant soul.”
The body too carries an intelligence that educates the mindful self. The ancient art of Yoga, body-scanning and introspective-movement, such as Tai Chi, promote a comprehension of somatic intuition. As one familiarizes itself with the interior landscape of bone, ligament, respiration, diet, digestion and mood swings, they become conversant in a physical conversation between mind and body, a linguistics of the central nervous system.
Even the way in which we interact with each other can be profitable and abundant in training the Self to witness the liminal space between us as sacred, a juncture where Franciscan Priest, Richard Rohr says, “the old world is able to fall apart, and a bigger world is revealed.” Intentional listening, non-judgmental presence and charitable discourse are means to welcome the Other as fully and equitably human, endowed with the same inalienable worth and indispensable service as the one who beholds them.
The Natural world is also an ashram of wisdom to nourish the authentic Self away from narcissistic illusions. Mountains, grasslands, rivers, oceans, plants, trees, insects and animals lift the self-centered gaze of manifest destiny and dominion theology, to an environmental empathy of interdependency, consequence and beauty. “People are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home,” says Muir; “that wildness is a necessity; and that parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.”
Slow is fast. The more intentional we embrace and live squarely in each moment, the more accelerated and empowered we are to become fully human; to witness all of our breaths, our work, our relationships and the land in which we build our homes as infinite gifts and divine invitations. Centeredness, and the mindful self, open the door to a revelation of connectedness, a universality that encompasses all.
Article by Mark Carter & Image by Sarah Lee
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Twenty years ago, me and five others trekked as pilgrims for a month through Europe visiting holy sites revered by the Judeo-Christian tradition. Beginning our journey with the death camp of Dachau and the hate that birthed Nazi Germany, we meandered our way through the shadows of medieval Christianity searching for those pockets of light, compassion, and resilience that dotted the landscape and lives of women and men who pushed back darkness with perpetual acts of selfless love.
The fourth week of the Lenten path is often marked by the weariness of the journey.
For seven days we stayed with the famous ecumenical community in Central France called, Taizé and participated in their daily rhythm of prayer and work. Along with 5,000 international visitors, we gathered together three-times a day for morning, noon, and evening prayers. Called by the peeling of Church-bells that rang throughout the tiny village and over the rolling countryside, we were prompted and invited to live mindful lives; lives of kindness, lives of peace, lives of forgiveness, lives of goodwill toward all living beings. Reflecting on that profound spiritual pilgrimage, I am often drawn back to those echoing sounds of bells and chimes as sonic admonishments to live a grounded, calm, and charitable life.
In these days of pandemics, stress, fear, and the ruthless reality of the temporal, there is a faint sound resonating in the distance inviting us to a meditation of mindfulness; which Thich Nhat Hanh says in his celebrated work, The Miracle of Mindfulness, “is the miracle which [we] can call back in a flash our dispersed mind and restore it to wholeness, so that we can live each minute of life.”
The fourth week of the Lenten path is often marked by the weariness of the journey. Realities that seem bigger than one’s faith, easily overcome one’s fragile frame. The low-vibration of a mindful-way ripples through Earth’s air and water and inspires us to be grounded, rooted, and calm so that we can turn our attention to a higher consciousness, a higher plane that bears the fruit of universal love in the minutia of everyday.
Listen closely; gongs, bowls, bells, chimes, and drums echo through the shadowlands piercing the darkness with points of light inviting you to pause, re-member, ground, and meditate on living lives full of light and love.
YOGA POSE: PASCHIMOTTANASANA (SEATED FORWARD FOLD)
Step-by-Step Instructions by Yoga Journal
Step 1: Sit on the floor with your buttocks supported on a folded blanket and your legs straight in front of you. Press actively through your heels. Rock slightly onto your left buttock, and pull your right sitting bone away from the heel with your right hand. Repeat on the other side. Turn the top thighs in slightly and press them down into the floor. Press through your palms or finger tips on the floor beside your hips and lift the top of the sternum toward the ceiling as the top thighs descend.
Step 2: Draw the inner groins deep into the pelvis. Inhale, and keeping the front torso long, lean forward from the hip joints, not the waist. Lengthen the tailbone away from the back of your pelvis. If possible take the sides of the feet with your hands, thumbs on the soles, elbows fully extended; if this isn't possible, loop a strap around the foot soles, and hold the strap firmly. Be sure your elbows are straight, not bent.
Watch A Demonstration of Seated Forward Bend
Step 3: When you are ready to go further, don't forcefully pull yourself into the forward bend, whether your hands are on the feet or holding the strap. Always lengthen the front torso into the pose, keeping your head raised. If you are holding the feet, bend the elbows out to the sides and lift them away from the floor; if holding the strap, lighten your grip and walk the hands forward, keeping the arms long. The lower belly should touch the thighs first, then the upper belly, then the ribs, and the head last.
Step 4: With each inhalation, lift and lengthen the front torso just slightly; with each exhalation release a little more fully into the forward bend. In this way the torso oscillates and lengthens almost imperceptibly with the breath. Eventually you may be able to stretch the arms out beyond the feet on the floor.
Step 5: Stay in the pose anywhere from 1 to 3 minutes. To come up, first lift the torso away from the thighs and straighten the elbows again if they are bent. Then inhale and lift the torso up by pulling the tailbone down and into the pelvis.
SOUND MEDITATION:
Step 1: Gently close your eyes and draw your attention to your body and the physical space that you are inhabiting.
Step 2: Scan your body looking for places to soften or disengage your muscles - beginning at the crown of your head; slowly making your way down, across your forehead, eyes, jaw, neckline, shoulders, torso, etc. making your way to the soles of your feet.
Step 3: Focus your attention on your breath; noticing as your belly and chest rise with each inhale and release with each exhale. As you breathe in through your nostrils, breathe out through the mouth by ever-slightly constricting your lips (e.g. like your blowing out a candle on a birthday cake). Establish this slow and rhythmic breath, deepening your breath with each inhale and lengthening your breath with each exhale.
Step 4: Now, draw your attention to the mind. We often buy into the lie that we can be in two places at once, we cannot. We can only inhabit the here and now; the gift of the present moment. Therefore, any thoughts that would seek to draw you away from the present moment, allow them to pass by. And any thought that would help facilitate your awareness of the present moment, hold onto lightly. When it no longer serves you, allow it to fade as well.
Step 5: Now with a calm body, a rhythmic breath, and a still mind, click the link below to begin listening to the sounds of the quartz crystal singing bowls. Allow the sounds to recall you to that place where you are most centered, most mindful, most attentive.
Step 6: To exit practice, return to natural breath and softly open your eyes. Next, take a moment to journal your experience.
Images and article by Mark Carter
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I feel things deeply. I embrace the knife’s edge of disappointment and frustration in anger, the cavernous void of sorrow and loss, and the jubilant ecstasy of happiness and elated joy. I believe wholeheartedly in the famous words of Hellen Keller - author, activist, and the first deaf-blind person in America to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree - when she stated, “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.”
Yoga is the artwork of awareness on the canvas of body, mind, and soul.
This past January, I traveled back to the Midwest to celebrate the life and mourn the death of my last grandparent. Reflecting on her funeral and time with family, I was reminded that emotions are more than mental thoughts about a topic or situation. They are somatic expressions, i.e. deeply held experiences that we carry in every brain cell, fiber, organ, bone, and tissue in our bodies. The breadth of our emotions are in constant dialogue with each other, with our minds and the human frame. To feel the weight of emotional valleys and peaks with our bodies and minds is to experience the primary colors found in the kaleidoscope of the human experience. More than any other manifestation, emotions profoundly reveal the interconnectedness of body and mind.
In his research and work with trauma patients, Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolk highlights the phenomenon of body-mind connection as expressed in how the body remembers traumatic events and experiences. In The Body Keeps The Score, he writes, “… trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body. This imprint has ongoing consequences for how the human organism manages to survive in the present.” Recognizing this, one comes to acknowledge that an ingredient of mental and physical health then, is to identify where these far-reaching emotions reside and how they impact one’s perceptions and actions; to reveal how the body-mind system reflects one’s emotional history.
The ancient wisdom and philosophy of yoga is built upon this mind-body connection and accepts that by becoming more attentive to the psychosomatic reality of the human experience, yogis and yoginis lay a foundation for body-mind health. With each breath exercise, meditation, and physical asana, yoga practitioners often experience an emotional surrender that not only releases toxicities but also creates a mindfulness; a mindfulness that Dr. Van Der Kolk says, “makes it possible to survey our internal landscape with compassion and curiosity [and] actively steers us in the right direction for self-care.”
The third week of the Lenten journey is dotted with road signs of body-mind unity. More than a fitness routine, the practice of yoga has the capacity to create a psychosomatic discernment, an opportunity of bringing clarity to the bodily patterns that house mental and emotional pain. Or as Dr. Amit Ray poetically states, “Yoga is the artwork of awareness on the canvas of body, mind, and soul.”
Trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body.
The greater attentiveness and safety we feel and experience in the body and mind, the more keenly aware we become of our emotions, our perceptions, and our inclinations that guide our lives for better, or for worse. By engaging in a body-mind practice, you create the physical space and mental space to survey and heal the emotional landscape of your human experience, a poetry of rehabilitating movements.
YOGA POSE: EKA PADA RAJAKAPOTASANA (PIGEON POSE)
Step-by-Step Instructions by Yoga Journal
Step 1: Come to all fours with your hands below your shoulders, knees below your hips. Bring your left knee to touch your left wrist. Keep your left thigh parallel to the side of your mat and inch your left foot forward until it’s just in front of your right hip. If your hips allow, walk your left foot closer to the front of your mat to create a more intense stretch.
Step 2: Slide your right leg toward the back of your mat and lower both hips toward the floor. As you lower your pelvis, be sure that your hips don’t spill to the left. Look over your shoulder and make sure your back leg is extended straight. Press the top of your back foot into the floor to more deeply stretch your hip flexors. Stay here, with your arms straight and your hands alongside your hips, for 2 to 4 breaths, letting your hips settle toward the floor and observing the sensations in your lower body.
Watch This Video on Pigeon Pose
Step 3: Walk your arms forward so that they’re at a 45-degree angle to the floor—roughly the same angle as Adho Mukha Svanasana (Downward-Facing Dog Pose). Press your hands firmly into the floor as if pushing away the ground. Complement this action by rooting down through your front shin and the top of your back foot. Feel how this increases the opening in your front hip and back thigh. Take 2 to 4 deep breaths.
Step 4: Continue to deepen the posture by walking your arms forward until your forehead rests on the floor. You’ll stretch your outer hip more deeply by keeping your elbows off the ground. Continue to root down through your front shin and back foot. Breathe into the sensations that are rumbling in your hips; relax your eyes, jaw, and throat. Take 3 to 4 breaths, release, and repeat on the other side.
MEDITATION:
Step 1: Gently close your eyes and draw your attention to your body and the physical space that you are inhabiting.
Step 2: Scan your body looking for places to soften or disengage your muscles - beginning at the crown of your head; slowly making your way down, across your forehead, eyes, jaw, neckline, shoulders, torso, etc. making your way to the soles of your feet.
Step 3: Focus your attention on your breath; noticing as your belly and chest rise with each inhale and release with each exhale. As you breathe in through your nostrils, breathe out through the mouth by ever-slightly constricting your lips (e.g. like your blowing out a candle on a birthday cake). Establish this slow and rhythmic breath, deepening your breath with each inhale and lengthening your breath with each exhale.
Step 4: Now, draw your attention to the mind. We often buy into the lie that we can be in two places at once, we cannot. We can only inhabit the here and now; the gift of the present moment. Therefore, any thoughts that would seek to draw you away from the present moment, allow them to pass by. And any thought that would help facilitate your awareness of the present moment, hold onto lightly. When it no longer serves you, allow it to fade as well.
Step 5: Now with a calm body, a rhythmic breath, and a still mind, begin your meditation by setting an intention, a prayer. The suggestion for this meditation is a quote from Jess C. Scott - “When our emotional health is in a bad state, so is our level of self-esteem. We have to slow down and deal with what is troubling us, so that we can enjoy the simple joy of being happy and at peace with ourselves.”
Step 6: To exit practice, return to natural breath and softly open your eyes. Next, take a moment to journal your experience.
Images and Article by Mark Carter
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Ten years ago, I stepped into the liquid and was pushed into my first wave at a beach break in San Diego. It took only one wave for this Indiana farm-boy to experience first-hand the sublime words of Jacques Cousteau: “The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.”
Duke Kahanamoku, Native Hawaiian, five-time Olympic medalist swimmer, and the father of modern-day surfing, once said, “Out of the water, I am nothing.” Rather than being melodramatic, The Big Kahuna understood that water is the foundation of life and in a sense, he was right - we are nothing when water isn’t present.
The human body is comprised of 60-70% water by weight and over 90% water by molecule. Dr. Wallace Jacobs, in his seminal work, Blue Mind, reminds us that “the human body as a whole is almost the same density as water [and] in its mineral composition, the water in our cells is comparable to that found in the sea.”
Our planet, which is covered in 70% water (96% of it saline), should not be called Earth, writes Arthur C. Clarke, but rather should be called Ocean. Over half a billion people owe their livelihood directly to water-based industries, with 80% of the world’s population living within sixty miles of coastline, rivers and lakes. W.H. Auden was right, “Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.”
I am happy in the brine; surfing 7-days week during the summer and 3-5 days a week in the winter. Each time I paddle out I engage with the primordial force of creation, sometimes lulled by its playful undulations and other times, scared shitless at its raw and relentless power. Surfing is a kaleidoscope of emotion and experience. It links you to the nostalgia of heroes and legends like Miki Dora, Dale Velzy, Hap Jacobs, Greg Noll, and Skip Frye, while allowing you to draw your own lines, your own style, your own legacy.
Surfing is a spiritual act of transcendence and immanence. It is being surrounded, immersed and grounded in the here and now. It’s the playful innocence of kids draining the last bit of light from an endless summer. It’s the act of conversation with friend, landscape and ocean-life. It’s the practice of patience and gratitude, riding only the waves that wind and sea serendipitously offer. It is the Aloha-spirit.
Phil Edwards, 1960’s surfing icon, once said, “The best surfer out there is the one having the most fun.” I think that pretty much sums it up.
Article by Mark Carter and images by Sarah Lee Photo. Originally published on March 3, 2020 as "Surfing” on What Work Is blog.
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Heroes are not born but made; made by choices and the paths that they take. Contrary to popular belief, the heroic life is not characterized by a single incident of courage that offers hope, salvation, and safety to others, but rather continuous steps in a long trajectory of courage. It is the brave act of daily owning one’s story, as Dr. Brené Brown states, and offering that story as a source of inspiration for others. Heroism, courage, and bravery have less to do with feats of strength and more to do with habits of vulnerability, rhythms of authenticity, and compulsions of compassion.
The hero, the courageous, and the brave embrace all of life - its circumstances, its twists, its turns, its straightaways, its joys, its valleys, its peaks – unearthing amidst challenge and darkness the infinite power of light and love within them. They emerge as empathic guides able to lead, support, and encourage others to do the same.
Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.
In his seminal work, A Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell outlined a universal pattern of this Hero’s Journey toward authenticity and enlightenment. Discovered through his research over the course of his lifetime, Campbell identified several stages of growth and transformation of the hero regardless of culture, race, and religion. Like Homer’s Odyssey, and other great stories of Greek antiquity as well as modern-day narratives such as The Wizard of Oz, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings, the Hero’s Journey begins with a call, an invitation to overcome a threat or to see with fresh eyes. From there, it subsequently weaves through a circuitous route of challenge, test, assistance, reward, loss, resurrection, and return. Though the story unfolds with exterior situations and characters, the real landscape of the narrative is a personal one, when and where the hero confronts internal fears and shadows finding the hidden gifts and talents that lie buried deep within them. By embracing the journey of self-discovery, the hero returns wiser, more compassionate, actualized, and centered.
The second week of the Lenten pilgrimage reminds us of the great gift of our own lives, our place, our calling, our beauty, our belovedness. Like the great narratives of the past, Lent invites us to embrace the journey of living fully meandering through the interior world of emotion, leaning into challenge, making alliances with helpers and guides, facing our fears, overcoming obstacles, welcoming charity, and rising strong.
The hero, the courageous, and the brave embrace all of life - its circumstances, its twists, its turns, its straightaways, its joys, its valleys, its peaks.
Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, and subsequently our own, begins with an acceptance of the call to a deeper life, to walk the path, to start the journey. No doubt many refuse to take the first step; however, as Dr. Brown reminds us in her book, The Gifts of Imperfection, “Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy … Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”
Robert Frost, in his famous work, The Road Not Taken, concludes his poem with these words:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The Hero’s Journey of courage and bravery is not a glamorous one; often, it is manifested in the mundane of daily life and activity; it is the road less traveled. However, to choose the journey of owning your story, whatever that story may be, is the path that will make all the difference, not only for you but for the life of the world.
Step-by-Step Instructions by Yoga Journal
Step 1 Kneel on the floor (use a folded blanket or bolster to wedge between your calves and thighs if necessary), with your thighs perpendicular to the floor, and touch your inner knees together. Slide your feet apart, slightly wider than your hips, with the tops of the feet flat on the floor. Angle your big toes slightly in toward each other and press the top of each foot evenly on the floor.
Step 2 Exhale and sit back halfway, with your torso leaning slightly forward. Wedge your thumbs into the backs of your knees and draw the skin and flesh of the calf muscles toward the heels. Then sit down between your feet.
Watch This Video on Hero Pose
Step 3 If your buttocks don't comfortably rest on the floor, raise them on a block or thick book placed between the feet. Make sure both sitting bones are evenly supported. Allow a thumb's-width space between the inner heels and the outer hips. Turn your thighs inward and press the heads of the thigh bones into the floor with the bases of your palms. Then lay your hands in your lap, one on the other, palms up, or on your thighs, palms down.
Step 4 Firm your shoulder blades against the back ribs and lift the top of your sternum like a proud warrior. Widen the collarbones and release the shoulder blades away from the ears. Lengthen the tailbone into the floor to anchor the back torso.
See also: Give Yourself Props in Hero Pose
Step 5 At first stay in this pose from 30 seconds to 1 minute. Gradually extend your stay up to 5 minutes. To come out, press your hands against the floor and lift your buttocks up, slightly higher than the heels. Cross your ankles underneath your buttocks, sit back over the feet and onto the floor, then stretch your legs out in front of you. It may feel good to bounce your knees up and down a few times on the floor.
Step 1: Gently close your eyes and draw your attention to your body and the physical space that you are inhabiting.
Step 2: Scan your body looking for places to soften or disengage your muscles - beginning at the crown of your head; slowly making your way down, across your forehead, eyes, jaw, neckline, shoulders, torso, etc. making your way to the soles of your feet.
Step 3: Focus your attention on your breath; noticing as your belly and chest rise with each inhale and release with each exhale. As you breathe in through your nostrils, breathe out through the mouth by ever-slightly constricting your lips (e.g. like your blowing out a candle on a birthday cake). Establish this slow and rhythmic breath, deepening your breath with each inhale and lengthening your breath with each exhale.
Step 4: Now, draw your attention to the mind. We often buy into the lie that we can be in two places at once, we cannot. We can only inhabit the here and now; the gift of the present moment. Therefore, any thoughts that would seek to draw you away from the present moment, allow them to pass by. And any thought that would help facilitate your awareness of the present moment, hold onto lightly. When it no longer serves you, allow it to fade as well.
Step 5: Now with a calm body, a rhythmic breath, and a still mind, begin your meditation by setting an intention, a prayer. The suggestion for this meditation is a phrase from Matsuo Bashō - 17th century Japanese poet and teacher - “Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.” Repeat slowly this phrase, matching the phrase with your breath (e.g. “Every day is a journey” on the inhale breath, and “and the journey itself is home” on the exhale breath). Repeat intention/prayer for several minutes.
Step 6: To exit practice, return to natural breath and softly open your eyes. Next, take a moment to journal your experience.
Images and Article by Mark Carter
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I woke up to the sound of the captain’s voice saying something about an initial decent and preparing the cabin for landing with seat-trays and seatbacks in their full upright and locked position. On a smaller plane with just two persons in each row, I pressed the spring-loaded armchair button as I smiled at my seatmate before opening the window shade expecting to the see snow covered mountains. My final destination was Bend, Oregon.
To my surprise, what awaited me below was a bright-sunny February day and the Oregon coastline. With an eerie feeling that was tempered by disbelief, I quickly turned back to the friendly stranger and asked, “Are we landing in Bend, Oregon,” to which she replied, “North Bend, Oregon.” “But I thought Bend was located in the mountains,” I rebutted. “It is,” she said. Then seeing the confused and perplexed mental computation that was raging on between my ears, she clarified, “This is North Bend, Oregon; Coos Bay; we’re on the coast.” “Are you on the wrong flight?”, she asked? Sinking back, a wave of powerlessness washed over me as I reluctantly answered, “It appears, I am.”
A mindful center elicits a new perspective, a renewed purpose, an inspired patience, and a pervasive peace.
What took place next was an interesting array of internal emotions, as I wrestled with blame, irony, embarrassment, frustration, disappointment, and finally (and reluctantly) acceptance. There was nothing I could do; I was landing in Coos Bay whether I liked it, or not. Then, after a moment, the thought emerged that though I might be powerless to change my situation, I do have control over how I will respond to the situation. I might not be able to redirect the flight to Bend, but I can redirect my emotions and respond to the situation with a sense of calm and clarity.
Ash Wednesday, and the first day of Lent, marks the greatest powerlessness that every human being will encounter, i.e. mortality. Though Lent focuses on physical death and the afterlife, it is emblematic of all the ways that we are confronted with powerlessness and situations beyond our control. It is the stark reality that our lives are ever-unfolding narratives; sometimes we write chapters, sometimes we partner with others to write chapters, and sometimes chapters are written for us without our input, or consent. The spiritual task of mature people lies in the alchemy of those latter moments, the moments when each human being unmasks the myth of powerlessness by choosing how to respond to that powerlessness. You might not be able to change your situational position, but you can change your mental posture.
All is well, and all manner of things shall be well.
In the Yoga Sutras – a 400 BCE document describing the art of meditation and yoga – Patanjali reminds his readers that the mental stillness required for overcoming fears and the sufferings of everyday life begins by bringing the body, the mind, and the senses into balance; a mindful center that elicits, a new perspective, a renewed purpose, an inspired patience, and a pervasive peace.
Biologically we understand this shift-process as moving from the sympathetic nervous system - that trigger which governs the body’s flight, fight or freeze response – to the parasympathetic nervous system – that trigger which slows the body into rest and digest. Thus, meditation and mindfulness of the moment settles us into our surroundings so that we can see clearly and aides in our ability to digest fully what is taking place.
Christians have understood this practice as the art of contemplative prayer, with the end goal leaving the pilgrim rooted and grounded in a trust that “all is well, and all manner of things shall be well.”
Though cultivating this inner stillness amidst the powerlessness of daily tragedies and situations requires practice, it can be learned by a few simple and easy steps.
As you start your 40-day Lenten journey, begin by physically and mentally creating the sacred space needed for mindfulness to emerge. Don’t let the myth of powerlessness rob you of the capacity for choice. Don’t react, choose how you will respond.
Easy Pose: Step-by-Step Instructions by Yoga Journal
Step 1: Fold a thick blanket or two into a firm support about six inches high. Sit close to one edge of this support and stretch your legs out in front of your torso on the floor in Dandasana (Staff Pose).
Step 2: Cross your shins, widen your knees, and slip each foot beneath the opposite knee as you bend your knees and fold the legs in toward your torso.
Watch a video demonstration of this pose
Step 3: Relax the feet so their outer edges rest comfortably on the floor and the inner arches settle just below the opposite shin. You'll know you have the basic leg fold of Sukhasana when you look down and see a triangle, its three sides formed by the two thighs and the crossed shins. Don't confuse this position with that of other classic seated postures in which the ankles are tucked in close to the sitting bones. In Sukhasana, there should be a comfortable gap between the feet and the pelvis.
Step 4: As always, you should sit with your pelvis in a relatively neutral position. To find neutral, press your hands against the floor and lift your sitting bones slightly off the support. As you hang there for a few breaths, make your thigh bones heavy, then slowly lower your sit bones lightly back to the support. Try to balance your pubic bone and tail bone so they're equidistant from the floor.
Step 5: Either stack your hands in your lap, palms up, or lay your hands on your knees, palms down. Lengthen your tail bone toward the floor, firm your shoulder blades against your back to your upper torso, but don't over arch your lower back and poke your lower front ribs forward.
Step 6: You can sit in this position for any length of time, but if you practice this pose regularly, be sure to alternate the cross of the legs. A good rule of thumb: On even-numbered days, cross the right shin in front of the left, and on odd-numbered days, do the opposite. Alternately, you can divide the practice time in half, and spend the first half with your right leg forward, and the second half with the left leg forward.
Step 1: Gently close your eyes and draw your attention to your body and the physical space that you are inhabiting.
Step 2: Scan your body looking for places to soften or disengage your muscles - beginning at the crown of your head; slowly making your way down, across your forehead, eyes, jaw, neckline, shoulders, torso, etc. making your way to the soles of your feet.
Step 3: Focus your attention on your breath; noticing as your belly and chest rise with each inhale and release with each exhale. As you breathe in through your nostrils, breathe out through the mouth by ever-slightly constricting your lips (e.g. like your blowing out a candle on a birthday cake). Establish this slow and rhythmic breath, deepening your breath with each inhale and lengthening your breath with each exhale.
Step 4: Now, draw your attention to the mind. We often buy into the lie that we can be in two places at once, we cannot. We can only inhabit the here and now; the gift of the present moment. Therefore, any thoughts that would seek to draw you away from the present moment, allow them to pass by. And any thought that would help facilitate your awareness of the present moment, hold onto lightly. When it no longer serves you, allow it to fade as well.
Step 5: Now with a calm body, a rhythmic breath, and a still mind, begin your meditation by setting an intention, a prayer. The suggestion for this meditation is the phrase quoted earlier, “All is well, and all manner of things shall be well” (the famous phrase from the 12c-English Christian mystic, St. Julian of Norwich). Repeat slowly this phrase, matching the phrase with your breath (e.g. “All is well” on the inhale breath, and “all manner of things shall be well” on the exhale breath). Repeat intention/prayer for several minutes.
Step 6: To exit practice, return to natural breath and softly open your eyes. Next, take a moment to journal your experience.
Images and Article by Mark Carter
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I am a widower. My wife died on December 21, 2014 after a thirteen-week intense battle with Stage IV uterine cancer. She was only 38 years old, and we would have been married nineteen years. This jarring experience rattled me to the core, to the soul – the place where I knew and defined my self, others and the world around me. It caused me to question everything, to place it all under the microscope of scrutiny - my beliefs, my dogmas, my idiosyncrasies and my aspirations. My world was turned upside down and I was left with only pieces of a life that I once knew wondering how it would be put back together. Feelings of insecurity, unmet occupational dreams, old emotional wounds of belonging all surfaced as I sat on the proverbial floor sifting through random-colored blocks of life.
It was in the midst of this journey of reassessment that an unsuspecting acquaintance became a close and personal friend. She and I spoke a similar language; we shared a depth and perspective. As a poet and artist, she encouraged me to seriously explore the creative talents that were fundamentally apart of me, but were buried beneath childhood fears - parts that were inactive because I was frightened to believe that they were good. Through her artful expression, she provided a metaphor for me to envision a creative life given as a gift to others. She gave me a book by Elle Luna entitled The Crossroads of Should and Must – a story that deeply resonated with me, and in it I discovered possibility, a “wholehearted life” -- to borrow a phrase from Brené Brown -- a reimagined existence that integrated the breadth of my past with the emerging good of my future. It took profound loss and the gift of new relationships to serve as an incubator to birth courage and bravery to hear and respond to Luna’s words: How long will you wait to honor who you are?
“Though our experience may oscillate between community and aloneness, it is precisely this experience that opens us up to something new.”
For years, I stood on the sidelines of photography curiously looking at cameras and jealously envying others who practiced it with ease. I would inquire about the type of camera and lens I should buy, but in the end I would talk myself out of it citing a long list of inadequacies. However, this past December, I walked into a local camera shop and it was different. Unlike other salespeople, this man listened to my daydreams and exaggerations and instead of directing me to a starter camera -- a suggestion that would have felt dismissive -- he pointed me to a model that was suited for my future goals. More money than I had anticipated spending, I told him that I would think about it for a few days. Strangely this departure wasn’t shrouded in anxiety, but excitement. Later that evening and over the next two days, I did my homework – reading reviews and comparing notes. Satisfied with the information, I went back in and purchased the camera. This time, when I left the store, I was not overwhelmed with the paralyzing emotion of insufficiency but rather with the liberating emotion of potential. I had taken the first step into a dream planted in me as an adolescent; I was enacting a “Must” and it was invigorating.
The same has been true with writing. For the first time, I have been exploring poetry and story telling immersing myself in the freedom that is artistic expression, and slowly I am discovering my voice. With each simple act of awkward faithfulness something like light breaks through. With every word typed and every exposure taken, possibility becomes clearer; an ever-expanding dream of a creative outlet that curates my experiences of image and idea in the public square. I want to do for others what has been done for me – encouragement to rise-up from varied losses to reimagine life where everything belongs and where our actions and attitudes are marked by courage, bravery, compassion and creativity.
This journey is not an easy one. There are times when I am still overwhelmed by fear and immobilized at the thought of failure; however, I am constantly reminded that we never walk our paths in isolation. Though our experience may oscillate between community and aloneness, it is precisely this experience that opens us up to something new. It is in community that we are encouraged by the reassuring words of the other, an affirming touch or a gentle challenge that pushes against our apprehensions. It is in our aloneness that mental clutter is removed and emotional static is silenced. It is in our aloneness that we are granted the terrifying gift of seeing ourselves fully, and the opportunity and invitation to respond to that gift of being and becoming who we were created to be.
Once a month I attend a small group in the evening that meets together to discuss reflections and ideas related to an NPR podcast series hosted by Krista Tippett called On Being. Last week’s gathering focused on an interview with David Whyte entitled The Conversational Nature of Reality. As poet and philosopher, Whyte spoke about humanity’s reluctance to live in the tension of loss and gratitude ignoring the discipline of attentiveness and presence, and in doing so missing the opportunity for maturity and wholeness. Instead of running away from the conversation between these opposites, Whyte suggests we enter fully into that moment and discover what it has to teach us - the gift of vulnerability. Reciting his poem entitled Sweet Darkness he captures what few are able to articulate. He states
“When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.
It’s time to go into the night
where the dark has eyes
to recognize its own.
It’s time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
There you
can be sure
you are not beyond love.
The dark will make a home for you tonight.
The night
will give you a horizon
further than you can see.
You must learn one thing. You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.
You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.”
How long will you wait to honor who you are? This question reverberates through the silent spaces in each of us. Instead of running away, let us learn attentiveness and enter fully into the conversation between loss and gratitude. Let us discover that we are always undergirded by hope – and hope is possibility.
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A year ago I took the day off from work and hung out at one of my favorite places to surf - an iconic spot called Swami’s. Twenty minutes from where I live, it’s located just below the meditation gardens of the Self Realization Fellowship Temple in San Diego. Filled with a rich surfing history, Swami’s attracts both the spiritual seeker as well as those searching for the perfect wave. I guess I was no different that day; having lost a spouse to cancer 7 months earlier I had a new appreciation for the beauty of flowers, the ebb of the ocean, the stillness of a prayer garden and the joy of gliding in water.
Stoked to do nothing but surf, read and vagabond I arrived early to snag one of the coveted parking spaces that overlook the cliffs giving panoramic views of the southern California coastline. Intending to spend the whole day there, I set up shop with my camp chair, stove, books and snacks. Settling in, I greeted my parking space neighbor – an older man wearing only cutoff jeans for shorts, his pick-up truck carrying all of his belongings. He had weathered skin and his eyes danced when hit with light. His beard and hair – a mixture of white and brown – flowed seamlessly together. His temperament was gentle. His name was David.
As our conversation moved from small talk, David and I began to share about our lives – our joys, our sorrows, our pasts and our futures. Hearing that I had been in full-time Christian ministry for the last 15 years, David’s curiosity was piqued and the topic quickly shifted to religion. Far from antagonistic, we both listened respectfully as we shared our faith journeys to discovering the Divine highlighting our commonalities and seeking to understand our differences. Toward the end of the conversation, David pivoted to face me and said, “I grew up Christian, but I have spent my whole life exploring other religions, and though I have no regrets there is one thing I miss about Christianity – the belief in a personal God who sees you and knows you by name.”
Like a time warp, his statement reminded me of a moment when I was sitting in a restaurant at the Portland International Airport waiting for a good friend. As I finished my meal, I pulled out my journal – it was one of those melancholic days when you see nothing good in yourself only deficits and failings, and I was trying to capture these overwhelming thoughts and emotions on paper in attempt to understand them. Suddenly my table-sever approached and noticed I was writing and said, “You have beautiful penmanship - would you write something in my notepad that I keep with me at all times?” Astonished and amazed, I agreed. While I could not see anything but shortcomings in me, someone else saw something good. While I did not think I had thoughts worthy of being written, someone else wanted my words in their cherished journal.
Moved to tears as she walked away leaving the spiral-bound paper with me, I reveled in the gift of being unexpectedly seen and known. Writing to her what I desperately needed to hear, I said:
Jo – Thank you for your wonderful service. May you know at the
depths of your being that you are loved by God; that the Father
runs out to greet you; that the Son leaves the 99 to find you;
and that the Spirit lights lamps of fire looking for you in the shadow places.
You are His beloved on whom His favor rests.
Take care & peace – Mark
My mind quickly returned to David, the warm sunshine of the morning and the stainless steel cup of coffee in my hand. We said our goodbyes - I sat in silence watching the sets roll in marveling at the grace of our conversation.
Truly the heart of Judeo-Christianity is the story of Infinite LOVE making itself known in creation, in covenant, in revelation, in incarnation, in sacrifice and in resurrection – and sometimes as an African-American woman named Jo serving your food at an airport restaurant or a weathered homeless man named David wearing only cutoff jeans for shorts. Whatever the form, the message is the same - you are the beloved of God known and seen from the beginning of time.
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