July Newsletter
Happy July!
As many of you know, the fireworks on the Fourth of July can be difficult for dogs, veterans, birds, and wildlife of every kind. This year, Kelly, Locket, Gioconda, Ash (Gia's dog), and I hunkered down in our basement to watch a movie, hoping to buffer the dogs from the sounds of the neighborhood celebrations. Even so, the loudest explosions frightened Locket. As she shivered on her bed, Kelly reached over, rested his hand on her, and said gently, "We are right here with you."
He didn't tell Locket she was okay, urge her to settle down, or insist that she had nothing to fear. He simply said, "We are right here with you." Granted, as intelligent as Locket is, she probably didn't understand the words, nor did she appear especially comforted in the moment. I, however, found Kelly's response to be a profound reminder of what I have come to think of as the central promise of a life of practice and faith.
I used to believe that faith, practice, and prayer existed to change circumstances—to register an intercessory appeal, request a favorable outcome, or somehow move life in a more positive direction. Don't get me wrong; better is better. I welcome joyful moments, celebrate good news, and remain deeply grateful whenever suffering is ameliorated or eradicated. At the same time, life has taught me that sometimes the answer to prayer is "no," and sometimes I must learn to live with conditions that are unlikely to improve at the outer level.
As I have grown older, I have outgrown the more simplistic spirituality of my younger years. Increasingly, I understand faith, practice, and prayer not as ways to control external circumstances, but as ways of remembering that I am not alone in the midst of disappointment, uncertainty, tragedy, and loss. Faith does not always change what is happening around me. More often, it changes the way I inhabit and relate to what is happening.
In friendship, we call this kind of presence "showing up for one another" or "holding space." My psychotherapist friend calls her work an exercise in “standing at the wound.” Social justice movements speak of solidarity and the importance of being with people in their lived experience rather than swooping in as saviors to rescue or fix them. When we chant niralambaya tejase during our invocation before class, we affirm "the luminosity of spirit that exists regardless of circumstance." Christianity expresses the same truth in the name Emmanuel which means "God with us." Different traditions use different language, but they point toward the same mystery: presence itself is healing.
I believe that practice, in all its forms, cultivates this kind of presence. Whether I am making thoughtful dietary choices, reciting mantra, limiting my screen time, setting healthy boundaries, praying, meditating, or rolling out a yoga mats, each practice becomes a way of saying, "I am right here with you." Every conscious choice invites me into a living relationship with myself in and through the present moment.
Take an asana class, for example. A teacher's cues certainly describe the physical shapes of the poses, the movements that create them, and the actions that mitigate risk or deepen expression. At one level, those instructions are largely bio-mechanical. Yet no matter how clear or skillful the cue, students cannot embody an instruction without paying attention to both the teacher and to themselves. And what is attention, if not another way of saying, "I am right here with you”?
Perhaps this understanding is one of the deepest gifts of practice. Beneath the poses, the philosophy, and the various techniques lies an invitation to engage life with greater presence. The shape of the postures matter, of course, but perhaps their deeper purpose is to help us cultivate the capacity to be present—to remain with our experience rather than turning away from life’s incessant unfolding. Over time, we might just realize that while we were making shapes on that mat or sitting on a cushion or in a church pew we were also learning to offer ourselves the same quiet reassurance Kelly offered Locket on the Fourth of July: I am right here with you. And maybe that simple promise is enough to carry us through whatever is going on and whatever is coming next.
As always, I invite you to let me know the ways you are being with yourself as well as the any of the ups and downs occurring in your inner and outer life. I certainly don’t have anything very smart to say about modern times, but I do love getting glimpses into your lives and at the risk of overworking my theme, “I am right here with you in the midst of The Everything.”
Love,
Christina
