Of Course, There are Dogs
One of the biggest evolutions in my "spiritual understandings" these days is that the spiritual teachings I have contemplated over the years don't seem so esoteric or “other than" as they did when I was younger and newer to the journey. For instance, I used to think that the invocation we chant in the beginning of Anusara yoga classes would manifest in my life with bells, whistles, bright lights, and fascinating psychic phenomenon.
Hearing about the Great Everything that takes form as Being-Consciousness-Bliss, I anticipated a state of consciousness where I would be unbothered by neurosis, untethered to my obligations, and free from upset over people being so “peopley.” Considering an ever-present presence that was essentially peaceful, I envisioned myself living a life that was not so “lifey” and animating an equanimity without the pesky problems of anger, envy, and fear. In affirming a light that, independent in its radiance, shines regardless of circumstance, I imagined myself living my best life, glowing with abundant delight, competent AF, and, of course, popular and well-compensated.
Okay, not really.
But sort of.
On some level, I expected to grow into someone different than who I am. I believed that between the stretching in Sanskrit we call yoga asana, the meditation, the scriptural study, the endless eating regimens that promised to purify my body and mind, my sharp edges would soften, my critical perspectives would ease up, and my sense of humor would magically mature beyond the dark, self-deprecating sarcasm that seems to be at the heart of what makes me laugh most days.
And truth be told, anyone who knows me knows that some of that has happened. I laugh and cry easily, I enjoy people readily, and I claim my shortcomings with increasing self-compassion. (If you are just meeting me now, ask any of my long-time students and friends and they will tell you that this is the softest and most user-friendly version of Christina Sell to date.) When people ask me how I remain hopeful in the face of the Everything of modern times, my best guess is because I know growth is possible. Of course, I am not often optimistic because I know the inherent difficulty that exists in personally growing beyond habitual patterns and the task of scaling growth collectively is daunting. But, truth be told, I remain hopeful because I feel my own growth and I recognize similar growth in others.
The movement toward growth inside a longing to love fully is how I relate to what before felt “spiritual” and now just seems like the extra-ordinary possibility inherent in being human. Spirituality, for me, is the “extra” in the ordinary where life is made extraordinary, not because of something fantastical, exalted, or outside of my life, but because the immediacy of life is Grace-soaked— sanctified through attention, intention, reverence, recognition and the willingness to return again and again to the questions that most move me forward— How can I love more fully? What inside this situation is holy? How can I truly serve?
So, yeah.
And, of course, there are dogs. No matter what is happening in the world, Locket wants a morning belly rub, a tasty snack, and is almost always up to play a game of some kind. Regardless of what is or is not happening and how I feel about it all, my heart swells when I look at her, reminding me that joy rises up through neurosis, love shines through tragedy, and play is often the most fun when the weather is rainy and the ground is muddy.
I am not so naive as to think that dogs will fix the horrors in Israel and Palestine. Dogs can’t vote and they will not rectify the abuses of power and ongoing corruption in our government. Dogs can’t keep me from betraying my own best intentions or make me more patient quickly. (Of course, as we know, if patience came quickly, it would be called something else. But I digress.) In the same way that dogs can’t fix all the problems I can name, neither do I believe in a transcendent being who can do all of that for me (or us) without my (or our) participation in the process.
And yet.
Because there is always an “and yet.”
And yet, something moves me onward, calling me into the greater possibilities that exist inside the ongoing stream of Life, opening me to new ways of seeing, moving and having my being. I have called that “something” by many names over the years and found help, support and community in every instance, by every name. It seems to me that the unbounded forces of Love are not so caught up in the specific names by which they are invoked as they are in meeting me where I am, speaking to me through who and what I care about, and reminding me that I am not separate from its flow.
All right, more soon. Gotta go check in with Dad and put some of these musings into practice.
Keep the faith.
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