Testimonials: how do I maintain my practice?
At the Community Meeting in November 2019, we agreed different sangha members would contribute a testimonial each month focused on the question: how do I maintain my practice? As 2020 unfolded, responses became starkly focused on the coronavirus pandemic.
December
Preparing this final testimonial for 2020, I began by reading through the wonderful testimonials others have contributed during this terrible year, each month since January. Two interlinked sets of reflections stand out for me.
The first is the unexpected benefits that quarantine has brought us. Someone wrote “We prefer the notion of ‘at home retreat’ versus ‘quarantining’.” Someone else wrote: “I was able to return to my roots, the place I grew up, spending time in nature, resting in one place.” Another, “I am re-discovering that the energy of mindfulness, or doing things with concentration, love and attention, is just as important as it ever was, and even more.”
The second is the benefits of deeper practice; some of us have had more time for our practice during this isolation. Someone wrote “My morning sit has become more vital as the year has gone by”, while someone else found “the practice of taking refuge in sangha has helped to ground and sustain me” during this challenging time. One person commented on how they “practice reaching out to those I know are lonely”; another said “It’s also been more challenging to remain socially engaged during the pandemic, but the inspiration of Thay’s work during what we call the Vietnam war is ever-present. So I try to do what I can.”
What powerful lessons for me, and perhaps for us all. I am so grateful for our sangha. All I want to add is this gatha, from Thay’s book Present Moment Wonderful Moment, which has helped me with my difficult times this year, helped me process all the suffering and death that has surrounded us. “The earth is our mother. All life arises from her and is nourished by her. Each of us is a child of the Earth and, at some time, the Earth will take us back to her again. In fact, we are continuously coming to life and returning to the bosom of the Earth. We who practice meditation should be able to see birth and death in every breath.
“Earth brings us to life
and nourishes us.
Earth takes us back again.
We are born and we die we every breath.”
November
So what are my negative emotions that have been watered by the pandemic for most of this year? Here is what has mostly arisen:
Fear. Who will get sick next? Will it be someone in my immediate family? What will happen to us all if we don’t have a safe and effective vaccine in 2021?
Anger. Why has mask-wearing become a politically partisan issue that trumps medical advice? Why are so many people across the country acting so selfishly, so irresponsibly? How have we let a virus divide us?
Melancholy. Will my life return to something I recognize as normal?
Sadness. Why are all these negative emotions arising in me?
And how has the practice helped?
My morning sit has become more vital as the year has gone by; it both calms and energizes me. I have practiced more walking meditation as the year has progressed. As Thay writes in The Energy of Prayer: “We have the Buddha right here. Whenever we do walking meditation, we can take hold of the hand of the Buddha and walk.”
Mindfulness during the day has helped me maintain my stability, has helped prevent negative emotions arising. Calming, breathing, releasing. The present moment offers me the joyful experience of simply being here. “Nowhere to go, nothing to do”.
But there is more I could be doing. I have largely failed to listen deeply to those whose views on the pandemic I disagree with, for example, those who have roused anger in me. I don’t have opportunities to meet with anti-maskers, and I still cannot bring myself to watch the tv channels or listen to the radio shows which present these views and might have helped me understand why so many people ignore scientific advice.
It’s also been more challenging to remain socially engaged during the pandemic, but the inspiration of Thay’s work during what we call the Vietnam war is ever-present. So I try to do what I can. I stay in touch with people I can’t visit because of the pandemic, online and through letters. I send small gifts to people who might be in need of a reminder that folk still care about them. I make financial contributions where I can. In the Thirteenth Mindfulness Training we commit “… to cultivating generosity in our way of thinking, speaking and acting.”
The Five Remembrances have also been a constant presence in my life this year, helping me cope with the fear of sickness. “I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old. I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health. I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death. All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them. My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.”
Once every month at sangha, we have continued to recite the Refuge Chant together. It includes these words: “I vow to let go of all worries and anxiety in order to be light and free.” Despite the pandemic and maybe because of the pandemic, I am joyful to be alive, right here, right now.
October
We live in challenging times. Political divisiveness, economic uncertainties, the disastrous consequences of global warming, and a worldwide health crisis combine to water the seeds of despair that exist in each of us. Personal challenges – in my case a serious accident that rendered me unable to perform even the simplest of everyday tasks – can make the desperation seem overwhelming.
Thay teaches that the energy of mindfulness offers us the stability we need to recognize and embrace life’s challenges without stoking emotions like fear and dread. Mindfulness allows us to be in touch with the wonders of life that exist all around us, and to recognize the many conditions for our happiness that already exist, in the here and the now.
My practice begins simply, with one mindful breadth, and then another, and another. Soon my body and mind begin to relax. With time (usually a minute or two), my mind drifts to thoughts of past regrets, future expectations, and/or my prevailing anxieties. If I’m lucky, I can bring myself back to the present by breathing and reciting a gatha: in and out, calm smile, present moment wonderful moment. Even a few moments of doing this helps to calm my body and mind.
One thing that helps me maintain my practice is that it doesn’t need to be done on a cushion; it can be done just about any place, at any time. Walking mindfully, even just for a few minutes, is incredibly helpful. I found this to be especially true in the weeks and months following my accident. Sitting was especially painful, and walking offered relief. Walking mindfully – breathing in with my first step, out with the next, etc. – not only helps to calm my mind, but contributes to the healing process. The accident – which resulted in a broken neck – could have left me paralyzed, or worse, could have resulted in death, I was told by medical professionals. That it didn’t was a miracle, and walking mindfully allows me to be in touch with this miracle, and to celebrate it.
Sangha also plays an important role in maintaining my practice. I am especially grateful for the Sunday evening Zoom-based practice WMC has gone to because of the coronavirus pandemic. My first encounter with WMC was more than 20 years ago. How wonderful it was to find a community of practitioners to sit and breath with, to support my practice. When I moved to a rural community in northwest Frederick County it was no longer practical to travel to DC for Sunday nights with WMC. I found some local meditation groups, but none had the staying power of WMC. Then, when I was laid up this summer, a friend told me about WMC via Zoom. Joining the Zoom session that first Sunday evening, it felt like I had never left. So many old, and new friends – companions along the path, supporting my practice, and my healing process.
For me, Sangha serves as an anchor that keeps me moored to my mindfulness practice. This has been especially necessary during the pandemic. Living alone, in a rural setting, I’ve had little face-to-face interaction with the outside world since the pandemic began. Having a community of practitioners to meet with at the start of each week offers a refuge from the despair that I hear and read about daily, and the fortitude to face what the week ahead presents with a sense of peace and equanimity.
September
How do I maintain my practice? I do get carried away by excitement and projects, anxiety and worries, or even joy and fun, and each day, or sometimes each moment, and have to remind myself to breathe, relax and smile, and start anew. It was that way 15 years ago when I first came to the practice of mindfulness during a difficult period of my life. It is exactly the same today.
When the coronavirus epidemic started, I was living in Mexico, working at my consulting job and traveling frequently – many exciting things were happening but I was also feeling an urge, an urgency for some time, to return to simplicity and to my roots, however that might look. When WMC started to hold the Sunday night Zoom meetings, I felt grateful that I could connect from my apartment in Mexico City. Then, when the pandemic started to intensify, I decided with my parents that I would return to their house, where I grew up, to quarantine and be in rural Virginia, much safer than a densely populated city.
I was able to return to my roots, the place I grew up, spending time in nature, resting in one place and being daily with my parents that felt both luxurious and restful, but also disorienting and humbling. It did bring up old childhood wounds, but this time I was able to work with them more confidently than I would have as an adolescent. It also in a big way forced me to be present with my now, to accept that we didn’t know what would happen even tomorrow or next week, and that the mere fact of being safe, with plenty of food, in a spacious forest, was a gift so many did not have. Coming back to a more regular yoga practice, cooking simply at home, and living more in rhythm with nature was both a radical change and a necessary period of coming back home to myself, literally and figuratively.
I am re-discovering that the energy of mindfulness, or doing things with concentration, love and attention, is just as important as it ever was, and even more. I sit for 20 minutes of meditation in the morning, and I do my best to breathe mindfully while I do tasks, talk on phone and video calls, and transition from each segment of the day to the next without becoming rushed or straining to get things done, or worrying about what could happen in the future. To feel satisfaction and smile with each small task and activity. Knowing that I am enough. Sometimes I feel so much warmth and joy talking to friends and colleagues, and sometimes I feel deep peace. Many times I feel anxiety that needs my attention, and sometimes that anxiety and worrying exhausts me and I need to rest. Accepting and loving the anxious and scared part of me and allowing myself to rest is profoundly healing and also has given me a chance to feel more connected to what friends and loved ones are going through, what the world is going through, and to feel grounded. Without mud, there is no lotus.
It's incredible to connect by Zoom and see familiar beloved faces from our sangha, from when I first started practicing, reminding me with their words of many of the teachings we cherish, and helping me to remember again and again that I already have everything I need to be happy right now, and I always did, as do all of us.
August
One of the big changes for me during the pandemic has been the cancellation of all the educator retreats I was scheduled to help with. One was the eight-day retreat in July at Centro Avalokita, Thay’s lay practice center in central Italy. Stefano and Letizia, the two Dharma Teachers hosts there, invited me to offer a 4-session webinar series instead, which Kaira Jewel Lingo was happy to co-teach.
For me, teaching is a very intimate practice. Normally, when the participants arrive at Avalokita, I’m there to meet them and begin getting to know them and vice versa. In my Dharma talks I try to continually connect with all of them, making eye contact, exchanging smiles,…. We exchange energy. But our webinars on Zoom gave me no opportunity to do this. In fact, because of the platform, I couldn’t see the face of a single participant. Could I smile at the computer screen? I remembered from Thay that I always had sufficient conditions for happiness. My most significant is our two-year-old granddaughter Jane Maple. During the first webinar session a photo of Jane Maple’s smiling face looked up at me from beside the computer. For the next sessions I added a photo of Thay and one of my educator friends Nathalie and Ira who I knew would be watching.
I was still challenged. As beautiful as these faces were, they were fixed in time, inspiring, but not responding. During our final session, I saw my face on the computer screen and suddenly felt the presence of one hundred and forty educators all over the world watching this same face. They were connecting with me. They were in me. I could see them in my face.
In the historical dimension, COVID-19 has sadly, sometimes tragically, separated us from loved ones, our Sangha, our friends. But in the ultimate dimension they are with us, in us, and always will be.
July
One year ago, I suffered a traumatic brain injury that landed me in the ER. At this point in my life, I’d begun practicing with Washington Mindfulness Community as a student of Thich Nhat Hanh. The skills I’ve learned and the support of the sangha have helped me face the life-altering events that followed.
I was one of the 10-20% of TBI survivors who develop post-concussion syndrome, a debilitating constellation of symptoms that persist long after the injury. Migraines, dizziness, sensitivity to light and noise, mental and physical exhaustion. Before finding WMC, I’d worked as a writer in high-stress marketing environments. I stacked my weekends with social engagements, filled the interim hours with television, and sealed the cracks with music played at earsplitting octaves and an exercise regimen that I can only describe as masochistic. After my injury, I couldn’t exercise at all. I was unable to work. I couldn’t watch television.
My injury demanded nothing short of a revolution in my personal approach to mental health, diet, lifestyle and perspective. I am deeply grateful for the collective body of the sangha, without which I could not have undertaken the task. The sangha has a remarkable capacity to heal. I practiced mindful breathing and, after some time, my racing thoughts and unruly emotions calmed. I did walking meditation with the goal of returning to my body with each step rather than getting somewhere. I began to pay attention to what I consumed—foods, television, books and music. Using mindfulness and concentration, I’ve cultivated insights into the misperceptions and destructive behavior patterns that obstructed my recovery and my well-being.
I wish I could say that I fully recovered and returned to my old life a new person. My recovery has had ups and downs. I’ve been told I will be permanently disabled. I’ve been told I can heal completely. Today, my happiness cannot reside in conditionals or outcomes. I’ve held onto Thay’s guidance that the body can speak to you about the kingdom of heaven, the Pureland of the Buddha, salvation, happiness, whatever you want to call it. My mind-body is healing. I listen to it. I am alive and can enjoy writing in this moment. It is a beautiful moment. I smile to it, in passing.
June
Covid19 arrived as I was preparing to permanently move away from Washington DC, during a period when I was between housing and between jobs. This led me to needing to quarantine myself in my parents’ home, where I’d spent some years of my youth. Sharing a roof with my mother for the first time in 16 years brought me face to face with my and family’s suffering in a way I hadn’t experienced since I started my practice. It has been a thorny experience, but not without some beautiful roses of insight. Being in such proximity to my familial suffering and habitual energy brought home the importance and urgency of diligence in my practice, one of the five powers that are the foundation of real happiness. Diligence had been accentuated to me by a monastic in the past, but during the quarantine it became relevant on a much more personal level. The other four powers or energies are faith (or trust), mindfulness, concentration and insight.
What has been anchoring my practice during quarantine the most is a sangha, in different shapes and forms. I support my individual morning sit by joining live meditations with brothers and sisters streamed from Plum Village, when I can. The virtual sit and sharing on Sundays with the Washington Mindful Community members have become a weekly ritual, comparable to a safe family dinner with kindred spirits. I have restarted a second-body practice with multiple spiritual friends though video calls and through letters. Spending less time communicating over email, which had often felt hurried, has brought more mindfulness into my interpersonal interactions.
Deeply important during these months had been spending time outdoors, and I’m grateful for being located in a place where I can do so without putting others in harm’s way. As I’ve come into contact with some of my familial suffering and childhood trauma, I’ve noticed that being in my body has been most healing, whether it’s through a guided total relaxation with the Plum Village App, going on a walk barefoot, or listening to the chorus of bird calls during dawn or dusk. To touch my seeds of joy and mindfulness I decided to restart writing three things I’m grateful for each night, something I’ve occasionally been able to share with my mother to water those seeds in her as well.
May
Practicing With the Pandemic: My practice is maintained by support of the Sangha, personal diligence and the changes arising from insight, understanding and freedom that have manifested as a result of Thay’s practices. Now more than ever, I must invoke the two times to practice rule - when I want to and when I don’t. Who knows where I’d be without a partner to nourish my daily practice and offer support when times are tough.
We prefer the notion of “at home retreat” versus “quarantining” thus framing the possibilities before us. Weekly participation with the Washington Mindfulness and additional practice time with members of Stillwater Mindfulness Practice Center fuel our days. With so much fear and uncertainty spiraling through Our World, now more than ever, I water seeds of compassion and understanding that I may be open to the suffering of those about me. I practice reaching out to those I know are lonely and practice understanding for those relatives and friends that do not reach out to me, instead of watering seeds of resentment.
While I wear a mask on my face, I do not wear one on my heart. I nourish gratitude for our home, food, friends, family, technology which fosters connection, books and music. I practice patience with myself when my judgements arise and breathe to let them go. Seeing my expectations, I practice to understand where they arise from. Hopefully I let go. Breathing in, I aim to reduce the tide of fear about us. Breathing out, I let go a little more. Hearing Thay in a talk say “all formations are impermanent,” I am relieved. This simple gatha continues to sustain me: “Breathing in, I know that I am alive; breathing out, I am happy.” I smile and extend this energy to others.
April
I’m very fortunate to have been practicing with my friends at the Washington Mindfulness Community for many years. As we currently find ourselves in this time of tumult and uncertainty, it has been the practice of taking refuge in sangha that has helped to ground and sustain me. I know that my sangha brothers and sisters are there breathing and practicing along with me, and suddenly I know that I’m not alone. We practice together so that everyone can be free from anxiety, fear, and affliction and learn to dwell peacefully in whatever moment we find ourselves. When I breathe deeply, I come back to the present moment and send my loving kindness, compassion, joy and inclusiveness to all beings. When my dear sangha friends breathe deeply, they send those four elements of love to me as well. In this way, we support ourselves, each other, and the whole world.
It’s really not that I maintain my practice so much as that my practice maintains me.
March
My first experience with WMC was a few weeks after a holiday retreat at Blue Cliff Monastery. I had only been a student of Thay’s teachings for a few weeks, but that didn’t seem to matter. The sangha was warm and welcoming, so from the first moment I arrived I felt at home. I went back a second time and then a third.
After just a few weeks, I had developed a new habit of joining WMC for an evening of silent and walking meditation. Showing up at WMC was having a transformative effect on me.
There is a powerful energy that the sangha creates when it comes together - an energy that isn’t there when I meditate on my own. Hearing Thay’s teachings and practicing dharma sharing and deep listening with other people on a regular basis also helps me to deepen my mindfulness practice and make mindfulness a part of my life even when I’m not with the sangha.
Eight years later, most Sunday evenings I choose to be with the sangha. It brings me joy to be part of this community.
February
How do I keep my practice alive?
Mindfulness practice is very simple to learn. The difficulty is in practicing it every moment of our life, as I have found out through my years of trying to practice. Initially my practice consisted of meditating with the Sangha and perhaps a few sittings at home. As I progressed more in the practice I gained a deeper understanding.
One of Thay's favorite sayings is that "Nirvana is the way ; There is no way to Nirvana." Mindfulness is a journey to be relished every step of the way. This was the hardest and most difficult part to understand and to accept. We are very strongly conditioned to think of life as a journey to some place, where we achieve some things and gain some knowledge and at some point it reaches a critical mass and we become enlightened or live happily ever after. The truth is that such thinking itself is an obstacle to progress. As long as we are bound by some notion of what enlightenment is or what happiness is, we are limiting ourselves.
Luckily I also have an inherent belief in living truthfully and putting the means above the goals. While I am still a long way from letting go of ego and ambition, at the least there is an understanding that the most important thing I can do in life is to live every moment mindfully. Such living solidifies the insight that we are not just our little ego or our little self but part of a bigger self, the universal being or inter-being. This in turn fills life with joy, happiness and a sense of wonder, at least in those moments when I am being mindful.
The practice of mindfulness and the words of Thay help me to remember this truth and focus on the moment at hand. I try to watch a video of Thich Nhat Hanh every night. I also try to think of difficult moments as a kind of mindfulness bell. They help me to stop and get back to being mindful. Certainly the Sangha helps to reinforce the teachings and provides a support system.
January
First of all, I maintain my practice by doing it. Sitting on that cushion every day, whether I am at home or not, busy or not, feeling like it or not. I always sit at the same time of day, because routine helps me.
Second, I have my little ritual, again because I know routine helps me. At home, I have a very simple altar, incense and a bell; these three come together in my opening and closing rituals, along with a plastic folder of gathas and sutras that I find most helpful.
But beyond my daily meditation, how do I maintain my practice during the day? Periodically (i.e. when I remember!) I come back to my breathing. I align my footsteps with my breath. I smile, or at least half smile. There have been movie villains who smiled as they committed their heinous acts, but I find smiling encourages compassionate behavior.