Ham Sah

Do you think I know what I'm doing? That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself? As much as a pen knows what it's writing, or the ball can guess where it's going next. - Jelaluddin Rumi in the Zen Calendar (July 31, 2002)

Day 27. February is over. Yahoo. Although, weather wise, today felt reMarchably like February.

I am discovering how tempting it is to utilize a blog simply as an online journal. The blank white square on my computer when I begin a new post BEGS to be filled with personal data of the day. Sometimes it is hard to stay on task. Tonight, however, I will cut to the blog (so to speak) because logging on to this ancient computer took longer than I will soon spend on my cushion.

While sitting last night, I focused on my breath utilizing a technique I learned from -- hmmmm. Don't remember. I want to credit a gifted teacher at a sweat lodge I visited once for a Fire Walk. I think that is my source. I'm fairly certain that the teacher in question would be most interested in my learning and applying the technique - even if I can't recall the exact circumstances under which I came upon it. I was taught to focus on the syllable "Ham" (rhymes with mom) during my inhale and "Sah" while I exhaled. Over and over again, "Ham; Sah. Ham; Sah" in rhythm with my breathing.

Focusing on these syllables - hearing the sound they made in my mind - really facilitated my capacity to stay in the moment (read: the Monkeys were silenced.) It felt effortless and mystical to accompany my breath with the words, AND it absorbed the incessant, distracting energy generated by my chattering mind. I became increasingly still and deeply peaceful. The longer I sat, the more my breath seemed to BECOME the sounds. They suited the movement of breath so perfectly. I noticed that the "h" sound in Ham occurred precisely at the moment my breath chose to draw itself up into an inhale -- it was as though the sound was conducive to the uptake of the breath. Difficult to explain; vivid to experience. As my inhale pulled itself deeply into my lungs, the sound/feeling of "Ham" beautifully accompanied it, like when a well-tuned chord coincides with a note sung in perfect pitch. A similar sensation occurred with the "Sah" and my exhale. They seemed to mingle in perfect harmony - in a symphony of synchronized sound and movement. Strangely, the cadence of the exhale exactly matched the length of the "Sah" in my mind's ear. My breath simply breathed itself in . . . and . . . out. It felt effortless and pure - like the Original Breath of the Universe must have felt. Ancient, strong, indomitable. The breath of all breaths.

This is yet another experience in which my practice offered a gift, and it feels utterly right to simply accept it with humbleness and gratitude. I am attempting to accurately share what happened, but as soon as I talk about it -- it's gone. Strangely, blogging about something so holy and mysterious feels a little blasphemous. Description can detract from the sacred -- perhaps it must only be lived. I'm headed to my cushion to find out.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc