Magnify

"That which we pay attention magnifies." - Mary Nurrie Stearns on 6/17/2010.

Day 136. I have been sitting here for a very long time contemplating an opening sentence that does not reference the heat. I have failed. It is hot.

It was a pleasure to take part in the Yoga and Mindfulness workshop yesterday. Much of it was experiential. I must admit that I abhor typical touchy-feely audience participation in most psychological seminars (yes, my occupational testing scores pointed me to engineering rather than the helping professions). My zazen practice rendered me primed and open to receive that which was offered by the workshop's talented presenter. We meditated and practiced yoga poses and learned new methods for being mindful. Everything meshed beautifully with my 135-day-old practice.

Two things stood out. The first was a simple breathing method I found mysteriously effective in quieting thoughts (and we all know I have particularly robust Monkeys!) She taught it to us in four simple steps: 1) Take a nice breath in; 2) Blow it out with pursed lips like blowing out a candle; 3) Gentle inhale through the nose; 4) Gentle exhale through the nose. That's it. That's all. We did the four-step sequence about five times in a row. A palpable difference in the energy of the room followed. Audience members glanced at one another wonderingly. The presenter asked us to pay attention to Step #3 - the gentle inhale following "blowing out the candle." When I paid attention, it felt like a unique breath. The blowing exhale seemed to clear the way for a cleansing and pure inhale that could then be released through an exhale through the nose. The technique doesn't differ significantly from other strategies for breath focus I've learned in the past. I think it was just novel enough to detour my brain's characteristic over involvement. I incorporated the breath into zazen last night, and experienced moments of deep meditation. Good stuff.

The second thing begging for blog expression centered around a story told by the presenter about gratitude. She described a traumatic experience while snorkeling in the ocean in which she had to be rescued from drowning. The event catalyzed a subsequent terror of returning to the water, even though she greatly enjoyed snorkeling. The presenter, a mental health professional, put herself through several types of desensitization (e.g. wearing her snorkeling equipment in the safety of her swimming pool) with no result.

A year later, she risked a beach vacation in a group setting. The group received snorkeling instructions on shore, and headed out to deep water to practice their new skills. She hung back, saying she planned to wade in the shallow water. A man in the group whom she did not know volunteered to stay back with her. Without a word, he had comprehended her fear. He asked if they could practice snorkeling together, and if she would mind just touching her pinky finger to his when they went underwater. The presenter movingly demonstrated how she placed the side of her left hand to the side of his right hand, barely lining up their pinkies as they tentatively put their faces in the water. As the morning progressed, they swam into deeper water, and she was able to resume her love of snorkeling with him by her side. The barely discernible touch of a kind stranger was all she needed to conquer her terror.

I'm guessing this guy, whom she described as a tall Texan with a deep southern accent, may be kin to Everett, the EZ Rider who gave me the Perfect Push on my bike a few nights ago. The story resonated because of the emotion with which it was told. Loving kindness is powerful medicine. When we pay attention, it magnifies.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc