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[post_content] => Winter solstice is coming. For me it always brings a mix of feelings. I don’t like the early sunsets, but I do like the cozy feeling of candles and music indoors while it’s dark and blustery outside. There’s something about the contrast that makes me appreciate the light more in the winter than the summer.
Our family’s main winter holiday is solstice, when we celebrate the light and remember our ability to kindle it in the darkest of times. I’ve written about this repeatedly over the years – finding the light, honoring the light, and even being the light.
But light and dark are two sides of the same coin, and there’s an important opening in winter to also make peace with the darkness and learn from it.
If we look out onto a wintry landscape, we see mostly dead or dormant plants and not a lot of signs of life. Much of the life that remains has retreated into underground roots or it’s hibernating in caves. Similarly, winter brings a natural inclination – and an invitation – to go inward and down to our depths.
By going “down to our depths” I don’t mean wallowing in depression. I mean willingly visiting the parts of ourselves that are kept hidden, far from the surface.
For instance, many of us want to be always energetic, bright, happy, and productive. We may suppress other facets of ourselves that seem to contrast with this ideal, though they may be equally virtuous and might also help us to be more balanced, well-rounded beings. Even if you’ve come to terms with being an introvert and you don’t want to be boisterous or outgoing, there are still likely to be aspects of yourself that you’re less acquainted with or don’t approve of.
The same goes for how we regard the world. There are parts we accept and parts we resist or even deny. For everything we’re averse to in the outside world, there’s a corresponding aspect in our inner depths that awaits reckoning.
To the degree that we haven’t accepted and integrated aspects of the whole enchilada – our inner and outer worlds – there’s an opportunity to experience life in a way that feels that much more free and complete.
When we consider a visit to our depths a feeling of fear may arise (or, especially if it’s suppressed, numbness, heaviness, or depression). In Chinese five element philosophy winter is ruled by the water element and fear is the negative emotion associated with water. Most fear stems from our survival mechanisms and winter is a time when lots of things die.
This darkness can remind us of our mortality. We might imagine it would be terrifying to let ourselves go along with the descending trajectory of the season. What will we discover about ourselves in the darkness? What if we never find our way back?
But if we approach it with willingness and curiosity – bringing our light into it – the feeling changes and the relationship changes. We’re not going kicking and screaming and resisting with everything we’ve got. We bring Love with us. We soften into it, we feel what arises, we accept what we find, and we remember that the fact that we’re able to perceive what’s in the darkness is evidence that our inner light hasn’t departed.
Our darkness is like a well, or the inky fathoms of a vast sea. We may not prefer to express everything it contains, but if we can say, “Yes, this is part of me and I accept it,” we move a step closer to complete peace. Much of what we discover we’ve relegated to the shadows is wrapped up in old beliefs and misunderstandings. And though it seems to be put away, it infringes on our freedom simply by being a place where we won’t go. By bravely dropping in we can clear up these stories – much the way a light reveals a monster in the dark to be just a pile of clothes.
Inevitably, though, the darkness isn’t just harboring the parts we fear and dislike. It also contains untapped potential. There are aspects of our depths that are just waiting to be invited to the table. Powers that would fill in our gaps.
I hope you’ll join me in meeting the darkness this year with openness, and I’d love to hear what you discover.
Be well,
Peter
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[post_content] => After two years of studying plant and soil sciences, my favorite professor, Dr. Barker, offered me a job on the University of Massachusetts farm. Whereas my previous jobs had been things like bagging groceries and washing dishes, this was the first time I was getting paid to do something I was interested in, and under the supervision of someone I looked up to.
I was nervous when I showed up at Bowditch Hall on my first day. Dr. Barker, a white-haired man with a country drawl, introduced me to his assistant, Kathy. Then he handed me the keys to a faded old, blue truck and asked me, “Ever driven a three-on-the-tree?” I had never driven any kind of truck before, much less one with the gearshift on the steering column, but I learned quickly as I drove the three of us – with lots of jerking and stalling – out to the farm.
Standing at the edge of a freshly plowed field, Dr. Barker explained that we were going to use stakes and twine to mark out rows for planting seeds. Kathy and I got to work while he watched. The only trouble was, while I had stakes, a mallet, and a ball of twine, I didn’t have anything to cut the twine with. I thought maybe I had spaced out when someone explained where to find a knife or scissors. Or maybe the professor had told me to bring my own knife and I had forgotten. I was too uncomfortable to say anything.
Wondering if there was some way I could proceed with my task without a cutting tool, I pounded the first stake into the ground. I tied one end of the twine around it, walked the length of the field, pounded in another stake, wrapped the twine around that stake, pulled it taut, and then I just squatted there for a few moments. I considered trying to gnaw through it with my teeth, but dismissed the idea as totally unprofessional. Finally, at the risk of appearing unprepared, I called out to Kathy, who was a dozen paces away, “Do you have a knife?”
“Huh?” she turned around and squinted at me in the bright sun. “Oh.” She ambled over, fished around in her pocket, and passed me a pink disposable lighter.
I interpreted this unexpected response to mean, “I don’t have a knife, but I can see what you need there. You’re going to have to burn through the twine with this. At the ends of every row.” She gave me the lighter in such a matter-of-fact way that I thought it would be too weird to ask for a different explanation.
So, feeling like I didn’t have enough hands, I held the twine straight out from the stake, positioned the flame beneath it, and tried to shield it from the wind with my leg. It blew out a couple times, but I eventually managed to burn through it. Meanwhile Dr. Barker had wandered over to observe me and remarked, “That is the strangest way of doing that I have ever seen.”
“Um. I didn’t have a knife,” I said sheepishly.
“Well, I’ve got a knife you can use.”
“Me too,” offered Kathy.
And that’s how, on the first day of my first important job, I believed I must have convinced my boss that I was an absolute idiot. By the way, if you’re wondering why Kathy handed me that lighter, these were the days when smoking was still quite common. She was a smoker and must have thought I said, “Do you have a light?”
The whole thing turned out to be a good lesson for me. By avoiding an uncomfortable conversation, I ended up in even more discomfort.
I resolved to speak up and break through the tension of misunderstanding in the future. I can’t say I’ve always done this, because it takes bravery, and sometimes I chose to stay in my (dis-)comfort zone. But I can say that I’ve never regretted it. Usually there’s an immediate diffusion of tension, and even when there isn’t, at least the truth is out and there’s an opening for resolution. This is especially true when we bring an attitude of curiosity and aim to understand the other person.
Is there anywhere in your life where you’ve left something unsaid because of your resistance to the discomfort of speaking those words and the feelings that may follow? I want to challenge you to make a communication this week that takes you a bit outside your comfort zone. Even if you have to say, “I’m really nervous about saying this” or you have to hold a friend’s hand while doing it, it’s worth it.
Be well,
Peter
[post_title] => Uncomfortable Conversations: Diffuse the Discomfort by Speaking Up
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[post_content] => Once I went to see a spiritual teacher who planned to write a mantra on my tongue using a leaf dipped in honey. But she ran out of leaves. Or honey. I can’t remember which.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. She told me the mantra and we repeated it together. She also told the same mantra to the other hundred or so people who came to see her. I’ve used that mantra off and on for the past 20 years.
Another spiritual teacher gave me a mantra, but it was just for me. He told it to me privately in a closed room, and he instructed me to never repeat it to anyone. He said that keeping it a secret was part of the power of the mantra. I wasn’t sure whether I believed that, but I have kept it a secret for several years.
You probably know what a mantra is, but I’d like to tell you about a woman who found a magic lamp in her backyard. Well, she rubbed it of course, because that’s what you do, and a genie came out.
“Tell me what to do,” he said.
“Is this one of those three wish deals?” the woman responded.
“Not at all,” said the genie. “I’m at your service forever.”
The woman had the genie clean the house, do the laundry, and cook dinner.
“What next?” asked the genie.
“Oh, neuter the cat, I guess.”
“Done!” the genie reported. “What next?”
“Umm, shear the hamster?” the woman offered.
“Done! What next?” asked the genie.
“That’s it!” exclaimed the woman, “why don’t you take a break.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” the genie said, now beginning to appear more oppressive than helpful. “Give me something to do or I’ll eat you!”
The startled woman was quick on her feet and answered, “Ok, I’ve got it. Climb up that flagpole. When you get to the top, slide down. Then climb up again, slide down again, and just keep doing that until I think of something else for you to do.” It worked, and the woman didn’t get eaten.
The genie is like the mind. The flagpole routine is the primary role of a mantra. Not only does the genie/mind demand constant attention, it gets in the way of our accessing the spiritual dimension and experiencing spaciousness in our consciousness. It tends to take up the whole frame.
A mantra gives the mind something to focus on, which, over time (meaning both over the course of each meditative session and over the course of using it day after day), greatly diminishes the degree to which the mind dominates our awareness. Often, what starts out as a mechanical recitation of a word or phrase (usually silently) becomes something more like a self-replicating wave that occupies the mind while our consciousness expands and transcends it. Of course, every time we sit to recite a mantra doesn’t produce a transcendent or mystical experience, but it’s quite common to feel peaceful and expansive.
Besides simply occupying the mind to facilitate meditation, mantras sometimes have other purposes. Some believe that mantras, through their sonic quality and/or meaning, produce a spiritual or therapeutic effect. Certain mantras are meant to be spoken aloud; others can be “spoken” mentally. Some are meant to open a particular part of the body or aspect of consciousness, to express devotion, to invoke or “install” a certain deity, or to elicit a change of fortune. Using a mantra with a meaning you understand may have the additional benefit of aligning your intention around a positive idea. On the other hand, using a mantra in a language you don’t know or one without any meaning frees you from getting analytical about it.
There are short mantras and long mantras. I recommend a shorter one for silent meditation, since it’s easier to remember. The shortest one syllable mantras are sometimes called bija or “seed” mantras, such as Om, Aim (“aeem”), Shrim (“shreem”), Hrim (“hreem”), Krim (“cream”), Hum, Hu (“hue”), Ram (“rahm”), Vam (“vahm”), Ham (“hahm”), Ong, God, and Love.
Two-syllable mantras go well with the breath, since you can say/think the first syllable on the inhale and the second on the exhale. Some common ones include Shanti (peace), So-Ham (I am that [Divine]), Ham-sa (swan, also an inversion of So-Ham), Sat Nam (I am Truth), and one of my favorites, Open.
Common longer mantras include Om Namah Shivaya, Om Mani Padme Hum (or Om Mani Peme Hung), and Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. There are thousands more. Read about these if you're interested. You may wish to find one that seems suited to your spiritual sensibilities, or one that just feels good to say. There are lots of great books and sites on mantras to explore.
As for the notion that a mantra should be kept secret, some teachers will say that a mantra loses its power if it’s shared. At best this is superstition. At worst, it’s a pretentious attempt to control students, maintain hierarchy, generate mystique, and keep people coming back to pay for increasingly “higher level” mantras. And now I’m going to tell you the “secret” mantra I received: it’s hring. Try it out if you feel like it.
Though I have some disdain for secrecy around mantras, I do believe there’s sometimes value in being selective about sharing the details of your spiritual experiences. Attempts to explain these experiences in words often fall short, and if you share with someone who isn’t receptive, doesn’t understand, or criticizes the experience, this may diminish its significance for you or cause you to doubt yourself. It’s also worth asking yourself why you’re sharing these experiences. Sometimes we do so to better understand them or to be instructive or inspiring to others. Other times it’s because the ego has co-opted our spiritual experiences and is using them to get approval. So it’s a good idea to make sure you’re sharing for the right reasons, you can withstand judgment without losing conviction in your practice, or otherwise to share only with those who can hear you in a non-critical way.
This week I recommend that you try meditating with a mantra. Choose one from above or find one you like online or from a book. Sit comfortably and repeat your chosen mantra silently, at a speed that feels comfortable to you. If your mind wanders, just bring it back to the mantra. See if, compared to simply watching the breath, this makes it easier to enter a relaxed or expansive state.
Be well,
Peter
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[post_content] => Winter solstice is coming. For me it always brings a mix of feelings. I don’t like the early sunsets, but I do like the cozy feeling of candles and music indoors while it’s dark and blustery outside. There’s something about the contrast that makes me appreciate the light more in the winter than the summer.
Our family’s main winter holiday is solstice, when we celebrate the light and remember our ability to kindle it in the darkest of times. I’ve written about this repeatedly over the years – finding the light, honoring the light, and even being the light.
But light and dark are two sides of the same coin, and there’s an important opening in winter to also make peace with the darkness and learn from it.
If we look out onto a wintry landscape, we see mostly dead or dormant plants and not a lot of signs of life. Much of the life that remains has retreated into underground roots or it’s hibernating in caves. Similarly, winter brings a natural inclination – and an invitation – to go inward and down to our depths.
By going “down to our depths” I don’t mean wallowing in depression. I mean willingly visiting the parts of ourselves that are kept hidden, far from the surface.
For instance, many of us want to be always energetic, bright, happy, and productive. We may suppress other facets of ourselves that seem to contrast with this ideal, though they may be equally virtuous and might also help us to be more balanced, well-rounded beings. Even if you’ve come to terms with being an introvert and you don’t want to be boisterous or outgoing, there are still likely to be aspects of yourself that you’re less acquainted with or don’t approve of.
The same goes for how we regard the world. There are parts we accept and parts we resist or even deny. For everything we’re averse to in the outside world, there’s a corresponding aspect in our inner depths that awaits reckoning.
To the degree that we haven’t accepted and integrated aspects of the whole enchilada – our inner and outer worlds – there’s an opportunity to experience life in a way that feels that much more free and complete.
When we consider a visit to our depths a feeling of fear may arise (or, especially if it’s suppressed, numbness, heaviness, or depression). In Chinese five element philosophy winter is ruled by the water element and fear is the negative emotion associated with water. Most fear stems from our survival mechanisms and winter is a time when lots of things die.
This darkness can remind us of our mortality. We might imagine it would be terrifying to let ourselves go along with the descending trajectory of the season. What will we discover about ourselves in the darkness? What if we never find our way back?
But if we approach it with willingness and curiosity – bringing our light into it – the feeling changes and the relationship changes. We’re not going kicking and screaming and resisting with everything we’ve got. We bring Love with us. We soften into it, we feel what arises, we accept what we find, and we remember that the fact that we’re able to perceive what’s in the darkness is evidence that our inner light hasn’t departed.
Our darkness is like a well, or the inky fathoms of a vast sea. We may not prefer to express everything it contains, but if we can say, “Yes, this is part of me and I accept it,” we move a step closer to complete peace. Much of what we discover we’ve relegated to the shadows is wrapped up in old beliefs and misunderstandings. And though it seems to be put away, it infringes on our freedom simply by being a place where we won’t go. By bravely dropping in we can clear up these stories – much the way a light reveals a monster in the dark to be just a pile of clothes.
Inevitably, though, the darkness isn’t just harboring the parts we fear and dislike. It also contains untapped potential. There are aspects of our depths that are just waiting to be invited to the table. Powers that would fill in our gaps.
I hope you’ll join me in meeting the darkness this year with openness, and I’d love to hear what you discover.
Be well,
Peter
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Thank you very much for this very helpful piece. I will be much more mindful about interactions with others and self now and endeavor to “go deep.” I hope you enjoy a very blessed Thanksgiving.
Thank you so much. This is an area I’ve been thinking about and growing in. Your article was timely, insightful, and helpful.
Such ‘food for thought’ on this Thanksgiving weekend. Will grapple! Thank you.
Exactly what I needed today! Will print and utilize during this most invasive of holidays for this INFP-A.
This was a very enjoyable article. Thank you!
Thank you for this article! It helps explain my own behavior to myself! I hide in the bathroom at parties, I dread going yet now I will think differently about inward and outward interaction and how to make the both of each.