Yesterday morning I was reading in Jack Kornfield's The Wise Heart this Barbara Kingsolver quote from High Tide in Tucson:
"Every one of us is called upon, probably many times, to start a new life: a frightening diagnosis, a marriage, a move, a loss of a job or a limb or a loved one, a graduation, bringing a new baby home: it's impossible to think at first how this all will be possible. Eventually, what moves it all forward is the subterranean ebb and flow of being alive among the living.
"In my own worst seasons I've come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke victim retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again."
Kingsolver frames this bit of wisdom as a coming back from our 'worst seasons'--and our worst seasons DO seem to almost compel us to do SOMETHING to buoy ourselves up, to redirect or maybe even 'save' ourselves. There is real potential grace in adversity.
Yet the grace of mindful practice invites us not to wait until life falls apart to 'teach ourselves joy, over and over again,' but to do it now. It's like Emily Dickinson's insight: Instead of going to heaven at last we're going all along.
I've blogged about anxiety in my family here. As I began to slow down and pay more attention to my life, I noticed that low grade anxiety is with me a lot--and it feels unhealthy, corrosive--like something I shouldn't just 'let be.' It feels like something that should be let go, transformed, healed.
Ah, but what a challenge this is. I think I 'caught' anxiety from Mom well before I learned to speak. It's pretty much hardwired in me. It doesn't 'switch off.' Though I often 'let it go' it never goes very far! At least not yet. However...
I can 'like a stroke victim training new parts of the brain...teach myself joy, over and over again.' For me, joy comes as grace--and grace comes with kindness.
Whenever anxiety begins to feel the least bit corrosive, I 'pair' the feeling of anxiety with a very intentional dose of kindness. Breathing in and out I focus on exactly how anxiety feels. Breathing in and out I bring (with heart, soul, and strength) kindness into the jangly static of anxiety.
You know, with every in-breath we bring oxygen into our bodies. With every out-breath, we move carbon dioxide out of our bodies. It's the hemoglobin in our blood that carries O2, energy we need to live, from our lungs to every cell in us and then returns from every cell carrying CO2 back into our lungs to be released through each out-breath into the air around us. It's the heme in our hemoglobin that makes this possible. Heme is just as happy escorting O2 'in' as it is escorting CO2 'out' (See Breathing Partners).
I'm trying to mimic Brother Heme more often--practicing being a steady little donkey carrying anxiety and kindness up and down, in and out, half a breath with one, half a breath with the other, over and over--calling upon a full heart to teach an old brain new tricks.
The practice, the habit, becomes more natural, steadier, a little more ingrained over time: neurons that fire together wire together. More and more 'I'm' not exactly remembering to work this way with anxiety, some other part of me, the faithful donkey part, just starts doing it. Bit by bit, heme by heme, I'm becoming more 'in love with life' by steadily pairing wholesome lovingkindness with corrosive anxiety.
Most of us can do this. We don't have to be depressed or anxious. Kindness plays well with all kinds of suffering. Imitate Brother Heme. Start rewiring some neurons.
