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If you have ever been a visitor to the Wright Family Compound on 90th Street, you know that my husband John is an inexhaustible gardener. Situated amongst the herbs and shrubs and flowering plants are various statues. There is St. Faicre, the patron saint of gardeners, a pineapple for hospitality, a Celtic cross, a cairn or two, even a scowling Beethoven perched atop a Doric column. There is the graceful Kuan Yin (the bodhisattva of compassion), a Tibetan Buddha with his topknot and gently closed eyes, a laughing Buddha (the familiar jolly fat man with crossed legs - By the way, there is no evidence to support the idea that the Buddha was ever that fat!), and even a young Indian Buddha in sitting meditation who looks as if he hasn’t quite shaken off his princely guise. As I sit on the deck and contemplate these objects, what strikes me is their stillness and solidity, the calm they exude (Beethoven notwithstanding.) Yet, I know that stillness to be an illusion.

Basic science teaches us that all matter is in motion. The more solid something is the slower it moves, but move it does. There are boulders in the Smoky Mountains that to human eyes and in human time have appeared exactly the same for hundreds of thousands of years. But that is impossible. We know that they are in motion. If we believe this law to be true, why do we insist on clinging to the illusion that anything is permanent?

In yoga there are two important ideas that yogis are asked to examine: impermanence, or anitya, and attachment, or upadana. The two ideas are related to each other and work in tandem. When we deny the impermanent nature of all things and attach to them in our longing for stability, all we create is discontent that leads to suffering. There is no stability in wishing things were different. We wish illness and death would not touch us. We wish there would be an end to systematic racism. We wish our “leaders” would pull themselves together.  We wish our team would win.  We wish our child would make better grades. We wish the weather would change. We wish we could afford a new car.  On and on and on and on. This is a never-ending spiral of discontent, of suffering, dukka in yoga. Wishing things were different will not make them so. Clinging to an ideal of the way things used to be or a fantasy of a perfect reality denies one of the most basic laws of nature.  Everything changes. Everything is impermanent. Hear that. EVERYTHING is temporary and has always been so since the dawn of time. Stability is an illusion.

So, what do we do?  Where can we go for comfort when we realize that everything we have come to count on has gone?

What if we allow the constancy of motion to be our comfort? It seems counter-intuitive, but consider this. When we inhale and exhale a cycle of breath, it is gone. That breath no longer exists. A new breath rises up in us to take its place. What would happen if we insisted on clinging to that one, first breath? We would die. We don’t mourn the passing of the old breath. Rather, we rejoice in the new one. We live because the breath moves.

It’s interesting to note that breath and spirit are the same word in the “mother” languages of the Eastern spiritual practices. Whether we are conscious of it or not, when we breathe, we internalize the Spirit.  When breath moves through us, so does the movement of Spirit enliven us.  The movement of matter is Spirit. All-encompassing, life-sustaining, constantly-moving Spirit. Sitting on the deck contemplating the garden statues, I can think of no better argument for the existence of the Holy Spirit.

Try this breathing exercise: Sit or lie down. Get settled and comfortable so that you can breathe easily. No need to rush. Sometimes it takes a while to find an easy position. Through your nose if you can, inhale for a slow four count. Again through your nose, exhale for a slow four count. Visualize the breath as it enters and leaves your body. Maybe in your imagination it takes on a form or a color. Greet the inhale with “Hello” and the exhale with “Goodbye.” Stay with the slow breath long enough to settle into a rhythm. Experiment with longer counts. Notice that the breath is constant in its movement. Notice that you are moving with it. Notice that with every “Goodbye” there is a new “Hello.” You have become fluid. You have found calm in the stability of the temporary. All things are possible with the Spirit.  

Namaste.

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