I've spent a lot of time this past week thinking about
integration. Integration of the mind and the body. Integration of one emotion
or truth with a seemingly contradictory other emotion or truth (emphasis on seemingly.) Integration of
outside-offered knowledge and inside-felt intuition.
from Building Soul |
We live in a culture where subtly is often hard to find.
Loud is recognized. Absolute thinking is applauded. And an inflexible stand is
all too familiar. Politics make this
clear, for sure, but I see it on a more intimate level too. Arguments between
two people that fully operate on the premise that one belief cannot exist in the
presence of another. Small and large beliefs and everything in between. It
seems as if we are under the false impression that in order to feel secure and
on solid ground, we need to hold onto one piece of information – a truth, a
belief, an emotion, a reason, a decision – like it is a tree trunk, unmoving
and firmly rooted.
I'm speaking from personal experience here. Go figure. And
it has been causing a lot of heartache. Specifically, I have been experiencing
how critical it is to integrate the mind and the body. The mind is capable of
being in many places. It can be in the past, it can be in the future. It can be in a memory, it can be in an
expectation. It can be on the beach, in an airplane, in a classroom, a hotel, a
forest. All of this time and place travel is fine. It is extraordinary, in fact. But the mind
can get stuck in one of those places, or one of those times, and if there is no
path back – well, that is not so fine. That is the stuff of heartache…of losing
a sense of direction, of purpose, and of self. This kind of existence is one of
almost exclusive mind-living. It is easy to cultivate. Again, our culture kind
of encourages it. Our intellect is revered.
But it is dangerous.
Integrating the body with the mind is a critical process in
living a full and connected life.
Because the body is present. It is always present. Wherever your mind may take you, your body is
still right here, right now. You are thinking about 7th grade? Your
feet are still standing on the floor of your house today. You are imagining
what it would be like to leave your job? Your hands are still wrapped around your
tea mug now.
In an earlier post, I talked about this mind-body practice I
have – I'll use the word, yup! – integrated into my life. I love this practice.
It keeps me grounded in right here and right now. And, at the risk of sounding
old and familiar, all we truly have is right here and right now. Or, hold
up…wait a minute…let me revise: all we truly have to come back to is right here and right now.
That is the integration process.
And it goes back to that desire we all have to feel secure
and on solid ground. But holding on to that piece of information – that
absolute truth, etc – will not achieve that groundedness. Holding onto our
bodies will though. Sinking into our bodies will. I like to imagine the
landscape of the body and mind like a large tract of land and an island with a
bridge between them. Build that bridge if you don't have one. Clear it of
debris if it has fallen into disrepair. Imagine it into being. For me, it is a
lovely wooden bridge with railings and the open sky above. I can trek across
it, into my mind, and hang out there, dreaming of fulfilling all of my
longings, and then I can stretch my legs and arms, turn around and trek back
into my body and settle there for the day, working hard on whatever is my work in
this moment, playing hard at whatever is my play for this moment too.
In this way, my longings are realized, bit by bit, moment by
moment, a hundred journeys between my mind and my body, a well-worn path, an
ease, an integration.
My dear
friend and yoga teacher, Kara, read us this poem in class today. I leave it for you.
Joy For No Reason
I am filled with quiet
joy for no reason save
the fact that I'm alive.
The message I receive
is clear - there's no time
to lose from loving, no
place but here to offer
kindness, no day but this
to be my true, unfettered
self and pass the flame
from heart to heart. This
is the only moment that
exists - so simple, so
exquisite, and so real.
With gratitude,
Tam
Thanks, Tam. This makes a lot of sense with my Buddhist practice. The breath is always in the present moment, so if we can follow it we can be present. Easier said than done. Thanks also for that beautiful poem! Much love to you.
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