Stay at Home

This morning as I sat, I was aware that my body was leaning to the side. I gently straightened my posture but a few minutes later, there I was, “the Leaning Tower of Paris” (as my son calls it). My body was reflecting how I’ve been feeling much of this week. I’ve just not wanted to face or accept or fully embody this moment. My body was like Neo in The Matrix, contorting side to side in order to avoid the bullets that our harsh reality keeps flinging. Thousands more dead and dying? Dodge left. Another month inside, away from playmates and fearful of germs? Dodge right. Any movement to avoid what is here.

I can sense in myself a growing impatience and feeling of waiting. What I’m waiting for is unclear, because it seems pretty clear that it will be a looong while before things go back to anything resembling “normal.” But what is clear to me is that while I’m doing a great job staying at home here in my house, I’m really struggling to “Stay at Home” within myself, within my practice.

Now, more than ever, is the time to trust in and rest in my practice - remembering that this home is always here for me as a refuge and respite. My unwillingness and fear of facing the reality of this moment with an open heart has been making things so much harder. I’m physically tight, holding my fear and tension in my body, and I’m emotionally fragile and on edge, seeing everything through my fear-tinted glasses.

All I can do in this situation is keep working to keep coming back to the present, doing my best to stay at home - my true home. When I come back I remember and see my heart’s capacity to be with it all — even when I don’t feel like I can be with it all. Thankfully, I don’t have to — awareness can hold it and I can trust my practice to help me be with what is present in my actual experience right now — tense shoulder, dry hands, butt on cushion, cloud of grumpiness, resistance. Staying at home and being with what is doesn’t mean I have to be any different or happier than I am, it just means that awareness is here to bear witness to what’s here, without judgment or a need to fix it or change it. This is what mindfulness practice is all about.

Of course I feel kind of tense and cruddy — there’s a global pandemic right now, and uncertainty and suffering are all pervasive. But I don’t have to make it worse or harder by resisting the feelings and avoiding the truth of my experience. It’s ok to feel tense and cruddy. Sometimes that’s how things feel. What I do with that is my choice. And up until I woke up to the fact that I was disregarding the stay at home order, I was doing all I could to avoid and resist these feelings. That was really just exacerbating things, because the thought of a months long feeling of “ugh” was making me feel even more “ugggh.” Thankfully though, just remembering that I can come home to a place of refuge and awareness within myself has been enough to lessen the intensity of my ugh.

Training ourselves to stay at home is at the heart of mindfulness practice, and is also a challenge in the best of circumstances. Likened to training a puppy to ‘stay’, it helps to approach ourselves with kindness and patience. The puppy is curious and excited by all around her, of course she’ll struggle to sit still with that butterfly floating on the breeze. But she sure won’t want to come back to someone snapping or chastising her for her tendency to wander. When we forget, and our minds wander to the what if’s of our current situation, be gentle in your response. The more we practice returning home to the present, the easier and more habitual this trip becomes. So now, amid a world of uncertainty and unknowns, coming home to myself is as simple as remembering that I can. And even if you’re new to practice, just setting the intention and willingness to come back home can go a long way to compassionately and calmly meet this moment.

Remembering this home within me, within all of us, helps lessen my resistance to what is, while also opening my heart to the beautiful unfoldings happening all around me. I am here. I am alive. The sun shines and the flowers are opening up for spring. Each breath is a gift.