Have you ever done yoga outside in a strong wind? Have you felt how hard it can be to balance in tree pose when the air itself is pushing you around?
Lately, when I move into tree pose after finishing my morning tai ji set, I’m not outside, but I’ve been feeling the metaphorical winds of change blowing hard as we move through another transfer of power in the United States. And it’s been making me wobble fiercely. So much is shifting in the world. I have been flailing, frequently touching my toe to the ground to catch my balance, swinging my arms wildly. Not a very graceful sight – nor a meditative feeling!
But, just last week, I made a remarkable discovery. Instead of following the instructions of every yoga teacher I’ve had to choose a Drishti point on the floor in front of me for focusing, I tried lifting my gaze and choosing a spot just above eye level on the knotty pine ceiling of my garret office. It lifted my chin and subtly shifted my weight backwards. No longer leaning forward, I found a sweet spot where my body settled more comfortably into gravity. My muscles relaxed. Balance became a given, not something I had to work at with one correction after another, muscles taut and reactive.
In all the fear and anxiety I feel about the world right now, I often find myself reeling. It’s only when I lift my eyes to the wider horizon of history that I gain the perspective – and balance – that I need now.
To be honest, I still wobble, but less than before. And I’ve marveled at the embodied experience of this new balance. It’s reminded me of a phrase I’ve loved as instructions for the poet – the advice to describe the world near and all around you, and then, at the right moment in the poem, to lift your eyes (and the eyes of the reader) to a wider and longer horizon.
In all the fear and anxiety I feel about the world right now, I often find myself reeling. It’s only when I lift my eyes to the wider horizon of history that I gain the perspective – and balance – that I need now. Not tumbling forward into a fearsome future that has not yet been written, but bringing my center of gravity back to this moment, while remembering others who have lived through terrifying times in the past.
Isn’t this how we find ourselves in the moral arc of a universe bending toward justice, as Martin Luther King, Jr. advised, himself echoing the Unitarian abolitionist Theodore Parker in the century before?
Maybe it’s no surprise, as I spend my days writing a novel that takes place in the 1930s, that some of what’s keeping me grounded in the howling winds of change today are a few messages from earlier times, some that I’ve lived through myself and some well before me. Here are just two pieces that have helped me:
There’s this piece from Ursula K. LeGuin, “The Election, Lao Tzu, a Cup of Water,” written in 2016 after Trump was elected the first time. Her call to leave behind the warring mindset feels even more important today than eight years ago.
And this poem, written and recited by Muriel Rukeyser even earlier, in the first half of the last century, when again the world was at arms and in turmoil.
And, as a bonus, less about history and more about now, this post by Anand Giridharadas, “The Inauguration of Us.” Because when I got up this morning, it was a perspective that helped me say “yes” – to the contradictions embedded in today’s events; to this moment and how we are called to meet it; to one another and the future we create together by making a new path to it and through it.
For those of you wondering why I’m posting when I put “Threshold Times” on pause just three weeks ago, I’ll report, the novel writing is going well! I’m writing this today because I think of you often; and because we’re still on this road together living through change; and because I wanted to share this balancing experience with you – and especially some wisdom from others that’s been helping me find my footing in these times of great change. Also, because I’m curious about what you are leaning into to get you through this time of collective tumult? Will you share something in the comments, so we all can benefit? I’ll be grateful for your thoughts. It’s a good time to pool what we’re learning and what is supporting us as we make our way into a future unknown.
Wishing you all well! Now back to the 1930s I go!
Karen
Hi Karen- I love the example you shared of finding balance amid the wind! I participated in a poetry offering with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer last week and she shared this poem by Brooke McNamara that resonated with me. Replacing 'yourself' with 'the world' works in these trying times, too. When things look bleak, what can I shine a light on, or illuminate to 'exchange for something softer'?
Here's the link to the poem on Brooke McNamara's website. Scroll down and you'll find it.
https://www.brookemcnamara.com/a-month-to-savor/
CHANGE THE LIGHTING
If you can’t change yourself, after all
the efforts, change the light
by which you read your story.
Exchange overhead for something softer -
a lamp, a candle, a vine of shining
holiday lights - and feel yourself
become hugged by the fabric of shadows.
You see the darkness here has wisdom too.
You see these objects around become related
by the pregnant emptiness that holds them,
and you. Let this light reveal the rapture
of being just this. Then, further still, try
moonlight, or no light, until, at last,
this open, sourceless incandescence
which you are
no matter who you think you are
will follow you from the inside
wherever you may go, however
you may change, or not.
BROOKE MCNAMARA
Thank you Karen. So great to pick this up! Reading a day after as I stayed away from the viewing of things. The balance discovery you shared calls me to try it on. I practice Qigong for grounding and have found the teachings and practice to be so good! Going to the mat twice yesterday was helpful. Reaching out in my own community to be a “helper”, receiving the unconditional dog love, and writing down how I feel is my jam this week.
Sending you peace in your writing too.