May we all celebrate every new day we get to live on this beautiful and complicated earth. And like Ram Das says, may we all help each other by taking each other by the hand as we walk each other home.
Help us [to] help us.
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Live Yoga Nidra Training
Before we get into the story and speaking of getting to the heart of things, in about a week, I’ll be hosting my live, online Yoga Nidra immersion and teacher training by Zoom.
I’m really, really looking forward to it. I’ve got a few spots left, and would love to have you join. I’ve split it up into two weekends. The first is an immersion, designed for those interested in the transformative power of Yoga Nidra, a deep dive into this fascinating realm which quite simply is a practice that helps you wake up to realize your greatest potential and become the person you were destined to be.
Ultimately, this is an inquiry into your very nature of being to discover how beautiful and wondrous your life can be, and how much this yoga of sleep can benefit your stress, sleep, and perspective on the world and its problems. The next weekend is designed for those who might be interested in teaching Yoga Nidra and/or just really geek out on this fascinating subject. I want to show you how to facilitate lasting transformative for yourself and others through relaxing Yoga Nidra practices. I’m really proud of the robust curriculum I’ve developed and would love to have you join me.
Onto the story …
Running Into Darkness
Several years ago, some friends and I were spending an afternoon along the shores of the paradoxical desert of Great Salt Lake, the large and salinated lake that gives Salt Lake City its namesake.
If you’ve never been there, it’s a fascinating place, definitely worth the trip. Great Salt Lake exists now as the dregs of a 30,000-year-old ancient lake called Lake Bonneville which once spanned what is now half of northern Utah and eastern Nevada, a once-great lake held in a massive geological bowl known as the Great Basin. Everything’s “Great” in Utah! Even as a puddle of its former self, Great Salt Lake currently stands as the largest saltwater lake in the western hemisphere.
The salinity of the water is a whopping 27%, compared to 3.5% of typical ocean water, depending on the ocean. Day-travelers of the 1920s would flock by the train-load to the briny resorts of Great Salt Lake to float in, and almost walk on (faith depending), the uncommonly salinated waters. After a long day of floating, they’d rinse off to dance the night away doing the Lindy Hop and the Jitterbug in the desert days of prohibition and under the censoring eyes of Mormon church authorities.
The previous 30,000 years notwithstanding, in only the last century, the lake has receded considerably short-sighted legislation which amounts to nothing short of greed, stealing from the water inlets today so that there’s not lake tomorrow. Today, the landscape of Great Salt Lake would be utterly unrecognizable to our liquorless, Lindy Hopping great grandparents but more on that another time …
The receding lake has revealed its phenomenally flat and briny lake bottom which today attracts a new generation of tourists, not to its buoyant waters but to the lack thereof. Now, flocks of tourists come to what’s called the “Bonneville Salt Flats” to get high off a different natural resource: speed. The “Salt Flats,” (what happened to the ubiquitous “Great”?) is a several-mile-long, flat but grippy, salt-crusted terrain which acts as the perfect runway for thrill-seeking speed merchants striving to set new land speed records, the fastest being over 760 mph.
Even without the presence of an occasional rocket-propelled car, the shores of the Great Salt Lake offers a surreal landscape, even for the more pedestrian visitors: a flat, vast playa of endless white sand, crusted with salt which scintillates in the afternoon sun. To walk on this alien terrain is a sensational feast for bare feet.
On this day that my friends and I visited the wide, flat shores of Great Salt Lake, we were walking barefoot along barren brine and decided to conduct our own kind of race. We felt drunk with space and our feet yearned to explore every inch of this sand, flat and unspoiled in every direction. Each person agreed to close their eyes and run, completely blind and at full speed, in any direction for exactly 100 paces before opening their eyes. Eager for simple adventure, we closed our eyes and held our breath as someone shouted, "GO!"
Eyes closed, my legs began to sprint, bolting into the darkness of the afternoon sun. I noticed that with my primary sense muted, my other senses bloomed. A pungent potpourri filled my nostrils, one of sulfurous mud, dry salt, and miles of decaying brine shrimp. The salty air lit on my tongue, drying my mouth, and burning my lungs as they groped for breath between staccatos of unfettered laughter. My arms and legs scissored in orchestrated opposition as every muscle contracted to blast my body forward through raw space. With each step, the salty crust of the sand briefly pricked my naked soles before crumbling into a carpet of soft velvet. For several paces, my ears traced a steady decrescendo of my fellow racers’ feet, breath, and laughter dwindling into the quiet distance. Soon, I was running alone in the darkness.
Once alone, I was surprised to feel a primal and powerful fear kick in, the one that said in not so many words, “You’ll get hurt if you stray from the tribe into the unknown.” A sliver of worry lodged itself into my brain. “Didn’t you see some ominous-looking spikes sticking out of the sand somewhere in the direction that you’re running?” Horrific and gruesome images of running teeth-first into a post or impaling my bare feet on a sharp stick did wonders to dampen my sensory smorgasbord and all my attention now clutched the worry of what might happen to me as I ran blindly.
Steeling my nerves, I did my best to push these images from my mind, locking my eyes shut and quickening my pace. Suddenly, a spontaneous laugh burst from my chest, some automatic expression of wonder and worry.
. . . 53, 54, 55 . . .
My paces were whizzing by but with each step I couldn’t shake the fear of stepping blindly onto something dangerous. Worry had now evolved into genuine fear. “This is stupid,” I told myself, “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
. . . 71, 72, 73 . . .
New and more graphic images of dangers began infecting my mind, reaching for some emergency brake in my nervous system.
. . . 83, 84, 85 . . .
By now, panic had spiked. I felt the same as if I were running blind and headlong at full speed toward a cliff.
Only fifteen paces to go. Raw animal instinct clawed at my eyes to open, yet an iron resolve welded them shut. In one last burst of flying into the unknown, I let out all the stops. I pushed the throttle of my legs as fast they would go and sprinted madly forward into the darkness. Laughing was now replaced with a raw, full-throated scream, equal parts exhilaration and naked terror.
… 98, 99, 100!
On exactly my 100th step, my legs froze in space, refusing to take another step as my body wobbled to maintain equilibrium on the now unfamiliar feeling of solid ground. As I stood there panting, I slowly opened up my eyes and looked down to examine my feet to see them completely unmarred except for a generous coating of salt and mud. I stood there for a moment, feeling immense gratitude for these selfless feet, willingly thrusting me through unknown space as I ran through the darkness toward fear. After a moment, my gaze lifted to search for those ominous spikes that haunted my run. Nothing. Only flat, salty sand for miles. Of course. The misperception of my mind only invented the images.
What a rush! Who needs a rocket-propelled car?
This story reminds me of an important yogic concept called the Kleshas as explained in the Yoga Sutras, an ancient book of great wisdom. The Kleshas explore the relationship between perceptions and actions. Our misperceptions are called Avidya, a Sanskrit term literally meaning misperception. Unsurprisingly, one of the most common ways of misperceiving is Dvesa, misperception due to fear. Our misperceptions often cause us to react from fear, and in my case to completely invent beliefs, invariably causing suffering for ourselves and others. If we can avoid misperceptions and learn to see with true sight, we can respond to the vicissitudes of life with compassionate responsiveness instead of fearful reactivity.
On my blind run, I knew that there were no obstacles in my path yet my brain invented them based on past experiences causing me to run with fear. And while it was all fun and games that day on the shores of The Great Salt Lake, we tend to run through life with considerably less abandon, our misperception causing fears to push on the brakes of our higher selves and limit our strides toward what our destiny calls us to do and be.
But how does one learn to see correctly? Ironically, perhaps we can only see correctly when we attune our perception with something infinitely more refined than our eyes, a fine-tuned instrument designed to perceive truth. In The Little Prince, a modern book of great wisdom, this one masquerading as a children’s novella, one of the characters, the wise fox, shares his secret with the Little Prince when he says, “One only sees rightly with the heart. The essential is invisible to the eyes.” Until we wake up from the misperception of fear and learn to truly see with the heart, we are destined to suffer as well as cause suffering toward others.
When we do learn to see with the heart, it will likely reinvent our entire concept of the world, or at least our relationship to it. At that moment you’ll be born into the The Great Truth (another “Great”), that everything in the Universe is boiled down to one single element: love. It’s what poetry and pop songs have been telling us forever. Funny how perhaps THE most important eternal truth can sound like a platitude plastered on a meaningless Hallmark card. Nonetheless, it’s Truth with a capital T, but one that must be experienced and practiced over a lifetime and not merely repeated mindlessly as you mouth the words to your favorite Beatles song, elbow cocked out the window, cruising down the 405.
The English title of one of my all-time favorite movies is a beautiful, life-affirming film called Wings of Desire, a German film by Wim Wenders. If you haven't seen it, find it and watch it immediately, but bring a glass of milk to wash it down cuz it's richer than an entire Black Forest Cake.
In the film, an angel named Damiel, played by Bruno Ganz, lives a black-and-white existence, one of only knowing and observing but categorically void of the spectrum of the human experience, notably of doing, feeling, and loving. As an angel, Damiel feels a bitter longing, for though he can read people’s minds (he likes to hang out with his angel friends in the library to hear the thoughts of readers), his attempt to do anything other than observe others, to help or comfort, falls pitifully short, a tragic truth illustrated in a heart-breaking scene where Damiel is sitting next to a suicidal man on the high ledge of a building, hearing his desperate thoughts, but can do nothing to stop the man from jumping to his death.
Besides helping people, Damiel also yearns for the human experience of love. Damiel falls for a woman, a trapeze artist, ironically wearing false angel wings as part of her act, and resolves to cash in his actual angle wings in order to live one life—fully-human, sentient, and loving—rather than suffer an eternity of the drab, albeit safe, existence of an angel.
The price to enter a human life is his angelic armor, his protection from the inevitable pain and heartache endemic to the human experience. The cinematic effect is perfect because as he becomes human, he leaves the black and white angel world and is born into an entire cosmos of colors, the full rainbow of a human existence.
Damiel is welcomed into his new human life by one of this world’s most well-known faces—pain. Gaining consciousness after his fall from angelic grace, he inspects a small gash on his head and pulling his finger from his wound, meets both blood and color for the first time. With a child-like inquisitiveness, he stops a passerby on the street and asks, “Is this red?” to which the man simply makes a wider birth so as to avoid this obviously crazy and bleeding person on the street. Indeed, someone who sees with such purity, unjaded by previous experience, would seem crazy to the vast majority of us who are locked in our tired and unconscious ways of seeing the world.
Next, Damiel has been watching mortals enjoy coffee for hundreds of years and can’t wait to drink some himself. He finds a street vendor who gives him a cup. It’s much too hot but he doesn’t know it yet and in his lust to taste this dark, aromatic elixir, he burns his tongue quite badly.
Yet, despite being greeted into his new life with the harsh hand of pain, the gash on his head and burning his tongue, instead of being disillusioned with human life, Damiel marvels at its richness and celebrates these sensations as the immutable truth of truly living.
At one point in the movie, the newly-mortal Damiel happens upon another angel-turned-mortal who, interestingly, is Peter Falk playing Peter Falk. Falk is on set in Berlin filming an episode of Columbo. Who better than a classic, salty sleuth to play out the mystery of what it means to be human? Peter Falk can recognize those who used to be angels who are now walking the earth and reminisces what it was like to be an angel but muses over the joys of life. After a brief conversation with Damiel, Peter Falk hears the call to return to the film set and as he is walking away, Damiel desperately calls after the angel-turned-TV-celeb to tell him everything there is to know about being human. Peter Falk doesn’t break stride and turning his head slightly, calls out over his shoulder, "You have to figure it out for yourself, kid. That's the fun of it!"
Sometimes, you have to shut your eyes and run full-out into the darkness of life to understand what it means to be alive.
As I’m writing this, the ominous cloud of COVID-19 has been darkening life for more than a year. It’s caused us all a lot of pain and covered the entire world with a heavy blanket of legit fear. It’s made the future ambiguous, it’s ruined plans, and worse, it has put a wedge between this world’s most valuable resource: each other. For me, it feels like we’ve been running in the darkness for a long time and I know I’m not alone when I say … I’m tired.
Global pandemic aside, doesn’t it feel so often that life is really one long journey into the darkness? Who knows what lurks over the next horizon or hell, even into next week? Yet, can we learn to see this ambiguity as something to celebrate if only to serve us to remember that we are alive? Even in our fears and failings and dying there can simultaneously exist wonder and beauty. Poet David Ignatow points to this paradox when he says, in his an excerpt from his poem, THREE IN TRANSITION (FOR WCW),
I wish I understood the beauty
in leaves falling. To whom
are we beautiful
as we go?
His poem points to the fact that even in our failing, in our most difficult times, there is a part of the Universe that finds us astonishing in that going. Having lost my mother to cancer days after Thanksgiving in 2020, during an already crushing year blighted with COVID-19, I saw first-hand how something so tragic as my mother passing bestowed a beauty to life. My mom’s death illuminated something Universal within the entire family, even and especially in my mom. Somehow she lives and spends her nights visiting me in my dreams. My mom’s death points to life. To whom are we beautiful as we go? Or to what?
Yoga and meditation are simple practices that point us inward to discover and remember that portion of the Universal that exists inside of us. Being familiar with the Universal part within us is in part what it means to see with your heart. Having heart-vision grants us the capacity to see a magnificence to the most difficult of circumstances, the beauty of a textured and well-lived life.
The late, great Leonard Cohen said, “Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.”
Also, with this sure knowledge of the heart, we are less persuaded by Dvesa's power of misperception due fear. Another tired but nonetheless true statement is that love conquers fear. Perhaps this, too, is only something we can learn by closing our eyes as we lean into the darkness and learn to trust our most reliable sense. And from this courageous place, we will face what fears remain with presence and boldness. The Latin word for heart is Cor. To be courageous doesn’t mean an absence of fear, but to be full of heart.
As we run through the dark path of life’s journey, we will undoubtedly encounter fears.
May we learn to be courageous, seeing the world and the people in it rightly, as Universal elements of love. May our practices of yoga, meditation, and love wake us up to the Universal within all of us. And while we may not know exactly when this darkness will end, may we run through this uncertainty screaming, laughing, and loving, knowing that at very the least we are alive.
To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.
~Wendell Berry.
