We have talked about the breath and the postures. The next traditional meditation in the First Foundation of Mindfulness is a focus on the individual parts of the body, starting with hair on our head and the rest of the body and ultimately looking at the overall functioning of the body, the systems, how all the parts work together. We won’t be doing this in our class, but if interested you can check out this meditation practice on http://32parts.com/ or look for a retreat on the Four Foundations of Mindfulness.)
Why did the Buddha create this practice? What is the benefit? The Buddha offered practices that bring about awareness and balance. Awareness of the breath and sensation anchor us in the present moment. But what does awareness of body parts provide?
The Buddha’s students were primarily men, often young men, whose bodies were most likely a source of pride and pleasure, and full to the brim with testosterone. This made for an easily distractible mind. So the Buddha had them take a more dispassionate in-depth look at what makes up the human body, including parts they never thought about and some they only joked about such as the gas and liquids the body emits. We can imagine how a hormonally-charged group of young men -- enamored of their own bodies’ prowess and easily brought to a mental state of lust by the sight of, say, a young woman walking by -- could be brought into a more sober state of awareness through this practice. It brings the body into the realm of impersonal universal functionality. If sometimes these handed-down practices promote the ‘loathsomeness’ of the body, it is meant as a counterbalance to over-indulgence in bodily pleasures. The ultimate goal of the practice is to develop a more neutral relationship with the body, one that allows for moderation and balance.
The Buddha’s primary teaching was the Middle Way, tempering extremes of all kinds, so with any group of meditation practitioners, we look to the challenges of that particular group when sharing the teachings. As my students are a group of women, mostly postmenopausal, the Buddha most likely would have had a different prescription for us to help us find the Middle Way through the minefield of our relationship with the body.
Would a lengthy meditation on the parts of the body be useful to us? Maybe, but we in the 21st Century are probably much more aware of the various body parts from a workings perspective than the average person cerca 500 BC. Even if our understanding is not always accurate, we are exposed to and have access to an amazing amount of information. We even have access to a ringside seat at quasi-demonstrations of surgical procedures through medical television series, should we choose to watch them. And, though not all of us are interested in going to see it, there is that amazing and controversial exhibit of human anatomy, The Human Body Show, where preserved human bodies are skinned to reveal their inner workings.
In our group, we are of an age that we ourselves and/or close friends and family members have had surgical procedures and/or serious illnesses, so that when someone in our group shared her recent surgery, everyone in the circle seemed very knowledgeable, asked informed questions and knew others with a similar surgery. Of course this doesn’t mean we are qualified to perform surgery or diagnose an illness, but it does mean that human anatomy is not alien to us. If anything, we may be out of balance in focusing on the pathology -- everything that can go wrong with this organ or that bone, tendon, muscle, etc. It is pretty standard in our techno-times for people to Google whatever symptom they have and discover a terrifying array of possible diseases. With exposure to information about micro-organisms that live within and without our bodies, we can develop germaphobia and get stuck in thought patterns regarding the body.
Clearly, our challenge today is a different one than the Buddha’s students had, and it’s not just the aches and pains. Through the same media that gives us sneak peeks into our innards, we also come up against fear-based identity issues. We are bombarded with the current ‘ideal body’ to strive for. Younger women have even more sense of need to take an already beautiful body and bring it into alignment with today’s extreme ideals, having pubic hairs removed or breasts augmented, among other currently common procedures. And young men today are far more likely to have procedures to make their bodies suit the current male ideal than their fathers and grandfathers were. We had a good laugh in our group imagining our husbands or fathers ever thinking that they needed to do anything other than shower and shave. But now it’s not just women who feel they must make their bodies objects of desire.
In the Buddha’s day there were certainly fashions and cosmetics. Women may have compared their looks to those of their sisters and friends, but they did not have images of anorexic models constantly streamed into their lives as we do. The inundation of this imagery, all geared to make us feel we are not enough as we are -- not just in our body but in our lives -- is incredibly intense today. Advertisers build their campaigns upon activating our fears. And it works!
So we are both more informed about the internal workings of our bodies and more traumatized in relationship to our bodies. If the Buddha were transported to this moment in time, what would he think of all this? He would most likely be astounded at the level of dissatisfaction with our bodies. Monks from Asia who come to the West today are amazed at our propensity for self-loathing and shame.
As a culture we in the West are perceived as incredibly materialistic. Why do we buy, buy, buy? To shore up our low self-esteem. Many of us live in an ‘if only’ state of mind. ‘If only I had plastic surgery.’ ‘If only I had those shoes.’ We fill the void within ourselves with stuff and self-improvements, and much of that stuff is to improve the impression we make on others. Heaven forbid they should see us as we are, because who we are is never enough. ‘If only I lost ten, twenty or thirty pounds,’ ‘if only I had the time or willpower to do the that butt lift program.’ Very few of us are completely satisfied with our bodies exactly as they are. And those that are may live in fear of losing that which they are so satisfied about.
Honestly I had thought by the time I had reached this ripe old age, I would have been able to let go a bit. I picture my beloved grandmother, all soft and round and wrinkled. She was perfect in my eyes! Did I really think that after a certain age the women of my generation would suddenly say, oh it’s time to start wearing calf-length silky dresses, sensible pumps, and not worry about our waistline? I am of a generation that strives for the perfect figure and probably always will. Bummer! But then maybe it is just my assumption that my grandmother wasn’t vain. I do remember when we shared a room on visits, we would race to see who could get dressed first, and I always won because she had to put on a girdle. She was born at a time when women still wore corsets with strings that had to be pulled, sometimes with someone’s foot on the butt to get traction. Good grief! She must have felt the girdle was easy breezy in comparison.
This is all an introduction to the opportunity to explore our own thoughts and feelings about our bodies. Questions we might ask explore:
- What are your least favorite parts of your body? Do you ‘hate’ your hair, for example? Think of one and spend some time with it.
- What is the basis of your dislikes and likes? Is a particular part painful, unreliable, troublesome, prone to disease, or just doesn’t meet the standards of attractiveness promoted in your culture?
- Can you remember when this dislike started? Can you remember a scene or scenes from your earlier years when somehow it was suggested to you, either directly or indirectly, that this part of your body was not acceptable?
Think of a part of your body that you take pleasure and pride in.
- Allow yourself to remember the ways in which it has provided you with good feelings.
- Notice if these good feelings are due to this body part being reliable, pleasurable, healthy, or because it meets the standards of attractiveness in your culture.
- Again, bring to mind any scenes from early years that might help to answer the question of why this body part gets such a positive review.
Now, add in the element of aging.
- Has aging changed your feelings toward your favorite and least favorite body parts? Is a part that has been a source of reliability, pride or pleasure becoming less so? If so, explore how that has revealed itself, give yourself examples. Then notice your emotions as you think about this change. Perhaps you have come up with a phrase that you tell yourself to make this all okay, or you have ignored it. But right now allow yourself to be vulnerable and open to whatever emotions are stirred up.
We sit with what is. We acknowledge what is. We don’t pave over what is. If what is is painful, we hold this pain in an open loving embrace. We don’t push it away. Instead we open wider to make more space for all of what is there. Think of creating a spacious field of being present and you are hosting whatever thoughts and feelings arise and fall away, however strong they are, rather than being held hostage by them.
This is just an exercise. We just open and notice and acknowledge whatever arises. We let our own experience exist without judging it. If there is judgment, we compassionately notice the judgment. This is the exercise. This is the process of being fully present with the truth of our own experience.
How much energy do we expend on avoiding these feelings? If we can sit with them in a mindful open loving way, we may be surprised how they begin to relax, release, change, soften, and even sometimes disappear. Our avoidance holds them in a stasis! Our aversion constricts them in crystallized fear.
The Buddha taught that the source of our suffering is our attachment, aversion or delusion. The way we feel about our body, or any particular part of our body, is an excellent laboratory for working with these sources of suffering. If we can notice, if we can be present, if we can allow for this process to expose what we are doing with our habituated patterns of thinking, then we can lessen that sense of suffering.
Years ago I recognized that my relationship to my feet was a source of suffering for me. I hated them! They were ugly and painful. As a child, I had dry cracked feet that were the cause of much teasing from other children. I was always ashamed of them. I would hide them away as much as possible. Later I developed bunions that were painful and ugly. This compounded my dismay.
Then in a spiritually-based creativity class I took about 15 years ago, I focused on my feet, and created a mandala of photos of feet that I collaged from magazines. In the process I began to feel deep gratitude for my feet that have carried me everywhere. My mandala was ultimately a thank you note to my feet, the very feet that in my mind had been such a source of misery. That simple process of spending time with noticing feelings about my feet, transformed my relationship with them and activated a gratitude that has stayed with me all these years later.
If you have a body part that takes you to a place of shame or misery, give yourself some time to focus on this area. Maybe create a mandala or journal about your feelings. The key is to not come up with any solutions, not to force ‘positive’ emotions to replace the ‘negative’ ones, but to really be present with the feelings, to allow the process to work at its own pace and come to its own end, without the ‘should’ mind trying to make nice-nice. If you give it time, it will get to where it needs to be.
Coming to a balanced neutral state of mind in relationship to the body, where we are neither enamored, prideful nor ashamed -- that is the purpose of this exercise. Next week we will expand our focus a bit and avail ourselves of more insights in our last body-focused exercises, as recommended by the Buddha.
Last class we focused on the breath as the first aspect of the Buddha’s Four Foundations of Mindfulness. This week we focus on the various positions we take for meditation. There are four positions the Buddha discussed: Sitting, walking, standing and lying down.
Sitting
One of the simplest definitions of meditation we are given is ‘to sit and know you are sitting.’ This comes directly from the Satipattana, the Buddha’s instructions on direct path to realization.
As we begin our seated meditation practice, we close our eyes or lower our gaze and focus our awareness on the felt sense of the body. One of the first things we may notice is where our posture is not supportive. Odd isn’t it? Because just a few seconds before, with eyes open, settling in, we had thought our posture was perfectly comfortable. Whatever happened in those few seconds of transition is the crux of the practice. Just that quickly we went from the habitual nature of mind into awareness of the reality of this moment. We set the intention to notice what is the experience of this moment, beginning with the body, anchored in the senses.
Right away we see that we are not dealing with lofty concepts but immediate direct experience. Less than a minute into it and we already have an insight into the nature of mind with this demonstration of the difference between ordinary habitual patterned mind and this quality of noticing, of being fully conscious, present. This is awareness. This is mindfulness.
The challenge is to expand the foundation of mindfulness so that it’s not just a glimpse but the vantage point of our lives, what the Buddha called Wise View. At first it may feel a bit like dancing on the head of a pin, getting a brief glimpse of mindfulness and then losing it just that quickly. But with practice we develop the ability to stay present more and more of the time. The tiny head of that pin expands with dedicated practice into a more substantial platform of awareness. We feel more stable in our practice. With intention and practice being present is our default position. We can dance here and maintain our balance.
That moment of transition into sitting with a felt sense of the body in a seated posture may lead to physical adjustments to assure a posture that is supportive of a 30 - 40 minute sit. Those of my students who sit on my living room’s cushy white couch have access to firmer cushions to bring the spine erect and sometimes more support to bring the pelvis higher than the knees. Those who sit in chairs sometimes need a thin cushion under their feet. And those who sit on a bench or zafu make adjustments to suit their own bodies. The goal is to bring the spine erect, to let the sitz bones and the spine support the body completely so that the muscles can fully relax. I sometimes offer the image of a popsicle stick (spine) and the melting ice cream (muscles) as an aid to find position.
Why so much focus on posture?
One of my dear students flatly refused to have anything to do with this erect posture. She would lounge in the couch the way she would if she were coming over for a cozy chat over tea, which she is welcome to do any time. But during meditation we have an intention that is supported by a posture that is erect but relaxed, because the longer we sit, the more important it is that our position be sustainable. She would have none of that! She would recline way back in the corner of the couch, leaning to the side with her head back and her feet up on the ottoman. We had conversations about why this wasn’t a supportive posture, but I was not going to force the proper posture on her when she was so resistant.
I was reminded of a story my teacher Anna Douglas, one of the co-founders of Spirit Rock Meditation Center, told about her own experience with sitting. Anna began her exploration of Buddhism in the Zen tradition, and in that tradition the specifications for sitting posture are very clearly delineated. She rebelled at these strict instructions. ‘Why do I have to hold my hands just so, or align this with that?’ She struggled and fought with the strictness of this posture, as my student would certainly have done had I been more forceful in my instruction. But Anna stayed with it, and eventually discovered for herself that the instructions for the posture were not arbitrary directives just to get students to conform. The postural directions are based on an understanding of how the body can be at ease while sitting in stillness.
Anna came home to the posture, and I trusted that my student would eventually discover for herself why the posture matters. And she did! Eventually, over the course of months, she began to sit up, began to discover for herself that an erect, balanced, supported posture matters, that although at first it sounds uncomfortable, actually it is the way to maintain comfort throughout the meditation. Her personal journey to the upright position was ultimately a much more rewarding one than if I had forced something onto her. We learn best from our own experience.
All my other students over the years have taken me at my word when I tell them an upright posture is beneficial. But it’s important always to remember that when sharing the wisdom of the dharma, including this second aspect of the First Foundation of Mindfulness, that the teacher offers guidance but the journey is uniquely our own.
Advanced practitioners will find their posture more readily with a sense of homecoming, but it is still important to bring the attention to the felt sense of the experience, to anchor in awareness of physical sensation. To sit and know we are sitting.
Walking
Most of the time in a class we do a sitting practice. On retreats we alternate sitting with walking practice. Walking practice is always available to us, and can be incorporated into some portion of our regular exercise routine to enrich it and bring our awareness into the present moment, anchored in physical sensation. If done before more vigorous exercise, that awareness can help to ensure we are fully present, making it a much richer experience, and a safer one for our bodies.
Again the primary instruction is to walk and know that we are walking. At first this will probably mean that we need to slow down considerably to sense into the movement, to feel the pressure of the foot as it touches the ground, the muscles in the leg as it raises up and sets down, noticing all aspects of physical sensation, internal and external.
This is all new to most of us. When we are walking we are usually either lost in thought or we are focused on our destination. Perhaps we notice things that happen within our field of vision -- a person, a vehicle, a bird -- usually moving things we are biologically compelled to notice to assess whether it is safe to proceed. Our senses might register things that are pleasant or unpleasant -- a pretty dress, a piece of litter, a favorite song, a jackhammer, the scent of jasmine or the stench of sewer smell, or a pain in a joint.
But we rarely if ever walk in a way that fully engages our sensory awareness, so that we feel the air on our skin, feel all our muscles in concert, feel fully present in our movement without regard to our destination. This is the gift of walking meditation.
Over the years attending retreats at Spirit Rock, it seemed that walking meditation was under-appreciated. Some retreatants would do it in a dedicated way, but many would do it half-heartedly, then stop and relax in the sunshine. Some would use those periods to return to their rooms to rest or take a hike in the hills. All okay, but the walking practice did get short shrift. Over the past few years there has been a burgeoning respect and appreciation for walking meditation. One teacher, Larry Yang, has really taken it on as his personal challenge to inspire this communal awakening to the rich and wondrous awareness experience of walking meditation. Now on retreats, the courtyard and the upper walking hall are full to the brim for the full period of walking meditation. The retreat experience is not just about sitting, and then time off from sitting. The retreat is a replete experience, where all aspects are done with awareness.
Students in my class are always welcome to do walking practice in the garden, and sometimes we all go out and do formal walking practice there. On our daylong retreats we always include dedicated periods of walking practice.
Standing
If there is a problem with the sitting practice, such as back problems or a tendency to fall asleep, it is recommended that the meditator practice standing. Again the practice is to stand and know that we are standing. We sense into the experience of standing. The posture is erect, the knees not locked, the feet at a balanced distance apart, and the tailbone is tucked slightly, just to assure the back isn’t over-arched. It should feel supportive and natural, not contrived. The eyes rest in a downward gaze. Closed eyes might cause balance problems.
Standing practice can be done instead of sitting practice, or one can add the idea of a standing practice to whenever we happen to be standing in line or waiting.
I am doing a presentation to a large group of public speakers, encouraging them to sense into their feet on the ground when they find their mind wandering. It is part 40 minute presentation on ‘Mindfulness tips for ease at the podium’ at a Toastmasters District Conference. The dharma has value in all aspects of life!
Lying Down
Most of us will do our final meditations in a lying down posture. Practice now! This is a valuable posture and if it is practiced less in formal training, it is only because of the tendency to fall asleep and space considerations in a group setting. Those of you who practice yoga are familiar with the final pose, savasana or corpse pose, which is a resting pose after a whole session of activity. The lying down meditation is more focused than the yoga pose and is less about resting and more about sensing in and being present with this position.
If neither sitting nor standing is possible due to illness or physical limitations, lying down is an excellent practice. It is not a second class practice but an intrinsic part of the Buddha’s teachings. You have no doubt seen statues of the Buddha lying down. He wasn’t ‘lying down on the job!’ He was being fully present in another totally valid posture. I emphasize this because sometimes when we are ill we might feel we can’t meditate. Not true!
If you feel you might fall asleep in this posture, then raise your knees and have your feet planted firmly on the floor. Remind yourself that you are not here to sleep, reset your intention to be present, and if you get drowsy raise your arms and lower them in a slow steady rhythm.
If you are trying to go to sleep, then get as comfortable as possible and focus on the breath, the rhythmic rise and fall of the belly, allowing it to soften, soften, soften...ah.
These four positions -- sitting, walking, standing, lying down -- are all appropriate for the practice of meditation. When we can carry awareness ‘off the cushion’ then we are able to more effectively carry it into our lives. As we do this, we bring awareness into all our activities, all our postures. We are fully awake and alive in this body. This is fully inhabiting the experience of this gift of life. Further, being present with the body, we make wiser decisions. When we feel the muscles as we exercise, we work them but don’t overwork them. We respond to the body’s need to move rather than mentally overriding the body’s own systems for self-maintenance. We can see how this applies in all areas of loving awareness of the body. Where are we not in sync with the body? That’s where we are not in the present moment, anchored into the felt sense of being alive in a human body.
I remember one time having dinner with friends at a restaurant and I was returning to the table from the restroom along a long aisle between tables where other diners were enjoying their meal. Though there was nothing particularly momentous about that moment, for some reason I felt more in my body than usual. I was fully present with the sensations of my body moving through space. I was fully present with the light and shadow, the color and texture of all that I could see. I was fully present with the sounds of talk and laughter, of platters and kitchen sounds; I was fully present with the smell of the food. And I was fully present with the feel of my feet on the ground, my leg muscles, the feel of my clothing on my skin. I felt fully incorporated, fully sensate, fully one with the experience just as it was, without any sense of destination.That moment was even more delicious than the meal because I was more fully present to enjoy it! There are no ‘ordinary’ moments, just ones in which we aren’t fully present.
So that’s what I wish for each of us: That we may come home to awareness of being here in each moment.
In Buddhist practice we begin where we are, with what is readily available in our current experience. As we begin to investigate the Four Foundations of Mindfulness (the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta) we start with the breath, that most fundamental of all experiences in our lives. Regardless of what our bodies look like or what condition they are in, if we are alive we have breath. Even if our breath is compromised, we are breathing. So the Buddha starts his investigation right here, at this point of consistent commonality.
We begin with the felt sense of our experience of breath. For many of us following the breath is regular our practice of meditation. But there are ways and ways to be present with the breath. As consistent a presence as it is, the breath does not always seem the same. Though the breath can change depth and rate, the different experiences we have are often due to the variations in how we attend to it from moment to moment. In this focus, let us be with the breath in a way that really honors it. Let’s attend it with our full attention and loving kindness.
Take a moment to sit with it now, very consciously, noticing the natural breath. What do you notice?
- Where is the strongest sensation of breath in the body at this time?
- In the nostrils?
- The chest?
- The belly?
- Is there some part of the breath that the attention seems to focus on?
- Or are you noticing more the overall arising and falling away of the breath?
Just noticing what draws you now.
As we spend time with the breath, we might wonder,
- ‘Am I breathing the breath, or is the breath breathing me?’
We could investigate where are the edges of this separate being I call ‘me’?
- Is the breath inside of me ‘me’ while it’s there, and then no longer ‘me’ when it leaves through the nose or mouth?
- Or is the existence of this shared air, this shared breath, an indication that there are no true edges where I stop and the air I sit in or walk through begins? We’ve noticed in meditation many times that with our eyes closed, our experience is simply sensation, the felt sense of being is much more spacious than what we identify as ‘me’ in the mirror.
Still with our attention on the breath, we can notice any variations in the quality of the breath or the quality of our attention.
- Does the breath change?
- Does it deepen or go shallow?
Just noticing, allowing the attention to be intrigued, without trying to change anything.
In our practice I often give the instruction:
- to focus on the inhale if your energy is low, to feel the oxygenation of the blood enliven you; and
- to focus on the exhale if the mind is racing, allowing the excess energy to be released on the breath.
- to adjust the posture in such a way that the rib cage offers an open easy column for the breath to rise and fall
- to focus on the lowest place in the body that you feel the breath, and if it is the belly to be aware of the breath as a billows to the flame of core energy in the area just below the belly button.
So we are used to ‘working with’ the breath. But it is not the breath we are changing, it is how we are relating to the natural breath.**
This is an important thing to notice, this development of the ability to pay attention rather than always trying to change some condition, because it is true throughout our life experience. We can see that it is not the thing itself but the way in which we are relating to it that makes all the difference.
For example, perhaps as we sit in the group meditating together, we hear another person’s breathing. How do we relate to that? We might notice irritation, feeling that the noise is disruptive to our experience, an intrusion into our lovely silence. We might feel concern as to why the person is breathing so loudly. We might have any number of thoughts or feelings that activate distracting stories within our minds. OR we could allow that external breath to be a point of focus. We could simply notice what is present in our experience. Whether it is our breath or the sound of another’s breathing, it is all breath, rising and falling away.
The focus on rising and falling away of experience is a rich and rewarding one. If it is pleasurable we might notice a desire for it to continue. If it is unpleasant we might notice a feeling of aversion and a desire for it to end, for conditions to change. We can notice how strong these desires are, how distressed we become, how we whisk our inner calm into a lather of unhappiness. Just noticing. In either case we can see the transient nature of experience.
As we recognize how our ability to attend the breath determines our experience, we might have an insight. We might see that what we bring to any experience -- the intention we bring, the motivation we bring, the energy we bring, the attitude, any prior experiences, emotions and associative thoughts -- all of this changes the experience of even those things that are consistent, like the breath. Isn’t this what we notice as we meditate? One sitting is very unlike another, but what really has changed?
Here’s a good example most of us can relate to: Think about a time when a sunrise or sunset really captured your attention. Then think about a time when you barely noticed an equally beautiful, equally dramatic solar event because your mind was busy with other things. You were hurrying to get somewhere, or you were in the middle of a conversation and the sun’s interaction with the earth and the clouds was just a backdrop to a more involving experience. Perhaps you were upset and weren’t in the mood to be grateful or appreciative. Nothing the sun could do could mollify you! It could dance across the sky on horseback doing cartwheels and you would turn away. Not now, Sun!
That’s how it is with the breath as well. This breath that is, let’s face it, our ticket to be here having any experiences at all, most of the time is completely ignored and taken for granted. This is not to scold us because we aren’t sufficiently appreciative of our breath. Not at all. But we can recognize as we focus on the breath that it is the most fundamental experiential laboratory for noticing the way in which we interact with the world. This ability to notice is a gift. If it triggers judgment, then we notice that as well.
This is what I love most about the Buddha’s teachings. We start where we are. We are not all caught up in fancy concepts of distant possibilities of what might be in some other realm. We are here, sitting and noticing our experience of the breath. And that small activity, unnoticeable to anyone around us, gives us great gifts.
It is humbling to realize how awareness eludes us most of the time, yet this is a human condition. One student described it so well. She said, ‘It’s always there, but I’m not always there.’ Or we could say, ‘It’s always here, but I’m not always here,” just to remind us to be here now.
Let us see it as a challenge to set our intention to be fully present, even understanding, accepting that we will fail... again and again and again. But as long as each time we fail our intention rises up and sets us on the course of noticing, of being curious, of paying attention, again and again, then we are doing well.
In meditation our mind may wander or get groggy. We forget where we are or what we are about. We are somewhere else, miles or years away, thinking, feeling, reacting to something that is not in our present physical experience. But the moment we become conscious, we can reset our intention without getting beaten down again by harsh judgment about our lack of consciousness. We simply get up, compassionately reset our intention to notice the rising and falling of our breath, and we are here. For however long we are able. Our practice is spacious enough for the moments of lostness to exist alongside the sweet reunions into consciousness, for the intention to survive intact and support us, again and again.
There is something so precious about the breath. Our awareness that it determines whether we have any experiences of all of course make it precious. But beyond that, the fact that this simple rhythmic usually quiet, barely noticeable event can so effectively ground us in the moment so that we can live fully. Such a small thing, this noticing the breath, yet every time we are able to do it the benefits of the practice bloom right there in this very moment.
So this first aspect of the Buddha’s First Foundation of Mindfulness, this breath, is like the very centerpoint of the spiral of life. It is a powerful place to put our awareness, the hidden treasure each of us carries within us that connects us to all else.
** There are however opportunities to purposely alter the breath as taught in many traditions such as Qigong, for example. These can be very powerful in calming the mind and self-healing. Our practice is about mindfulness, being present with what is, so we are not trying to change anything. Changes occur naturally just through our practice of loving awareness.
