There are questions that repeat, that come out of most people’s mouths eventually in my line of work. Many of them orbit around a moment when we realize a repeating pattern in our lives, and recognize that we are the ones unconsciously recreating the repetition. And the question, asked with fervor and resolve is:
“Ok, what do I do?”
This question, and all its iterations arise at some moment in workshops, individual work, consultations, and everything in between.
We realize there’s a problem. We realize that we are in some way, unconsciously, and seemingly against our own will, contributing to the problem. The realization seems simple. I’m doing something wrong, I would like to do something else. “Ok, what do I do?”
The person turns to me and asks; How do I stop? How do I fix it? Give me a plan!
We have been sold a quick fix reality in which everything has an actionable solution. An implementable strategy. An answer. I want to be told what I should do to uproot a lifelong behavioral pattern, anchored in a deeply held and unquestioned belief about how things exist, and sustained by an entire army of defense systems, and I expect to be done with that utter overhaul of my being by the end of the week.
The truth is that there is a way to transform the way you think, feel, and move through the world, but it is not fast. It is the opposite of fast. It is a slow marathon, a plodding along. It is to find a kind of practice that works for you, and to do it, probably every day, and very possibly for the rest of your life. Nobody likes this answer when I give it.
But the fact remains that either we do practice, or there are corners of ourselves, and of life, which will remain forever inaccessible to us. The reason that we practice is to fill out; to occupy our bodies, to know our minds, to assert control over unconscious mechanisms, to plumb the depths of the human experience, and to know life. If we choose not to go deep with life, we will remain at its periphery, not really a part of it, and it not really a part of us.
There are no less than a million different kinds of spiritual practice. Repetition of mantras, walking meditation, ritual, prayer, dance, Hatha Yoga, study of sacred texts, zazen, devotional singing, self-inquiry, pranayama, service, mindfulness, the list has almost no end.
So, what is the right spiritual practice for you?
This answer is a fairly easy one; the right practice for you is the practice that you will do with regularity. If you regularly do the wrong practice, it will bring you to recognize a more ‘right’ one. If you practice with regularity, it will redirect the course of your life. Practice is much more than just repeating a mantra, or breathing in certain ways, though those things are also wonderful, and beneficial in themselves. Practice is a way for you to meet and willingly engage with life.
There is no better way that I have found for me to really know my boundaries, to be able to decipher my truth from my fears and conditionings, to find an unwavering center in myself, to have agency over my mind then to do a simple practice again and again over an extended period of time. To meet every new day with a meter, a gauge that tracks my inner world.
Practice is mandatory time with yourself; a time to pull back from the outside infiltration of ideas and stimuli, to check in and to understand a bit about how you are. It is a way of gathering information that leads to a deeper relationship with the truth. A moment of rest in a screaming world. It helps in being less reactive and to blame less. Its an open field of curiosity, if I go into myself today who will I meet?
Over time practice helps us to know ourselves. Over time practice helps us to gain agency. Practice develops willpower, and watching ourselves improve over time, watching ourselves commit and show up, develops self-confidence. Over time practice helps with focus and attention. It keeps us off the damn phone. It offers us the opportunity to keep our bad habits at bay. It is a healthy place to put our energy and watch that energy grow.
When we root deeply into our lives, into our bodies, into our unconscious, we will be nourished by our own source. If we can find the joy in self-discovery, the joy in practice, the joy in sadhana, in presence, this deepening can bring wonder and beauty to our lives.
Transformation requires either time or violence. If we’d like to transform a landscape, we either need to tend to it daily for years, or to wait for flood or fire. Me, I’d prefer to find some joy in pulling weeds and planting seeds. How about you?