Transmutation

Sooner or later, when practicing Kum Nye, or for that matter, any meditation practice, you are going to encounter feelings which are dense, and may even seem impenetrable. These dense areas we often associate with our own personal stories, histories, identities, our labels.

We might name them karmic accretions, unfinished business, the past, our trauma.  Or it may seem to be cultural, racial, ancestral, genetic, or have no identifiable origin.

How many of us have sat in a meditative state, and seemingly out of nowhere, we experience pain: in the heart, in the belly, the back, the shoulders. It is as if our ability to be still and present opened the door to areas which had no attention. Like hungry children, they beg for our care. It doesn’t have to express as pain. It can show up as other forms of intensity; strong emotion, a sinking feeling, oppression, dread.

We might think, “I was doing so well and now this,” or, “What’s wrong with me?”  Or maybe we think that there is something wrong with the practice or that we need to fix or change this experience somehow, perhaps focusing more positively or in any one of the many ways that we have learned to manage our feelings.  We might guess, “This negativity is coming from outside of me, it doesn’t belong with me,” and try to banish it that way.

As we go deeper into our inner experience, and deeper into the body, we will uncover residues that will challenge our ability to simply stay present.  It doesn’t match the pristine image of meditation, it doesn’t match the feeling  we had previously noticed. Perhaps this brings up feelings of failure or personal inadequacy.

However, these are moments of potential celebration and may offer deep levels of healing when we have a skill, and an approach to meet these areas of consciousness. 

Regardless of their real or imagined cause or source, join me in appreciating their experience.

As you so do, perhaps what presents itself grows even thicker, or we are overcome with a feeling of tiredness; we feel as if we are going to fall asleep. Or suddenly we are up on our feet, busy with something else, wondering, even, how we got there. Or we space out, go somewhere else, dissociate, or go into another form of trance or wandering. Maybe we stop our practice for a month or a year because a fear came up of something beyond our ability to face.

I think that it is true that without a skillful means, we are more likely to see these less as opportunities and more as adversaries that we must fend off. At first glance, they seem destructive or hostile.

It may seem counterintuitive to move closer. But let us see if there is a way to meet our inner world which naturally leads towards transmutation of negativity, where in fact we begin to feel nourished by the very thing that seemed oppressive.

Is there a judgment, or a rejection of the experience? Judgment will trigger a shyness in whatever feeling or energy is present.  When we acknowledge the judgment, the rejection, this may offer us the space to open into it. The experience of curiosity and interest can be opposite of judging.  Sometimes, saying inwardly or even aloud, ‘I am interested in you,’ can begin to soften the reluctance to be with discomfort. 

We have the capacity to bring a quality of lightness, joy, and alertness to that which is even the most dismal. In some ways we can do this with a light, joyful breath.  But I think the first shift is in attitude. In the moment of descent, let us become interested and alert.

Tathang Tulku emphasizes frequently a light, or a soft concentration.  In this case, softly concentrate on the breath, lightly at the area just below the throat. That soft concentration and light breathing can of itself initiate a quality of joyfulness.

When the joy is there, the desire to ‘make something happen’ (or make something go away) can diminish. At the moment we stop trying to make something come or go, there is an opening, an openness.

Everything about creating a sanctuary or refuge can begin to benefit us. We have a connection to the stability of the ground. We have found a place of stillness and calm. We have opened to more spaciousness. The breath is soft, linking the mind and body through even breathing between the nose and the mouth.

Now, we have the capacity to bring our soft or light concentration to the dense feeling itself.  One way to stay interested and curious is to describe it: “Oh, it is hot.” Or “wow it feels like a strong magnet.”

Or we can look to the location or watch its movement.  There are in fact many ways we can look to our embodied experience that allow us to explore without getting caught up in a story, or overly dramatize. For me, these denser, thicker energies feel like concrete and it becomes harder to breathe or take a full, deep breath.

Even though we might feel inclined to breathe deeper and faster, I recommend, at this point, slowing the breath down, letting it become even more soft and gentle, as if the breath were saying, ‘hello, I see you, I’m interested.’

Images, memories, tears may come. The body may shake or vibrate. There may come a feeling of expansion or openness. We again, simply allow whatever wants to emerge to emerge. At some point, there may be a feeling of gratitude, as something long held in has been liberated. We may notice nothing at all. But when we get up, we realize something feels different.

Often, this is the kind of work that might best be done with the accompaniment of another. The practice of Hakomi lends itself well to assisting another to deepen more fully.  We may choose to do this on our own as well. As you are probably well aware, these heavier energies will probably emerge again.

If you would like to explore this more, and if you would like assistance with your practice at one of these critical junctions, contact me, or arrange an appointment through the calendar.