For the past six years I have had a
daily meditation practice. It has morphed, evolved and changed locations, yet
each day I have made my way into the practice one way or another.
My current morning practice is fairly ritualized and goes something like this. Wake up, drink water, neti post and make my way into my sacred space. I have a long, low altar in a dark wood of Asian design upon which I light candles, have photos of beloveds and various items that hold meaning such as gifts from students. I find my comfortable seat, light candles and read from A Year of Living Your Yoga, Daily Practices To Shape Your Life by Judith Hanson Lasater. Some days the passage resonates perfectly with where I'm at and others it results in a few moments of contemplation.
Next in my process is to engage my breath and chant usually a Hindu-based mantra. This past year, I've been learning the Hanuman Chalisa, an epic 40 verse tribute to the all-serving monkey God, Hanuman. When the chant is finished, I sit for another 20 minutes or so until my Insight Meditation timer sounds its bells and I close my session by chanting OM three times, bow down and head off into my day.
And this has been the usual pattern for most of the past six years. The only time it has changed is when I'm out of my ordinary day, traveling or experiencing illness. Regardless, I make time for it no matter where I am.
One of my sweetest experiences with my morning practice happened about a week ago. I was staying with friends in San Diego as I attended the Yoga Journal conference. These friends are not only generous, but dear fellow yogis. They have two kids who are six and almost eight years old who love to hang out with us when we visit.
After the conference on the Saturday night, I made it back to their place with about 45 minutes to spare before the kids were heading off to bed. They were both keen to play with me, but had to hit the hay instead. I said to the eight year old boy that maybe we could hang out in the morning before I had to leave for the conference but no promises were made.
On the Sunday morning, I was up just before 6 am and launched into my usual meditation practice...sitting cross legged on the bed, earplugs in chanting the Hanuman chalisa. During this, I hear a rumbling of footsteps from upstairs, but I pay it no more attention than noticing it. In another few minutes, I hear my bedroom door, slowly creak open. I can't help myself and slowly peek out of the corner of my eyes to see the young boy, standing silently and still, staring at me.
In this moment I have a few choices: 1) shoo him away; 2) ignore him completely or 3) invite him in. The less evolved Jayne might have stayed with the thought of "this is MY meditation time and he'll just have to wait. It's not OK for him to interrupt me". But, I didn't, the more evolved Jayne showed up. I signaled for him to come in and wait until I finished the chant.
It was the sweetest of meditations. I let go of my own agenda to show up for the unbridled enthusiasm of a young child who wanted to spend time with me. What a gift. No longer was my lesson the ritual of my own practice, but something so much bigger. Welcoming all that arose in that moment through opening my heart and practice to a younger being and by doing so, my own heart expanded.
The change of plans helped me to remember to be flexible in my often rigid practice. To invite the sweetness of a child into my usually childless life and to know that my connection to essence is not always in sitting in silence but sometimes in holding space for others.
Thanks for the lesson my little friend!
My current morning practice is fairly ritualized and goes something like this. Wake up, drink water, neti post and make my way into my sacred space. I have a long, low altar in a dark wood of Asian design upon which I light candles, have photos of beloveds and various items that hold meaning such as gifts from students. I find my comfortable seat, light candles and read from A Year of Living Your Yoga, Daily Practices To Shape Your Life by Judith Hanson Lasater. Some days the passage resonates perfectly with where I'm at and others it results in a few moments of contemplation.
Next in my process is to engage my breath and chant usually a Hindu-based mantra. This past year, I've been learning the Hanuman Chalisa, an epic 40 verse tribute to the all-serving monkey God, Hanuman. When the chant is finished, I sit for another 20 minutes or so until my Insight Meditation timer sounds its bells and I close my session by chanting OM three times, bow down and head off into my day.
And this has been the usual pattern for most of the past six years. The only time it has changed is when I'm out of my ordinary day, traveling or experiencing illness. Regardless, I make time for it no matter where I am.
One of my sweetest experiences with my morning practice happened about a week ago. I was staying with friends in San Diego as I attended the Yoga Journal conference. These friends are not only generous, but dear fellow yogis. They have two kids who are six and almost eight years old who love to hang out with us when we visit.
After the conference on the Saturday night, I made it back to their place with about 45 minutes to spare before the kids were heading off to bed. They were both keen to play with me, but had to hit the hay instead. I said to the eight year old boy that maybe we could hang out in the morning before I had to leave for the conference but no promises were made.
On the Sunday morning, I was up just before 6 am and launched into my usual meditation practice...sitting cross legged on the bed, earplugs in chanting the Hanuman chalisa. During this, I hear a rumbling of footsteps from upstairs, but I pay it no more attention than noticing it. In another few minutes, I hear my bedroom door, slowly creak open. I can't help myself and slowly peek out of the corner of my eyes to see the young boy, standing silently and still, staring at me.
In this moment I have a few choices: 1) shoo him away; 2) ignore him completely or 3) invite him in. The less evolved Jayne might have stayed with the thought of "this is MY meditation time and he'll just have to wait. It's not OK for him to interrupt me". But, I didn't, the more evolved Jayne showed up. I signaled for him to come in and wait until I finished the chant.
It was the sweetest of meditations. I let go of my own agenda to show up for the unbridled enthusiasm of a young child who wanted to spend time with me. What a gift. No longer was my lesson the ritual of my own practice, but something so much bigger. Welcoming all that arose in that moment through opening my heart and practice to a younger being and by doing so, my own heart expanded.
The change of plans helped me to remember to be flexible in my often rigid practice. To invite the sweetness of a child into my usually childless life and to know that my connection to essence is not always in sitting in silence but sometimes in holding space for others.
Thanks for the lesson my little friend!
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