Uncoiling the Next Layer ...

The Plug-Hole
Originally uploaded by ~~Tone~~
One of my non-dual healing practices is Impersonal Movement. Every Sunday, there is a small group of us that discusses what arises during our practice. Today, it was just one other classmate and I.

In my practice, as of late, when I get to the stage that involves something called "uncoiling the heart", I have felt a halting as I am digging, metaphorically speaking, through what feels like a dark hole in my heart. I am aware in the back of my mind that when I come to a particular layer in this hole, I cannot go any further. My classmate today helped me to understand that there is likely a vasana, or an impurity, that lies just beneath the surface where I stall and that it may be too scary or painful for me to uncover it.

As we talked for awhile, I began to relax into the experience of recalling each piece of the digging and then the halting. Quite effortlessly, a phrase arose which seemed to be the very one I've been fearful of unearthing: "Will there ever be an end to this sadness?" It took my breath away the very moment I uttered it. My classmate very gently said: "It feels like this is the vasana." We both knew it was.

My classmate encouraged me to stay and work with this phrase and to notice over the next day or so the ways in which the essence of this shows up in my world.

In this part of the practice, the appearance of the vasanas are about the larger scale suffering of the world -- its "incarnational baggage". To feel it personally means that I have not dropped into the true "impersonal" aspect of the practice.

After this very healing call with my classmate, I noticed a variety of shifts in and around me. I decided to go to the movies by myself. At the start, I felt a twinge of discontent in the background, a brief thought like: "Oh, look at you, going to the movies with all the gray hairs on the 4th of July , how sad". I let it live, then just as quickly, it left. I enjoyed my popcorn and most of the movie. Leaving the theater, I was to meet my AA sponsee for a bite to eat and then go to a meeting. On my way to the diner, she texted me to say that she could not meet me and that she was sorry. A variety of feelings rose up: disappointment, self-pity, loneliness. I drove home to walk my dog and then made a sandwich. As I sat at my dining room table, a wave of sadness came over me. I could feel myself simultaneously pushing it back. Within this were messages about being alone on the Holiday, missing the woman I love deeply and wondering how many other holidays will be spent apart,  thinking of my sponsor,  my mother and hundreds of women who keep at life without their spouse or partner. Giving them this place to be here again softened and opened my heart toward myself.

Then my feelings shifted to looking forward to my meeting and stopping to get an iced coffee on the way. I sang to music blaring on my car stereo and then greeted a number of friends and we set up chairs to hold the meeting outside in the courtyard. The speaker was amazing and the night was clear and gorgeous. I took in the entire experience through as many senses as possible. Afterwards, I joined several members for sweet treats at my favorite frozen custard stand and we sat outside to catch a few glimpses of the fireworks against the indigo blue night sky. As I sat taking all of this in, including the delicious creamy goodness in my styrofoam cup, another wave of sadness was pushing against my heart and the back of my throat. I could feel the dam about to burst. I politely excused myself so that I could let all of this flow.

No sooner did I get into my car, the tears erupted with tremendous force. I sobbed and sobbed and didn't know why I was actually crying and it didn't matter. This continued as I entered my apartment and I sat on my meditation pillow, holding a stone in my hand, and let the tears flow freely as I said the vasana aloud: "Will there ever be an end to this sadness?" I repeated it nearly 4 times. As quickly as the tears had come a half hour ago, they ceased in the very same way. It was just as my wise classmate had said to me earlier: "If you stay with this dark place, other space will open up."

It most certainly did.

I sit here now quite calm and clear-headed. While the sadness initially felt personal and I tried to make meaning of it, over the course of the night it became hugely impersonal. Like I was a conduit for this particular suffering of the world that I was tapping into.

It is now with anticipation and spaciousness, rather than hesitation and dread, that I will be uncoiling the next layer ...