Nature teaches us there is a time to gather, to conserve, and it's a rhythm seen everywhere. The autonomic nervous systemic (ANS) in the human body follows the rhythm as we move between the sympathetic and the parasympathetic functions—fight or flight, feed and breed. We move between conserving energy, storing within ourselves, and giving out energy in the world.
I have learned in my taijiquan practice that the flow of energy moves between closing and opening, drawing in, conserving, contracting (yin) and giving out, expulsion, expanding (yang). Taiji is rooted in philosophical Daoism, and Daoism observes nature and learns.
The storing, gathering, conserving, yin function is so very important. Of course, no more or less important than the expanding and giving out—the two function best together in the constant breathing in and out that is life. Yet, it seems to me that, for some reason, many of my friends, colleagues, and acquaintances are more often than not imbalanced toward the yang. Perhaps I just hang out with a lot of people who like to give! I do, but I think it's more than that. Generally, we have come to value action over inaction. "We must do something!" is a constant reprise.
I was asked this last week to speak to students in one of our college dorms about how to deal with stress through meditation. It's a fairly frequent request and I'm glad to do it. Next week is fall break, and it's about this time of the semester that the stress levels of students increases markedly. Papers and midterms are all due around the same time. If students have not been diligent in keeping up with things, the going begins to get a little rough. My usual format is to find out how the students' stress levels are, explain a little about the ANS, and then teach them some very basic posture and breathing. During the "feedback" time after meditation I discovered, as I always do, that some students live so much in "overdrive" that to sit still—on the outside (body) and inside (mind)—is impossible. The body fidgets. The mind whirls out of control. Meditation proves to be deeply uncomfortable and just about impossible. So, I continue my explanation that the discomfort experienced is a symptom of life lived so much in the sympathetic response that the parasympathetic is an unwelcome stranger—that is until you get to know the stranger, and she becomes a friend. And to get to know the stranger takes time. There is no instant fix for imbalance.
Ten years ago, I read a paper at a conference that I called "Spiritual Practice as a Foundation for Peacemaking." (The paper was later published as a chapter in Danielle Poe and Eddie Souffrant's book Parceling the Globe.) The paper arose from my observation that many of my friends who were engaged in social justice and peacemaking initiatives often faced burnout—physically, psychologically and spiritually. From observation I became aware that those who didn't face burnout had the some form of spiritual practice that balanced their, often emotionally draining outward work. I suggested that more gets done when the worker had space to retreat, to gather, and to conserve. Some friends have said, "But how on earth can I find time for a spiritual practice? There's so much that needs to be done!" My response is a simple one: without the conscious intent to gather, conserve, draw in, the things you want to do will not get done, and if they are done will be done poorly. It's a simple truth, you have to gather energy before you can expend energy.
So much nature teaches us. I have not seen the little red squirrel stacking pine cones for a few days. The trees seem to have finished their shedding for the season. The pine cone pile is about as big as it's going to get. She has gathered, stored, and conserved. I think I'll do the same.
+Ab.Andy