I should explain that some years ago I began the practice of simple zazen breathing at he beginning of every class. In part it arose out of work I was doing in somaesthetics—body consciousness. I had come to understand the importance of bodies—often neglected, misused, abused, hated or simply taken for granted—but so essential for a life of well-being! What would it be like if students took their bodies seriously in the activity of doing philosophy? It would mean taking education not merely as a matter of disembodied minds doing their own thing, but whole mind-body-spirit complexes engaged in embodied activity. And so the "experiment" began. Would it make any difference if I helped students become aware of their bodies through the simple act of breath meditation for just a few minutes before we began to think and talk together about important issues? Posture would be important, and so I instruct students in how to sit correctly, relaxed but alert, spine straightened by a slight lifting of the crown of the head, chin ever so slightly tucked, shoulders and wrists relaxed, eyes softly focussed or closed. Many years later, my pragmatic answer is that it works. The student above is one of the many hundreds now who have discovered the beauty and benefit of somaesthetics. It is no longer an "experiment" but an integral way that I teach philosophy. The activity of philosophy begins with awareness of embodiment, the stillness of mind and body.
As in philosophy, so in life.
In a recent reading of the Yijing (Hilary Barrett version, Hexagram 52, Stilling), the sage asks:
- What if there were nothing you had to do now?
- What if there was nowhere else you had to be?
- Where is your inner point of balance?
Good questions all! In the mellow time of reflection before Christmas it's at least worth a try. After all, that's what Advent is meant to be about—self-reflection, taking stock.
I can almost hear a friend or two muttering, "What mellow time before Christmas! It's more like Christmas madness!" All the more then.
Stillness is finding your own center of balance—your own place of equilibrium—in the middle of the seeming chaos. To be still like a mountain is the goal. Whatever the weather brings, however hard the winter, or hot the summer, the mountain remains steadfast.
In the collect for the Third Sunday of Advent in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer its says, "Grant that the ministers and stewards of thy mysteries may ... so prepare and make ready thy way, by turning the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, that at thy second coming to judge the world we may be found acceptable people in thy sight ..." This complex language reflects ways it's difficult to think in today. Yet, behind the religious language is a desire for self-reflection, for self-improvement, to become a better person. And that self-reflection begins in stillness, continues in stillness, and ends in stillness.
Of course, "sitting around" all day is not possible for most of us, nor, to be frank, is it desirable, for "sitting around" may not necessarily be stillness. Nor does a busy life necessarily mean the absence of stillness. I have learned much from the daily practice of taijiquan. In the practice of taiji it is possible to find stillness in movement, and to find movement in stillness. At the end of every movement in taijiquan is a pause, a rooting, a settling, a preparing to move again. In the middle of movement is profound stillness. One of the secrets of taiji is to find your center all the time, never to be out of balance—even when movements are swift, the centeredness remains.
I have learned, too, from seated and moving meditation that the inner stillness and outer stillness reflect each other. I have often observed students when they begin to learn zazen that the "twitchiness" of their bodies mirrors the "twitchiness" of their minds. I'm always pleased when, after a few weeks of meditation, the same student who couldn't rest, couldn't be still, begins to find an inner stillness reflected in their outer stillness.
Imagine with me for a moment: What if there was nothing I had to do just now? What if there was nowhere I had to go?
Oh to be still like a mountain in the midst of life!
+Ab. Andy