Drishti: Renewal
As this long night continues to stretch out, it’s hard to forget that winter is temporary. And yet, even in the far, cold reaches of the North where the sun barely rises, there will come a time when that same sun blazes and barely sets.
The power of practice is that it is steady throughout these changes. There are seasons in practice, but there is also a sense of constancy, a place to reflect, discover, and learn. You cannot click your fingers and make the sun rise, but you can unroll the mat and see what is waiting there. Even the most reluctant start to a practice can unexpectedly and suddenly blaze up with a sense of replenishment and renewal. In some ways this is easy to explain for the physical yoga practice. What greater acknowledgement of the renewal brought by a rising sun than a salutation to it?
But I think there is renewal, a sense of space to be found in the stillest practices too.
Even closing the eyes in meditation (and I do close my eyes most of the time) is a balm for them, a signal that they are, for the moment, ‘off-duty’. I do not claim that the meditation practice is always pretty. Sometimes the mind swirls and the clock ticks slow as molasses. Sometimes, there’s a shudder or tears as one sits with something about the self, or something about the world, that’s uncomfortable or beyond tragic. But in coming back for a steady practice, there is a sense of replenishment, of renewal, fresh eyes and dṛṣti, newly discovered knowledge.
One of my favorite poems is ‘The Buddha’s Last Instruction’ by Mary Oliver. It’s a poignant and expressive poem. I feel the crowd leaning toward the Buddha, the saṇgha uncertain, scared, wondering what will happen when he is gone. But even in the darkest times, it is possible to find a dawn, to find renewal.
And then I feel the sun itself
as it blazes over the hills,
like a million flowers on fire-Mary Oliver from “The Buddha’s Last Instruction”.
