Walking Lightly

When we do walking meditation we step from one moment into the next, leaving the last moment behind and stepping into this new one with an open heart and mind. We tread softly, we carry nothing with us. We feel the ground beneath our feet, especially if we go barefoot. We feel our muscles and joints keeping us poised. Perhaps we are aware of our clothing moving against our skin, or the touch of the air as we move through it. We walk in harmony with those around us, neither slower nor faster than they. Thoughts may come and go, but we simply walk.

Walking meditation is a beautiful practice and also a wonderful metaphor for moving lightly through life.


Further to last week’s post on relaxing tension in the body and mind, I’d like to talk briefly about how the way we breathe is linked to how much relaxation or tension we experience.

When we do zazen the instruction regarding the breath is to let ourselves breathe naturally through the nose without trying to manipulate the breath in any way, and I am not going to suggest we do anything differently when we are meditating.

What I am going to suggest is that you pay some attention to the quality of your breathing as you go about about your daily activities. What is your breathing like when you are feeling relaxed? Is it slow and deep? Are your ribs expanding nicely out to your sides? And what is happening when you feel stressed? I expect you will find that your breath is faster and shallow and maybe your ribcage is frozen. No real problem if this happens infrequently and for short spells. But for a lot of us this rapid and frozen way of breathing has become a habit and can actually be creating more tension.

The good news is that we can train ourselves out of bad habits and into better ones. There’s tons of information out there about improving your breathing (just type breathing into Amazon and you’ll see what I mean) but really, all you need to do to get started is notice your breathing when you are tense and see how you feel after taking a few good old-fashioned deep breaths, breathing slowly and letting your ribs expand to the sides. Does that feel good? Has the amount of tension you feel reduced?

Sometimes just bringing our attention to the breath, without the intention to change it, can be enough to trigger the body to bring itself back into balance by regulating the breath. Any improvement in the way we breathe is going to reduce tension and help us to be more relaxed both on and off the meditation cushion.

Relaxing into Meditation

We all know the benefits of relaxation, but perhaps we don’t associate relaxation with meditation. However, being able to relax our body in meditation goes a long way to helping the mind to be calm and open.

Don’t get me wrong – a relaxed body is not a prerequisite for meditation and if we have pain or tension from an underlying condition that we can do nothing about then we can certainly meditate with that pain and tension. What I am talking about is what I have heard referred to as volitional tension, the tension we have a choice to hold or let go of, even if that choice is not immediately accessible to us.

Tension in the body is closely associated with resistance to unwanted thoughts, emotions and sensations. When we meditate we start to see how and why we resist, and the suffering it causes us, and begin to let go. We can greatly aid this process by becoming aware of our physical tension and doing what we can to release it. There are many, many ways to do this including any recreational activity that helps you unwind any any type of bodywork that releases muscle tension.

I find it helpful to spend a moment or two, when I sit to meditate, becoming aware of tension in my body – for me it is often in my neck and shoulders – and picturing it flowing out of my body into the earth as I breath out. All of us hold layers of tension in our bodies that have built up over the course of our lives. Working to dissolve our tension will definitely benefit our meditation and also improve the quality of our lives.

Being the Caretaker of This Life

We each have been given a life, which manifests through our body and mind. This life, this body-mind, is the one we have. You could say that this life, fully inhabiting this body, is our path. Of course we can work to improve the circumstances of our life and our experience of it, but we must start from where we are now, which means we need to accept our life just as it is now, not pretending it is other than it is, living in a fantasy land, or refusing to face things as they are. Even having a “spiritual” goal of becoming a wiser, more serene person at some future point can stop us from fully engaging in our life as it is now.

We have a tendency to take things personally. It’s understandable that so long as we think that we are a separate entity that ends with our skin we experience ourself as the centre of our universe: everything happens to me, my train was late, I was treated badly, I handled that really well, it shouldn’t have happened to me

I’d like to suggest a way of looking at our life that I think helps us to take it all less personally. Because it isn’t personal. From moment to moment innumerable conditions are in operation that result in, for example, someone behaving towards you in a way that you find offensive or upsetting. Same thing if it starts to rain – innumerable conditions coming together – but we don’t usually take the weather personally, do we?

I suggest thinking of oneself as the caretaker of one’s life. A good caretaker will attend to whatever is in her care. If, for example, it is a house and garden she will keep it in good repair, get things fixed when they break, decorate, tend to the garden, without taking it personally when the boiler breaks down or the guttering needs replacing or the lawn needs mowing.

If we can regard ourself as the caretaker of our life I believe it will be easier to let go of resistance and engage more fully with this life of ours. Instead of fretting over perceived unfairness or looking for ways to avoid dealing with things we can simply get on and do what needs to be done. And as we open more completely to this life perhaps we will come to see that this me that is living it isn’t quite what we thought it was.

An Accident or an Incident?

Have you noticed how motorway warning signs in the UK often now refer to incidents rather than accidents e.g. speed restriction due to an incident between Junctions 10 and 11?

An accident means something bad happened; an incident simply means that something happened. What if we were to view everything that happens in our lives as incidents, removing the judgement of good or bad? Simply, something happens, we become aware of it, it has consequences and we take care of them.

There’s a Buddhist parable about a man who has been shot in the eye with an arrow. What is needed is removal of the arrow and medical attention to the wound, not sitting around discussing who fired it, why, and how awful it is. Some time soon it would be wise to find out more about the incident and take any action that is called for to minimise the risk of future harm. But right now let go of the judgements and blaming and help remove the arrow!

(The arrow is a metaphor for the human suffering caused by fearing bad stuff happening to us and obsessively chasing after what we think is the good stuff. It is also what blinds us to our true nature.)

We’re All Doing The Best We Can

When I first heard this said in the context of a Dharma talk I was shocked by what I perceived as the naivety of the speaker. I knew that I could do better – and hadn’t my teachers known it when they wrote it on my school reports?

Over the years I’ve come to see that yes, people, myself included, could very probably do better in the future but right now, in this moment, with conditions as they are and all that has occurred in the past to bring about this moment, we are doing the best we can. What I mean by doing our best is not meeting some standard of achievement, but responding wisely and compassionately to what is in front of us. All beings want to be happy and all of us are wise and compassionate at heart, underneath all the fear and worry.

And even if I were to doubt this, I have found that just taking the attitude that everyone is doing their best removes any blame and judgement and enables me to respond in what I hope is a more skilful and kind way. It doesn’t mean I am blind to problems that need to be addressed, but shame and blame never helped anyone to let go of their fears and insecurities, leading only to more fear and contraction, whereas love and acceptance are truly transformative and enable people to open up and see things in a new light and have the courage to act differently.


A couple of weeks ago I wrote a post about resistance, how it manifests in meditation and daily life and how we can work with it. I have continued to sit with this subject, and I asked myself the question: what is it like when there is no resistance? The word wholehearted immediately came to mind.

I love this word wholehearted, always have; the sense of being completely engaged in whatever I am doing, no part of me left out or split off. And I don’t think we are talking about a rare or elusive state here. I think it is common to be wholeheartedly absorbed in our activities – immersed in a project at work, playing with the kids, engrossed in a good book, dinner with old friends.

But sometimes we are not wholehearted about what we are doing. As I was doing some housework I asked: what would it be to be wholehearted about this cleaning? Just asking that question had the effect of engaging me more with the task. And it didn’t mean that I needed to do a whole big spring-clean, just to look a bit more closely and be willing to put a bit more effort in to reaching awkward corners. Nothing earth-shattering. But it made a noticeable difference to how I felt.

Just asking the question – can I be more wholehearted about this? – will show up the places, the awkward dusty corners, which we resist. If we are then willing to put the effort in to do something about them, I think wholeheartedness will become a more frequent and familiar experience and resistance will be much easier to transform.

Two Books

img_0351I am reading a delightful book called The Book of Joy, by His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu. These two Nobel Peace Prize Laureates, and old friends, spent a week together in Dharamsala to celebrate the Dalai Lama’s 80th birthday and create this book which explores how to find joy in the face of the inevitable suffering in life. I found out about this book from one of my fellow monks who shares with me an appreciation of the importance of joy in the spiritual life.

The book also contains some brilliant photographs of the two of them together.



The second book I am reading is also, in its way, about joy. Written for those who find themselves caring at home for a family member with dementia, the author’s intention is to provide information that will help carers to let go of their rigidity and fear so that they, and the person they are caring for, can relax and enjoy each other’s companionship. I am finding it a very illuminating book which is having the unexpected benefit of removing some of the fears I have of what life would be like if I developed dementia. If I ever do develop it, I hope that whoever may be caring for me has read this book! The book is called Speaking Dementia, by Frena Gray-Davidson. Thank you to S for recommending it.


Resistance to our current experience, whether in meditation or the activities of daily life, is more than just dislike. Resistance is a pushing away, a refusal (though not necessarily consciously) to be open to the present moment. It is not a productive response and only leads to suffering, certainly for ourself and very likely for others.

Resistance can arise in meditation for any number of reasons and is likely to manifest either in physical restlessness or lots of mental activity such as strongly distracting thoughts or thoughts of doubt about meditation such as I can’t do this, it’s not doing any good, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing anyway etc.

In daily life there may be a job we know needs to be done, such as clearing out all the junk that has accumulated in the garage, but we have a powerful resistance to doing it. Our energy slumps at the very thought of it.

Learning to spot resistance and not judging ourself for it can be a major turning point in how we deal with these situations. Often there’s guilt involved; we want to be the person who can sit down and meditate for 30 minutes every day, we want to be the person who willingly tackles that garage and creates a tidy space, but we’re not, and we feel bad about it.

Another crucial thing to realise about resistance is that it is kept in place by our thoughts. We tell ourself stories, such as I’m too tired to do this now, and we don’t look any further. Resistance is a call to turn towards rather than turn away. There is something here that needs your kindly and non-judgemental attention. Being willing to experience the discomfort of resistance, even opening to it just a small crack, can allow in enough light to reveal what is needed.

Maybe something happened earlier that upset you and you’ve been avoiding those feelings, but now you can let them arise and pass through and you feel calmer. Maybe you really are too tired to tackle tidying the whole garage, but you are quite happy to limit yourself to one hour today spent sorting out a particular corner and doing another hour next weekend.

Being willing to recognise and face our own suffering, sit with it patiently and compassionately, is key, always.

What Is It To Be Still?

In the last few blog posts I’ve been examining the meaning of some commonly-used terms in Buddhism. This question – what is it to be still? – is of a different nature. This is a question that is not designed to be answered in words, though words may arise in response. The power of such a question lies in its resonance deep inside us.

I have just returned from a solitary stay in a cottage in a remote part of Wales. About half way through my stay I found myself living with this question. It would pop up at times during the day, when I was meditating or walking or cooking, driving, shopping. Sometimes it would be when I was feeling relatively still and sometimes it would come when I was a bit scattered. Each time it arose I tried to pay attention to the effect, which was to draw me towards stillness.

It is part of the Zen tradition to use a spiritual question to take one deeper into one’s meditation, but I think it is most helpful when it is a question that really engages you, something that you really want to know in your whole being. Perhaps a phrase you read in a book, or hear in a talk, grabs hold of you. Or perhaps you are aware of a lot of tension as you are sitting and the question arises – can I let go a little more?

If you find a question that captures you, you can encourage it to be active by purposely bringing it to mind as you go about your day or at the start of a meditation period. Simply drop the question into your consciousness and let it go. Don’t try to think about it, just get on with your meditation, or whatever you are doing. Trust that something inside responds. We don’t need to make anything happen.