Acknowledging Change, Welcoming Balance

For every one of us who has ever thought, “I had (work/life, physical, nutritional, emotional) balance but I lost it,” here’s the truth:

Balance is a changing act ~ AND ~ Change is a balancing act.

Consider nature: The autumnal equinox was this past Sunday (at 4:44 p.m. to be precise).  And it was, for the briefest of moments, that the tilt of the earth’s axis was inclined neither toward nor away from the sun.  Our world was, for an instant, balanced – in the midst of change.

Balance, it seems is dynamic and transient.  We have it, lose it, regain it, lose it, regain it.  Sometimes, with the subtly of a turning world, it barely registers.  Other times, the heave and yaw nearly pitch us off of our feet.  And accepting that change is part of balance and that balance occurs in midst change (not exclusive of it) can make the difference between enjoying the changing seasons or experiencing the twirling, waving, (nauseatingly) shifting floor of a carnival “fun”house every time the universe throws us a curve ball.

I think of it today (three days post-equinox) like a yoga pose.  When I relax into the pose by accepting the subtle changes the imbalance triggers in my muscles (strengthening, stretching, stressing) I stay centered.  When I fight the pose, struggling against the changes the imbalance provokes with every pull, push and pulse, I teeter about, focusing on the fall. 

The difference (in the former) is that I accept that change is integral to balance.  It is part of the package.  I am happy for the cooler days and longer nights of autumn, coming in the wake of the long, hot days of summer.

The difference (again in the former) is that I accept that balance occurs in the process of change.  The earth will be in its tilt-less equinox for but an instant.  It is part of the package.  In March, it will pass this way again.  And I will hardly notice. 

In the moment, in the madness of the imbalance that is frustrating, infuriating and tugging at you, acknowledge the change, and welcome the balance.  You have lost nothing.

Lotus Musings

Have you ever seen a lotus growing in a pool?  It is one of the most beautiful of water plants.  Although it may appear to float, in reality the lovely lotus flower is rooted in the mud below the surface of the water.  Not the picture you may perceive – yet the truth is: no mud, no lotus.

I recently heard this phrase, “no mud, no lotus,” not at a horticulture seminar, rather last week at a conference on Mindfulness and Psychotherapy sponsored by Harvard Medical School in Boston.  The speaker, Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh, used the phrase as a metaphor for accepting the suffering (unpleasantness) that most certainly is part of the beautiful experience of being fully present in our lives.  It is a balance.  To know happiness, one must know sadness.  To experience the taste of sweet, one's tongue must know the taste of sour.  Although I had read his words in the past and cerebrally understood, last week I got it like never before.

Sitting in the audience (of 1,200) in Boston, my mind traveled back less than a week to the ten days I’d just spent trekking in the Alps (bringing the past into the present).  It had been a relatively difficult trek.  Not at high altitude (although high enough to get snowed on).  Still, each day included at least one pass with quite significant elevation and descent.  The routine pretty much was: three- to four-thousand feet up (often over a scree and boulder-filled trail), to an amazing pass with breathtaking views and an exaltation of “I did this,” followed by a jaw-clenching, knee-jarring descent (over the scree and boulder-filled trail on the other side the summit). 

People often ask me what it is about trekking that is so alluring.  My "getting it" in Boston last week gave me the words to explain.

It is the struggle of the uphill, the wonder and joy of the summit, and the treachery of the downhill.  My appreciation for the summit is at least in part grown in the “mud” of the up and down.  I appreciate knowing that I can have these amazing experiences in many places because I choose to trek – and because I choose to be fully present in the trek.

I do not try to avoid the suffering by stopping, turning back or seeking an easier path.  I accept that the rocks and scree deepen the beauty of the summit. 

It is a way of trekking.  It is a way of being.

There are no trains, planes or automobiles that deliver me.  Yet I am here.

What are your ups and downs today?  Dwell not in one or the other.  Experience each fully.  Appreciate the balance.  And think:

No climbs, no summits.

No mud, no lotus.