A few worldwide statistics:

• Nearly 1 in 10 persons lives below the international poverty level of $2.15 per day (per the World Bank)
• Only 1 in 4 people have access to safely managed water (according to WHO)
• Only 1 in 6 people own a car (per PD Insurance)

When exposed to this data in combination with sufficient media exposure to see how people live the world over, it’s not much of a stretch to acknowledge all the blessings in my life. Born white into one of the wealthiest countries on the planet. Raised by conscientious and loving parents. Access to stellar educational and employment opportunities. Loving friends and family. A comfortable roof over my head in a safe neighborhood with the means to keep it there. Nourishing food.

Gratitude ought to be a no-brainer, and yet it often feels like something that should be felt rather than naturally arises. That sensibility gained traction growing up as the gratitude factor was often invoked somewhat punitively. If we complained about a meal, we were reminded that there were starving children in Africa. My parents often recited the phrase: “I cried because I had no shoes until I saw the man who had no feet.” Very true. And quite guilt inducing. In fact, I still beat myself with the gratitude stick every time I complain.

Good old evolutionary science cuts me some slack here. Our survivalist brains aren’t wired for gratitude. They don’t take inventory of what’s going well. In fact, they get used to all the good stuff and barely take notice of it at all. If anything, they ratchet up expectations for more goodies in the future. But they are always on the look-out for what might go wrong: imminent danger, potential threats, scarcity. And they get drawn into social comparisons, determining their social and personal worth based on how they stack up against others in their peer groups. It isn’t me vis a vis the world’s population, but me vis a vis my community, my Facebook friends, my alumni groups, and so on.

That point was driven home to me years ago when colleagues of mine were doing a study in behalf of a major financial institution on the market needs for “private clients” – that is, individuals with very high net worth. They snagged an interview with an heiress of a major industrial enterprise. Upon explaining the nature of the work and the clientele they were interviewing, she said she didn’t think she fit the mold. After all, she wasn’t worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

Such behaviors are normal and natural, even if we wish they weren’t. Much like lovingkindness, forgiveness, and equanimity, it takes intentionality and practice to become beacons of light.

So, how do we turn the heart and mind toward gratitude?

First Off: Pause. Breathe. Appreciate.

If we want to disrupt those well-established neurological patterns that take the good for granted and trend toward negativity, it’s wise to take them off autopilot and redirect their attention. To slow down and start noticing all the blessings that arise in our lives and in the world. Want a guide to help you? Read Mary Oliver’s poetry.

Second: Good old… count your blessings.

Buddhist monks begin each day with a chant of gratitude for the blessings of their life. Native American elders begin each ceremony with grateful prayers to mother earth and father sky, to the four directions, to the animal, plant, and mineral brothers and sisters who share our earth and support our life. In Tibet, the monks and nuns even offer prayers of gratitude for the suffering they have been given: “Grant that I might have enough suffering to awaken in me the deepest possible compassion and wisdom.”

As Jack Kornfield says: “Gratitude is a gracious acknowledgment of all that sustains us, a bow to our blessings, great and small, an appreciation of the moments of good fortune that sustain our life every day.”

Third: Find silver linings.

Hate doing dishes? Be grateful for the food that messed them up. Hate paying taxes? Be grateful for the income that sustains you and makes it possible to remit funds to the government. Hate those lines that are creeping across your face? Be grateful for all the smiles over the years that have put them there. You get the drift…

Fourth: Establish a practice that works for you.

You can do a weekly gratitude walk, where you just go around wherever you live and find things for which you are grateful: the trees on the street, the neighbors who smile and say “hello,” the dogs that wag their tails when they see you, the flowers showing off their radiant colors, the warmth of the sun.

You can keep a gratitude journal or have a little gratitude jar into which you and your guests capture blessings as they arise.

Say thank you… even for all the ordinary things in life. Thank you for doing the laundry. Thank you for doing the dishes and putting them away. Thank you for walking the dog.

Just sit and reflect: What am I grateful for? What else could I be grateful for? What opportunity is life presenting right now for which I can be grateful?

Take in a guided gratitude meditation.

Like it or not, life presents challenges and setbacks. Thoughtful folks may make plans and take precautions to minimize their occurrence, but there remains much outside our control. A traffic jam precipitated by a roadway accident. A major financial reversal, or simply unanticipated expenses. The unnerving medical diagnosis. The unusually long line at the grocery check-out when you’re already late. Stalled deliverables on an important project. Depending on our response, some challenges can prove beneficial. They may help us grow and/or heighten appreciation for things that we previously took for granted. Some… not so much.

The ancient stoics – Zeno of Citium, Epictetus, Seneca – experimented with “framing” when facing setbacks. They’d consider all of the things that were going well in their lives and treat the setback as a minor inconvenience. They’d imagine how much worse things could be and took comfort that their circumstances weren’t all that bad. They’d frame news with a positive spin – e.g., a 60% survival rate for a disease versus 40% mortality. They’d consider how they’d feel in an hour, a day, a week, or a month and ask themselves: Will this setback really matter to me then?

St. Paul, the great Christian evangelist who organized communities of faith throughout the Near East, took solace in his unshakable faith in God. Though he is revered today, his life was far from easy. He spent a healthy amount of time in prison. And he tells us in a letter to the Corinthians, “Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea.” And, to top it off, he regularly dealt with squabbles in the churches that he’d founded.

Yet throughout the full arc of his life experiences, Paul seems neither puffed up by his successes nor undone by his trials and tribulations. Life can beat him about, and he just keeps on keeping on. As he writes to his compatriots in Phillippa:

“I rejoice in the Lord greatly that now at last you have revived your concern for me; indeed, you were concerned for me but had no opportunity to show it. Not that I am referring to being in need; for I have learned to be content with whatever I have. I know what it is to have little, and I know what it is to have plenty. In any and all circumstances, I have learned the secret of being well-fed and of going hungry, of having plenty and having need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” [Philippians 4:10-13]

He speaks to the essence of equanimity – to be in the midst of life’s vicissitudes without whitewashing or sugarcoating them, and without being undone by them. To live in that peaceful place of knowing that it can all be taken in and experienced without fear or defeatism. To stand sure-footed in this world.

I cannot help but think of my husband who is a grand master in equanimity. He brings the capacity for great caring to his community, his work, and his relationships yet remains steady amidst the ups and downs of life. I’ve seen it in matters great and small. A story from our distant past…

We purchased a largish hunk of property in California a few years into our marriage. To control weeds, we opted to blanket the yard with fir bark. And being youthful and frugal, we spread the stuff ourselves. A dump truck arrived and unloaded a HUGE pile of the stuff which created a sizable mountain in our driveway, blocking egress by both our cars. Needless to say, we were highly motivated to get it spread – a task that required filling wheel barrels and carting them down a steep hill to our back yard, dumping the contents, and then spreading the stuff around.

After a few hours of effort, I could find no material evidence that we’d made any dent in the ginormous pile of fir bark. So, in addition to the physical fatigue, my mind starting spinning on: “Oh my gosh. Why did we decide to do this job? We will NEVER get it all spread! We can’t get the cars out to go get food. And I’m so tired. I just can’t do this anymore. What are we going to do?”

Amidst all my suffering, I notice that Spike just keeps spreading fir bark and saying nothing. Pretty soon, his calm demeanor starts to bug me. So, I say: “The pile isn’t getting any smaller. We’ll never finished. Aren’t you upset?” And he replies: “Not really. I just know that I’m going to be spreading fir bark until 5pm, and then I’ll go inside and have a beer.”

Jack Kornfield offers the following:

“Peace comes when our hearts are open as the sky, vast as the ocean. From this place, we choose to care for this moment, this cup of tea, this bowl of food in front of me, this child, this man, this woman, this earth, [this pile of fir bark,] the content of experience with a peaceful heart, knowing that it is all impermanent, not with sorrow, but saying how precious it is that we only get this day once. We only have this moment once.”

In 1986, Jeremy Irons and Robert DeNiro co-starred in a period drama called The Mission. In it, Robert DeNiro plays a mid-18^th-century conquistador named Captain Rodrigo Mendoza who kidnaps natives in the eastern Paraguayan jungle and sells them to wealthy plantation owners. Betrothed to the beautiful Carlotta, he is a picture of worldly success. But upon discovering that his fiancé is having an affair with his half-brother Felipe, Mendoza challenges Felipe to a duel and kills him. Wrought with guilt, he spirals into depression.

He encounters a Jesuit priest named Father Gabriel (played by Jeremy Irons) who offers him a path to redemption. The priest invites Mendoza to join his Christian mission to convert the very Guarani population that Mendoza has been terrorizing. Mind you, the entire mission is a dangerous prospect. The Guarani had killed a priest who’d previously attempted contact, and they would certainly bear hostility toward Mendoza. But Father Gabriel had piqued their interest through his calm demeanor and captivating oboe music and trusts that this modicum of goodwill might serve Mendoza as well. For his part, Mendoza must foreswear violence and carry his armor and sword in a bundle tied to his waist. The latter is no mean feat as the path through the jungle to meet the Guarani is rather treacherous even for one unencumbered.

Anyway, Mendoza is transformed by the journey and has clearly shed all traces of the violent opportunist he used to be. While the natives recognize their former persecutor, they soon forgive the tearful Mendoza and cut away his heavy bundle. He is released from his heavy burden.

I like that word: RELEASE. It helps me to think of forgiveness as letting go of guilt, blame, hurt, anger, and resentment, connecting with my vulnerability, and opening myself to a compassionate response – to myself and others. That release brings the freedom to be compassionate. And as one sage put it this way: “Don’t push anyone, including yourself, out of your heart.”

With this lens, I see forgiveness as a practice of unhooking from distress around past harms regardless of who the object of forgiveness might be. It’s letting go of what we would like to have happened. Someone else may or may not make amends to us, but if we hold ourselves hostage to someone else’s behavior, we cannot be free.

Lily Tomlin puts it this way: “Forgiveness means giving up all hope for a better past.”

Just reflect for a minute: When you don’t forgive, how is that for you? How is it to live with that? How is it in your body, in your nervous system? If you walk around thinking to yourself, “I hate them, I hate them, I hate them,” who is suffering?

The other party or parties do not need to know about your decision. It’s not about them. It’s about casting off the suffering that weighs you down. It’s the possibility of profound redemption and release. But it can only happen in the right way and at the right time.

I’m not suggesting that forgiveness is a one-and-done transaction. It’s unrealistic to expect that we will come to a final release around a situation, especially if we have suffered deep wounds. Rather, it’s an attitude and an aspiration that we continue to practice, even if the same stuff crops up again and again. We keep doing the work.

Today’s post focuses on metta, the Pali word used to describe benevolence, loving-kindness, goodwill, and active interest in others. It is the first of four sublime states in the Theravada school of Buddhism and is central to the practice of mindfulness. I’ll begin with a story…

In the early 19^th Century, the King of Siam established a new capital city in Bangkok. And after commissioning the construction of many temples, he ordered that various old Buddha statuary should be brought to Bangkok from ruined temples around the country. Mind you, this was no simple undertaking. One such statue stood nearly 10 feet tall and weighed over 6 tons. Imagine the effort that it took to relocate it given 19^th century technology. It was not especially beautiful as its outer covering was that of stucco and colored glass. But its origins in the 13^th or 14^th century rendered it valuable.

The piece was moved three more times before settling into its permanent home in 1954. But during that final move, something happened to cause some of the plaster coating to chip off, revealing a golden surface underneath. This was a curious development. And at the direction of the monks, all of the plaster was removed. To the astonishment of the assembled workers and clerics, a golden Buddha emerged, preserved and protected over hundreds of years from would-be marauders who would otherwise have stolen this national treasure.

This story is oft repeated as a metaphor for human life – and, by extension, all of life on this earth. Luminous. Immensely valuable. Golden at the core of being.

Yet as we grow and walk this earth, how easy it has become to lose sight of our inner gold as we accumulate layer upon layer of outer shells and colored glass. Some as shields. Some to appear attractive according to the style of the day. And some due to a lost ability to let that inner core shine through even (and perhaps most especially) when we fail to act in accordance with our better angels or simply hold ourselves in low esteem.

Since I began a mindfulness meditation teacher certification program over a year ago, I’ve been struck by the frequency with which my instructors use the words “compassion” and “kind attention” in dharma talks and guided meditation. For example, if noticing physical discomfort when settling in for a period of silence, Jack Kornfield invites us to acknowledge the distress with compassion and then move mindfully. When investigating difficult emotions in a R.A.I.N. practice, Tara Brach encourages us to give kind attention to our sensations, our feelings, and stories. These aren’t throw away phrases. They’re constant reminders of that golden essence that lies at the core of our being… and that golden essence merits deep respect and care no matter what thoughts, feelings, or sensations arise and pass away.

That is the kindness that we owe ourselves. That is the lens through which we are invited to receive and respond to all beings. It is captured beautifully and simply in the Hindu greeting namaste which connotes “I bow to the divine in you” or “the sacred in me recognizes the sacred in you.”

And turning now to the word “loving.” Those among us who have experienced a deep connection with the Divine, who have experienced loving relationships in their families of origins, who have been blessed with committed partners and friends, who have raised children (and perhaps fur or feathered babies), and/or lived in intentional community may have a leg up in accessing this deep feeling of attachment that can abide between us. Far beyond the flutter of the heart, it speaks to a genuine concern for the other’s wellbeing, a steadfast presence during the ups and downs of life, a celebration of the other’s strengths and accomplishments, and a gentle tolerance for faults and failings. It is a felt sense in the heart and active engagement toward the other’s betterment. Metta invites us to extend the feeling we share with intimates to all others in our communities and on this earth.

The rule of threes for survival:

• You can survive three minutes without breathable air.
• You can survive three hours in extreme heat or cold.
• You can survive three days without drinkable water.
• You can survive three weeks without food.

Each one presumes that the preceding requirement has been met. Ample food and water make no difference if the individual has no air to breathe or has been plunged into the icy depths of artic waters. Higher temperatures increase the speed at which dehydration occurs. And individuals might train themselves to extend their capacity for survival. Magician David Blaine famously held his breath for 17 minutes, setting the world record for such a feat. Nonetheless, ordinary folks need be mindful of these “rules” should they wish to keep living.

I raise this issue simply to note the primacy of air. The breath. It’s the singular sign of life when we exit our mother’s womb to become part of this world. And the absence of breath is a clear marker of the end of life. I know. I was at my father’s side when he took his last breath.

We use the breath as an “anchor” for meditation practice. Breathing in, and breathing out. Breathing in, and breathing out. In writing about mindfulness of the body, I noted that I use mindfulness of the breath to steady my mind and sustain focus – noticing the length of each breath, attaching a word to an inhale and another to an exhale, and counting the breaths. It gives me an object of attention to quell my tendency toward distraction. But the breath is more than simply a place to “tag up” when the wandering mind takes flight.

The breath provides the means to be present to direct experience, the essence of mindfulness practice. It opens us up to noticing bodily sensations:

• Cool air passing through the nostril and exiting with a degree of warmth
• A tingling sensation at the back of the throat at air passes into the lungs
• The rise and fall of chest, perhaps with a hint of expansion of the rib cage
• The movement of the belly as if it is an expandable bellows that stokes the fire of life

Those of us who play wind instruments or train as singers have become quite familiar with the latter. Breath control makes all the difference in producing a quality sound and sustaining musical phrases. We must be conscious of it to ply our trades. Mindfulness practice helps… though I’ve often quipped that my next instrumental skill will not require breath control!

So, the next time you find a quiet moment to meditate, be curious and attentive to the breath – to the various sensations it evokes while providing life-sustaining energy for the body. It’s a simple yet powerful means of experiencing mindfulness.

I believe in mindfulness and count myself among its practitioners. Through the twin aspects of awareness and kindness, it helps me relate to and cope with what’s happening in my inner and outer worlds with greater freedom and ease. I feel more connected to my body and listen more attentively to the signals it provides. I’m less likely to get stuck on repetitive thoughts or vexing emotional states. I’m gentler on myself and others. And the research would suggest that I’m realizing improved health with reduced stress, lower blood pressure, less inflammation with the attendant calming of immune response, and so on.

It all sounds so great. Yet, are there times when mindfulness isn’t such a grand practice? Well… yes.

It turns out that mindfulness may be contraindicated when undergoing emotional trauma. When I speak of emotional trauma, I’m talking about a threatening, overwhelming experience that robs us of our sense of security and safety. It takes away our capacity for being the “observing self” that can explore such sensations with openness and curiosity. And in lieu of placing these emotions amidst a vast ocean of experience, we may feel caught up in a patch of seaweed, unable to extricate ourselves and breathe. In short, asking ourselves to connect mindfully with trauma may escalate anxiety and suffering rather than quell it.

The vast majority of us experience trauma at some point in our lives. Ideally, we find our way through it without undue harm or risk of triggering it in response to future stimuli. We may need to avail ourselves of professional help, or the love and support of trusted associates. We may heal with the passage of time.

We don’t have to forego meditation or mindfulness entirely when processing trauma. In reading David A. Treleaven’s book Trauma-Sensitive Mindfulness, I came across several strategies that can help us remain in practice while exercising appropriate self-care.

FIRST: Stay within the window of tolerance, avoiding the extremes of agitation (aroused, hypervigilant) and numbness (foggy, listless). Be aware of bodily sensations, feelings, and thoughts during practice and apply the brakes, as needed, to stay within the window. Return to the breath, perhaps taking deep breaths to calm an agitated state (hyperarousal), or trying short, intense breaths to counteract listlessness (hypo arousal). Consider use of a soothing touch (e.g., hand to the heart) while breathing. And, of course, it’s always an option to open your eyes and be OK with a shortened practice.

SECOND: Direct your mind and energy to neutral stimuli versus sustained focus on the trauma. Where possible, use stable anchors of attention when meditating (breath, sound, bodily sensations). Open your eyes and focus on the objects around you to ground yourself in the present. Try focusing attention on what makes you feel safe, loved, resilient, strong, energized. If you connect a place, activity, memory, or person to a state of well-being, lean into it. Consider taking a walk or sitting with a friend. Note that these activities are not intended to bypass or put a band aid on the trauma; they simply provide resources to get back to the window of tolerance.

THIRD: Stay with the body even though it might be tempting to dissociate from it. Trauma can make us uneasy with bodily sensations. We lose sight of what’s safe versus threatening and may tend toward shutting down. A waking meditation may prove useful as movement makes it easier to reconnect with sensation. It also provides a neutral focus of attention.

FOURTH: Cultivate trusted relationship. Trauma proves challenging when processed in solitude. It’s difficult to get unhooked from it when facing it alone. Other people can be a wellspring of support, both trained professionals and level-headed, compassionate laypersons with whom you feel seen, heard, and safe. I feel immeasurably blessed to have several people in my orbit who have lovingly provided just the right support when I’ve needed it.

FIFTH: Learn the flashback halting protocol: “Right now I am feeling __________ and am sensing in my body __________ because I am remembering __________. At the same time, I am looking around where I am now in [month or year] and can see __________ and so I know __________ is not happening now/anymore.”

In an earlier post, I talked about how mindfulness practice directs us to connect with the body and bodily sensations, NOT transcending it. When we are awake in the body, we live life in the here and now – not reflecting on the in the past, not anticipating the future, and not lost in thought or imagination. The body confers several other benefits as well.

The body can help steady the mind. My go-to resource is mindfulness of the breath using the body’s natural rhythm. Admittedly, it can be easy to get distracted after two or three breaths. I take advantage of several practices to sustain focus:

• Naming the length of the breath – e.g., “breathing in short, breathing out short, or breathing in long, breathing out long. Not forcing the breath to be short or long, but simply being an attentive observer.
• Adding words to inhalations and exhalations – e.g., thinking PEACE while breathing in and EASE while breathing out.
• Simply counting the breaths.

Sound can serve as an alternate anchor – noticing what’s in the foreground, what’s in the background, perhaps giving names to them. Noticing what arises and fades away. In all cases simply observing and not getting caught in thoughts of what might be causing the sounds, or what they mean.

The sense of touch can also serve as an anchor – the touch points with the floor, chair, body parts against each other – and naming the sensations (warmth, coolness, hard, soft, lightness, heaviness, moisture, dryness). I regularly sense the touch points in the car seat and my hands on the wheel when I find myself distracted while driving. It’s a quick way to drop out of being lost in thought and focus on what I’m doing.

The body can be a place of refuge. When caught in a rising tide of worry, a flood of frustration or irritation, or hailstorm of anger, connecting to the body can have a profoundly calming effect. To break out of spinning in my head, I stop and notice the touch points of the body with my surroundings and then glance around the room and whisper the name of things around the space I’m in. It’s grounding and gives me a chance to experience the ever-powerful PAUSE.

The body can be a kind of barometer. When sensitive to the body, it provides a wealth of information. Standing at a fork in the road: Do I take (or keep) this job? Should I tackle this project? Should I invest in this relationship? The body provides a more truthful response than the mind as it’s not weighed down by shoulds, peer pressure, guilt, etc. Also, checking in with the body and asking: Does this possibility make me feel relaxed, open, interested? Or is my heart in my throat, my stomach churning, my temperature rising?

The body can be a teacher. It provides an ongoing lesson in impermanence. Those of us with a few years under our belts know that bodies do not stay the same. But when we pay attention in the moment, we even notice that sensations in the body change. Itching comes and goes. Cravings rise and fall. Pain changes in nature if we are patient enough to sit with it and observe it.

Physical sensations also provide an object lesson in making the distinction between direct experience and the add-ons we bring to it. For example, we may feel tension in our backs and think to ourselves, “I’m always stressed out. I’ll never relax. I’m too uptight!” In reality, we are just feeling tension in our backs. We don’t need to pile on absolutes or character assessments.

Beyond focusing on the breath, sounds, or touch points, what are ways that we can experience mindfulness of the body?

We can be attentive to our posture, finding positions that give us comfort, ease, and stability. Our postures can be lying down, sitting, standing, walking, running. And we can be mindful of transitions from one posture to another.

We can be mindful in our daily activities. Showering. Dressing. Fixing a meal. Eating. Washing dishes. Doing chores. We can ask: Am I putting any unnecessary tension into this activity? Am I rushing to get through it, as if to say: “This moment doesn’t matter; let me get it out of the way so I can get to my real life!” Or, can I welcome every activity as part of the here and now?

We can experience the body as being part of nature, sharing in the ancient elements of earth, water, fire, and air. Tissues, bones, teeth. Blood, saliva. Temperature. Breath. As we read in Ecclesiastes 3:19-20:

“For what happens to the children of man and what happens to the beasts is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and man has no advantage over the beasts, for all is vanity. All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return.”

We are all connected. A part of the great circle of life.

I attended my first meditation class in the early 1990s. At the time, I had a high-stakes, high stress job that had me fully absorbed by day and haunted me by night. I kept thinking about work after hours and had a hard time shutting down my brain at bedtime. A friend suggested that I try a meditation class. From what little I knew, I assumed that it would help me clear my mind and get much-needed rest. So, even though it was a hassle to get to the center and one more thing on my busy schedule, I figured it would be worth it.

Walking into the center, I was encouraged by how peaceful it seemed, reinforcing my expectations for a mind-clearing class. I had on my corporate clothes and noticed that pretty much everyone else was dressed casually which planted a seed of: “You’re different. I don’t think you belong here.” It bothered me. I sat in the back and listened attentively to the dharma talk. I liked it. It was interesting.

As we began the meditation, my mind started darting around all over the place. I could hardly get through a single breath without my attention being drawn away to a random thought. With the teacher’s encouragement, I kept returning to the breath, but I could not hold it there. Far from clearing my mind, it felt as though it was getting busier. At the end of 20 minutes, the hoped-for blank slate looked like a Jackson Pollack painting.

I was confused and mad at myself. How could I be so laser-focused at work in a chaotic environment and yet unable to sustain attention on the simple act of breathing in a calm one? It didn’t help when the feedback period was populated by those who had thoughtful commentary about the dharma talk and a Buddha-like experience of their meditation. I gave myself a failing grade and left discouraged.

I stayed with the for several more weeks but continued to have frustrating experiences with meditation. In the end, I decided that I was bad at meditation and would never get better at it. It was something that other people mastered, not people like me. It took me 20 years before I gave it another go.

I now know that many people share my inaugural meditation experiences, and that there are sound physiological reasons why. When our minds are not occupied with something specific, they tend to engage in introspective activities such as contemplating the past or future, running simulations of prospective activities, and daydreaming. This activity is mediated by a system of connected brain areas known as the Default Mode Network (DMN). It does not go silent when we go silent; it starts thinking!

Experienced meditators have quieter DMNs than inexperienced ones, but they still regularly experience these spontaneously generated introspective thoughts. That being said, even new meditators – with a modicum of training and a real-time bio feedback – can decrease their DMN activity so long as they just let their thoughts be rather than try too hard to shut them up.

With that in mind, I try to be an observer of my thoughts rather than identify myself as the thinker of them during meditation. I treat my thoughts like the ticker tape of the New York Stock Exchange. I watch them stream pass as though I’m just curious and interested, not an engaged investor with money on the line. From that vantage point, here are a few things that I’ve noticed:

• Sometimes, it’s an active trading day and lots of stuff breezes by. Other days, it’s slow. Either way, I just allow it to be what it is.
• I don’t feel a sense of ownership over everything in that stream of consciousness. Sometimes I find myself thinking: “Hmmm. I wonder where that thought came from!”
• Whatever shows up on the ticker tape doesn’t last long when I hold the entire stream lightly. Thoughts only seem to stick when I let them. Otherwise, they just pass by.

Whether engaged in formal or informal mindfulness practice, I remind myself that my thoughts may not be true. A thought is just a thought. It often helps when I add the prefix “I’m having the thought that…” I notice it without getting attached to it or needing to react to it.

We each think thousands of thoughts per day, a high percentage of which are the same thoughts we had the prior day. I bring an interested and compassionate attention to the Top 10 Hits on my internal radio network. It gives me a road map as to where I might make changes in my life to relieve anxiety or simply tune the dial elsewhere. The great thing about the brain – we can quite literally change our minds!

I’ve been thinking lately about how the culture in which I live relates to emotions. A brief look at common idioms tells the tale:

• Beside oneself (i.e., overcome by emotion)
• Blowing hot and cold (i.e., vacillating between extremes of emotion)
• Chewing the scenery (i.e., displaying excessive emotion when performing)
• Cold fish (i.e., an unemotional or heartless person)
• In the heat of the moment (i.e., proceeding rashly without due thought)
• Laying it on thick (i.e., exaggerating emotion)
• Make a scene (i.e., garners unnecessary attention due to an emotional outburst)
• Touchy-feely (i.e., driven by emotion or sensitivity)

They don’t cast emotion in a favorable light. Moreover, in my experience of the working world, “being emotional” is not a good thing. The preferred persona shows up as cool-headed, logical, highly skilled, prepared, confident, bullet-proof. It’s a calling to live within the seemingly controlled realm of the head and to distance oneself from messy emotions. But here’s the rub:

• According to Dr. Bab Shiv, emotions drive choice. Human beings make snap decisions and then process all subsequent data through filters that support these subconsciously rendered assessments. (This mechanism holds true for men and women!)
• Our moods effect how we experience the world and move within it. A positive (happy) or neutral mood primes us for action; a negative mood primes us for inaction.
• In Atlas of the Heart, New York Times best-selling author, and highly viewed TED Talker Dr. Brené Brown notes: “If I don’t know and understand who I am and what I need, want, and believe, I can’t share myself with you. I need to be connected to myself, in my own body, and learning what makes me work.”

When Dr. Brown asked 7,500 people to identify the emotions that they could recognize and name as they experienced them, the average person only came up with three – mad, sad, and glad. Rather thin emotional literacy! But why do these three resonate?

Think about a time when you got angry. What did it feel like in your body? Perhaps a tightness in the chest and shoulders? A roiling belly? Did you feel like an Instant Pot that had built up pressure such that if anyone pressed down on the pop-up red button, you’d blow out a lot of steam? What does it feel like in the body to hold all that steam in? To try desperately not to give into anger (or even admit that you’re feeling it)?

Now think about a time when you were sad. How did that feeling show up in the body? An aching in the heart? Perhaps the body drooping forward with the head hanging low, closing in on itself, protecting the sensitive heart? A weariness? Tears forming and awaiting release?

Finally, bring to mind a joyful occasion. I’m remembering a spur of the moment break from studies, going to a comedy club with friends, and finding out that the headliner would be Robin Williams. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much! What was happening in my body? Openness. Big smile on my face. Lightness of being. Deep, deep release of built-up tension. Embraced by the warmth of community.

The common denominator: Emotions make their presence known in the body. So, how do we build awareness of our emotions and find healthy ways to make room for all of them?

My go-to practice – in fact my favorite practice – goes by the acronym R.A.I.N. for Recognize, Allow, Investigate, and Nurture. It presents an invitation to pause, connect to what’s happening in the moment, and take a compassionate interest in the interior landscape.

The R of R.A.I.N. invites me to recognize and name the primary emotion that I’m feeling.

The A of R.A.I.N. asks me to let that emotion just be. Not label it right or wrong, good or bad, appropriate or inappropriate. Not judging myself for feeling it or stuffing it in a box and putting it on a shelf. Just saying “YES” to it. This, too, is part of the human experience. And this is what I’m feeling in this moment. The A of R.A.I.N. doesn’t give me license to act unskillfully but simply acknowledge what’s there.

The I of R.A.I.N. invites me to bring an interested and kind attention to the experience. What sensations does it evoke in the body, and where are they located? Are other emotions along for the ride? What stories am I telling myself in this moment?

The N of R.A.I.N. calls for a nurturing response from the wisest and most compassionate part of my being in answer to the question: What is it that I need right now?

While it’s ideal to practice R.A.I.N. in the moment, it works just fine after the fact. After the R.A.I.N., I like to reflect on takeaways from the practice. What new insights about the situation under investigation showed up? What have I learned about myself and the practice?

Although the nurturing aspect of R.A.I.N. suggests its use for challenging emotions, it’s a wonderful practice for examining pleasant sensations – to get a visceral sense of was it feels like to be open and uplifted.

The Buddha said: “There is one thing that, when cultivated and regularly practiced, leads to deep spiritual intention, to peace, to mindfulness, and clear comprehension to vision and knowledge, to a happy life here and now, and to the culmination of wisdom and suffering. And what is that one thing? Mindfulness centered on the body.”

When I first heard that reflection, I considered it an odd thing for one of the world’s great spiritual leaders to say. I had always thought becoming more enlightened meant transcending the body and all its messy aches and pains and cravings and limitations. Also, as a devotee of the original Star Trek series, I have it on high authority that the most intelligent alien species have big brains and waif-like bodies if not just brains or pure consciousness itself. [Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.] But it turns out that’s not the case!

Mindfulness is about connecting with the body and bodily sensations, NOT transcending the body. Why? Because we are embodied creatures, and everything that arises is experienced in the body:

• We engage the world through our five senses.
• Our emotional states find expression in the body.
• There’s compelling research – if not our own lived experience – to suggest a strong mind-body connection.
• And when we are awake in the body, we live life in the here and now – not reflecting on the in the past, not anticipating the future, and not lost in thought or imagination.

For most people, even with an intention to be in the body, the exit door is always open, if not beckoning us to cross over. And there are a lot of good reasons why that happens.

From an evolutionary perspective, we rose to the top of the food chain NOT because we were the biggest and baddest in the jungle but because we developed big brains. We place our trust in its ability to negotiate the environment and help us survive. It provides a sense of control, a feeling we generally do not hold with our bodies. It’s a place of refuge.

We’re attracted to things we find pleasant and averse to things we find painful or unpleasant. So, we’re perfectly fine to inhabit our bodies to enjoy awesome views, delicious food, great sex, and the roar of an appreciative crowd. We’re likely to exit our bodies and the present moment when we feel stressed out, uncomfortable, upset, sad, annoyed. We even exit when the body is in pain – something that you’d think would draw us to the present moment – because we get caught up thinking about the pain and developing narratives about it rather than experiencing it. That rumination causes suffering.

Our culture places a great deal of emphasis on how our bodies look. The US fashion industry is worth hundreds of billions of dollars and provides exemplars of how the most attractive among us should look. Roughly 1.5 million cosmetic surgical procedures are performed annually. The diet and weight loss industry tops $70 billion. If thinking about the body brings up harsh criticism and dissatisfaction, it’s not likely that it will be a comfortable place to inhabit.

And though I marvel at what modern medicine can do – I really do – I think it encourages a view of the body as a machine to be manipulated, controlled, and fixed if broken. It becomes a thing and not a source of being.

The practice of mindfulness of the body entails learning how to increase the range of sensations to which we are able to direct attention and cultivating the ability to name and tap into those sensations at will.

In everyday, mindfulness of the body can be nothing more than a quick check-in. Right now, I notice tension in my back and shoulders. I can take a couple of deep breaths while dropping my shoulders and pausing to relax. In a few minutes, I’ll head to the kitchen for a meal. Rather than mindlessly shoving food in my mouth on the run, I can pay attention to the sights, smells, and taste of what I’m eating and savor the experience.

So, the question becomes – how do we learn to reconnect with our bodies in a way that is helpful and supportive? And how do we do so in a way that is gentle and with interest?

One of my favorite meditations is a mindful body scan. It normally begins by lying down in a comfortable position on the back with arms extended outward at a 45° angle and the legs splayed, using a pillow for support as needed. After spending a few moments connecting to the breath, the practitioner starts at the bottom and works up (or the top of head and working down) and focuses on one body part at a time to notice sensations (or an absence of sensation). Questions to explore in the process include:

• What’s happening within me?
• What’s is like right now?
• Can I let it be?
• And, can I be with it?

Beyond engendering familiarity with the body, it can be useful as a relaxation technique to relieve stress and anxiety or to prepare the mind and body for sleep. When I have trouble coming into presence during a routine sitting meditation, I often use a body scan to give myself a way to focus my attention. Whether I connect with sensations or not, it generally confers some benefit.