Djuna Penn
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In the last week or so, I’d been feeling doubts about whether I could actually teach meditation to others. I’ve been sharing in a few conversations that I’m training to be a meditation teacher, and I’ve noticed that people’s responses are either “that’s super cool, what’s that like?” or “……{insert blank or vaguely nervous face here}… Oh ya. So anyway, have you guys got any travel planned this year?”
And so I’ve also been wondering (and a little uncertain) about how I’m going to actually make learning to meditate attractive. And then I remember that my role is to focus on each practitioner’s needs, and to trust in the technique.
I did feel some butterflies during my first time instructing last Saturday. I got a bit lost on how much detail to give. But after we got back together to chat about how it went, I realized that I need to get clear on the most important things I want to say, and to work out a couple of ways to remind myself to sense how the student’s experience is going. And I don’t remember who thought of it, but what a great idea to practice giving instructions to myself when I’m meditating on my own, that’s a keeper.
Hi Vy, I love the idea of sending friendly and supportive energy to Colin. I can see how that would help bring me out of my nervousness about how I’m doing, and invite my awareness to move to where I’d rather it be, on the student’s experience. I’m inspired by your focus on surrendering and trusting. I’ll be doing the same whenever I can remember!
hi Andrew, as your partner, I didn’t feel a sense of something being Left out in your instructions. As with all experiences where one person is ‘leading’, I believe you really have to start where the practitioner is in that moment. I feel comfortable with the technique, and I felt your introduction was complete in itself.
Gauging how to open the meditation can be informed by the other person’s history with the technique, if you know it. But whether we know the person’s meditation history or not, a gut sense of where the practitioner is at right now has to integrate into that decision. I love your idea of leaving space in the instructions to let experienced meditators dance.
I love the poetic beauty of this essay. Thanks Jersey. The thought of Wilde’s tombstone covered in kisses gives me a big smile 💋
Ho Jo, I agree with you and Clif, naming and claiming the harmful parts of our lineage is so important. My great-grandfather travelled west from very close to where I live now. He arrived in Alberta to buy a small plot of fertile prairie for his family to ‘settle’. Indigenous families had stewarded and farmed this same land for centuries, before the provincial government stole it, forcibly removed them, and then handed the land to my great-grandfather. Much of my family grew up on this farm or in surrounding small towns, rarely acknowledging the many original families living on the small reserve not far down the highway.
Clif, thank you so much for talking about your Queer lineage. That ‘audacious choice’ called a resounding ‘YES’ from my own spirit. Queer and Genderqueer folk are also my people. And our courage and resilience and daring and beauty has helped us survive and thrive over 1,000s of years, from being revered to reviled. May all beings realize and dwell in the wellness of their own being, including the vast rainbow of gender and sexuality.
When I first think of lineage, I think of yoga, Tai Chi, and Buddhist Dharma. This is because I’ve had the incredibly great fortune to encounter and in a small way practice within these ancient wisdom traditions. And each one has touched my life in pivotal ways.
It’s my understanding that for much of the time since they were first established, most people on the planet couldn’t access these bodies of knowledge or even know they existed.
Thankfully, there have always been individuals, groups, and whole societies studying, practicing, and refining these wisdom teachings. I think of these people as a lineage within their tradition: the countless beings who struggled and sacrificed to be able to study and practice. And my heart sings when I imagine each person carefully considering whether and how to share the precious knowledge they had discovered for themselves. Over thousands of years, hand by hand, they passed along this treasure, until I had a chance to join that lineage. Such unimaginably good fortune! Such indescribably wholesome karma! Such deep, deep, gratitude!
I also think of my ancestors and their grit, courage, and steadfastness to create better lives for their families. The insane, impossible hopes of my paternal great-grandparents, who sent all their children away to save them from war and authoritarianism in Romania. And the courage of their 10-year-old son (and my grandfather) landing alone in Montreal and never finding the Romanian contact who had agreed to meet him. But on overhearing a conversation he understood, he walked up to a group of men and asked for help. He passed 94 years later, leaving a legacy of patience, gentleness, and understanding for all of us.
Hi Kat, I practice Chen-style Taijiquan, and I also feel strongly how important respect and loyalty for the teachers who taught and refined the practice for generations since 1400. Side note, my local teacher lived with Grand Master Chen-Xiaowang for several years in China, and his son, Chen-Yingjun is coming to our school in May to offer a 4-day workshop. Excitement is building!
Oh Ankur, your analogy of the string of pearls so resonated with me. Not only the connection to those who came before me, but the powerful example of each lineage member, encountering their obstacles and slowly working with them until they emerged as the precious beautiful gifts they always were.
Melanie, thanks for bringing your young self to your shrine. I’ve done a lot of reflection on my childhood, and the child that I was. I’ve fallen in love with her, and I’m inspired to add one of her photos to my shrine. I think in a way because I was so young, I had a stronger connection to the divine universe, and the many forces that would shape me in later years hadn’t had much chance to make me forget my Buddhanature.
I grew up in a religiously neutral family. My mother always said we could choose our faith when we were 18 or older, and that she wasn’t going to push my brother and I in any specific direction. She was suspicious of all religions, I think. Despite that (or because of it?), I was always curious about religion and spirituality; asking difficult questions like who created God? At that point, eternalism was the only religious model I knew about, so my questions were always based on a Christian idea of the world.
But as I got older, especially in my teens and 20’s, I was very rebellious and skeptical of any person, system, or organization that society held up as ‘an authority’. And learning about heterosexism, misogyny, and colonial history added a lot of fire and contempt to my views of religious organizations and their rules.
But even though at that point in my life I toyed with nihilistic ideas, they brought up sadness and feelings of defeat. But I haven’t abandoned nihililism altogether – I still love all types of science, and I believe in the scientific method. But I don’t buy any claims about complete objectivity, because the sciences are also subject to unexplainable forces, like human bias and the placebo effect.
I’m very comfortable with the agnostic idea that we simply can’t know everything. And I still believe in the mysteries of existence – dreams, intuition, synchronicity, and déjà vu. It helps me stay open to possibilities and steer more towards a beginner’s mind, especially when my ego’s false sense of security bubbles up. Leaving room for mystery and the unknowable also fuels my sense of hope and curiosity.
Hi Erin. Your description of having a sense of there being ‘something more’ resonated deeply with me. Looking back into childhood, I can see I sensed something heavy and important and trustworthy moving below or behind the physical world. It was definitely something I connected to physically, a kind of intuition or deep knowing that always helps me know when I’m on an unhealthy path and need to change direction.
Thanks Anita for sharing your commitment to practicing more gentleness with yourself. Self-compassion is emerging as a super important practice for me too, and I’m seeing how it shows up in so many ways in my life. 🙏
A few key elements that I think support the process of discovery:
Creating Safety – for me, this would start by modeling being ok with unexpected things that come up (e.g., saying I don’t know the answer to a question, or using phrases like “I wonder…” or “what do you think?”. There would need to be a balance between that flexibility and setting up a reliable structure to the classes. This could include establishing some routines or rituals (like ringing the bell to start a sit each time), so students know what kind of structure to expect.
Gentleness – discoveries are things the practitioner newly becomes aware of. The teacher can nurture these new discoveries by gently receiving what is shared, acknowledging that it’s new for the person, and thanking them for sharing. Any questions could start with “I know this is all new to you, how would you feeling about talking about it a bit more?”
Staying curious – this could include asking questions in a way that centers the other person’s view, maybe by inviting more sharing, or using terms the other person uses in any reflections the teacher offers. Body language is also important, e.g., an open posture and facial expression.
Maintaining self-insights – the teacher needs to stay aware of their body, for example to watch for any signs of tension. I like to use a couple of things to help me do this – making sure I’m breathing evenly, checking that my shoulders are low and relaxed.
Hi Octavio and Liana, I totally agree with your idea that meditation teachers need to cultivate comfort with uncertainty. But I wonder if it isn’t key to the teaching content too. Possibly the frustration of not hearing “the answer” from the teacher could provide energy for more study and contemplation by the student?