Kristin Houdyshell
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Yes, as a student I have experienced academic mentors who become too concerned with my inner experience, apart from concerning themselves with the quality of my work. It felt uncomfortable and like it was crossing an energetic barrier, so I removed myself from that mentorship. Thoughts of course arose like “Am I making this up?” “What is wrong with me?” “Would other people see me as a problem student if I left?” Those questions occasionally haunt me, but to a much much smaller extent.
I have also experienced academic advisors being what I perceived as quite open and vulnerable with their lives with me. However, in these instances it felt like the energetic boundaries were still firmly in place and that they were sharing from their heart after making a conscious, calculated decision to do so. It felt nice to be trusted with their vulnerability. And, with the desire to preserve the integrity of the student/teacher relationship, I was also cautious about not asking too many follow-up questions (if at all), not providing advice that was not asked of me, or belaboring the conversation—like letting a pin drop on the floor and carefully hearing the resonance of it’s impact on the ground.
With my most trusted academic (and spiritual) mentors I have definitely experienced vulnerability hangovers. Sometimes, depending on the season, I find my tears cannot be held back and I have be stuck bursting into a waterfall of emotional expression. With the best mentors, they have sat with me through the intensity but never tried to fix the situation. They provided a safe space for me to cry, offered a compassionate response, and patiently waited for me to compose myself. I am incredibly grateful for this teaching. When I find myself more in the teacher role, I hope to take the lessons of pain (from the uncomfortable encounters) and compassion (from the appropriate heart-centered mentorships) with me as I serve the role of a teacher to other students.
I feel most connected to the paramita of discipline. Largely this connection stems from my own habit of relentlessness in coming back to a state of mindfulness and feeling pleasure in developing patience. It is because of the desire for wakefulness that I fall back—as a form of discipline—on trusting the practice and living out a life of virtue. In concert, this discipline is reinforced from the act of straying away from a sense of wakefulness. As I drift my attention out of the present moment, I have to use discipline to come back to a sense of presence. I feel most connected to this paramita because “the” discipline and “my action of” being disciplined feel like the safety net or guardrails I can find comfort in. By staying within them, I can take refuge in the present moment and know that I will love myself through whatever feelings or circumstance arises.
I feel most disconnected to the paramita of strength/power. This disconnection comes from falling into the trap of comparing to others. Meaning, the cycle that diminishes my connection to strength goes something like this: not overtly sharing knowledge/wisdom, seeing other people “share the thing,” see the positive social reward/acceptance they get, then feeling insecure because I didn’t “share the thing first” (not like they did either 😉 ). The cycle reinforces feelings of scarcity. What’s strange is that I also feel deeply that in order for myself to be free of suffering we all have to be free from suffering, no exceptions. Yet, when I see someone working towards their own liberation and sharing the wisdom they have gained along the way, panic is sparked in me. Questions arise, like “Well if they shared this wisdom then would it be inauthentic or perceived as copying if I did, too?” “What is my true path that is unique to me?” “How am I supposed to be of benefit to the world?” “What’s the point of me trying to share wisdom if someone else has done it already?” (Or worse) “I believe someone else for sharing their wisdom, but would anyone take me seriously?” Almost all of these questions stem from insecurity. None of them really matter. What matters is that I live a life of virtue and aspire to be of benefit to all sentient beings, regardless. Hopefully the paramita of strength will follow.
Thank you for the reflection, Caitlin. Your message that you feel a close tie to those you have learned from, regardless of whether you have met them, is really powerful. It is a reminder to give ourselves credit to the expansiveness of the teachings we have gained and care to pass on, from writings, recordings, in-person transmissions, etc., regardless of the format.
This reflection is so clearly put, Toni. It is useful to be reminded of both our genetic lineage and the lineage we choose to be part of. I sense the deep respect for your mentors’ teachings when you share that you follow your personal path on a foundation you know will hold “because it’s held so many who came before.” Thank you for your reflection.
Currently, my two greatest mentors are Shelley Adelle and Lars Hansen. Shelley has shown me how to love and respect myself. She has helped me course correct when I have gotten lost in my understanding of different spiritual teachings. She has offered me a window into a life filled with love, safety, spaciousness, stillness, and spunk. I am forever honored to call her my teacher and, now, dear friend. Lars has reminded me of the potency of loving ourselves through pain. He has shown me the power of profound presence and compassion, so acute that it allows others to show up fully for their lives in community with those we care for. He has shown me discipline in study, the joys of having an open mind, and the magic of being patient with ourselves. I am truly humbled to call him one of my teachers.
My primary yogic and spiritual teachers are Shelley Adelle Bliss, Tara Blackburn, Erin Kolenda Lanahan, Brie Beard, and my mom. Their teachings are rooted in their teachers teachings, their teachers teaching, and so on. Now, I humbly add Susan Piver to this list; along with her teachers and their teachers. Indirectly, I have also learned from recorded talks from Thich Nhat Hanh (from Plum Village monastery), Danica Shoan Ankele Sensei (from Zen Mountain Monastery, ZMM), Jody Hojin Kimmel Sensei (from ZMM), Bear Gokan Bonebakker Osho (from ZMM), and Geoffrey Shugen Arnold Roshi (from ZMM).
My scientific mentors include Lars N. Hansen, Andrew Cross, Meghana Ranganathan, Jonny Kingslake, Rob Arthern, Rob Skarbek, Jacob Tilke, Mrs. J, Jennifer Bosson, Cathrine Wilkins, Jonathan McCullough, and the rest of my professors that patiently answered my questions related to my academic studies.
In the realm of the ordinary, my teachers are the raindrops on a window, the sunshine through the clouds, the whistling of the wind on a warm summer evening, and all of the moments in between that have invited me to be alive.
Thank you so much, Cheryl, for sharing. No need to apologize—your writing style is beautiful, unique, and it is a treat to read. I appreciate you sharing the start of your journey into spirituality, relationship/awareness with eternalism, and self-study. It felt especially potent to be reminded, as you have done, of the continuity of mind. And, that reminder can create “expansion, and a spaciousness.” Beautifully put reflection and something for me to sit with deeper. Thank you.
Wow, thank you Andrew for sharing your reflection. I also frequently suffer from the desire to be a “good” person—measured by something/someone other than myself. I appreciate your vulnerability and know that you are not alone. Although your evolving feelings and relationship with eternalism and nihilism are unique for you, semblances of those feels are experienced by others (myself at least). Thank you for sharing.
Nihilism comes up for me frequently in my practice of being a scientist. I suffer from the weight of it a lot! I have been especially noticing the habit of residing in nihilism once we named it in our discussions. On the day-to-day, most of my work entails studying the physics of glaciers. So, I have an acute exposure to unhealthy changes in polar ecosystems coupled with (somewhat) of a sense of the vast spatial scale of ice sheets. That’s all to say, I easily reside in the feeling of overwhelm, which I feed with nihilism (e.g., asking “what is the impact of my work, if at all, given the problems are so vast?”). Even when I experience wonder and “small-ness” relative to the universe at large, nihilism creeps up. It sound like “what is the point of this little existence?” “are we all just here trying to love and be loved?” “is this reality really all there is; this reality is all there really is.”
Conversely, I notice I have tried very hard over the years to have an eternalist view (as if that were the only other option). Meaning, I have wanted to believe in an afterlife, as someone that grew up in a white American Christian household because I was told doing so makes living easier. I was led to believe it is easier to believe in and trust in God because if I did then all of my actions would be in service to him and would ensure my entry into a heaven. None of this messaging resonated in my bones as a little kid, but I wanted it to. I wanted to believe that my actions were on a “right path” because I witnessed/witness the conviction that my family had/has (and other Christians I was exposed to in our white, male centered Church). It seemed so empowering! Now, I notice the remnants of this desire for certainty in the entry into heaven in my unconscious desires: I have a desire to do good and be good, not by my own judgement but by some external judge. And, if I meet a certain level of *goodness* then I’m “safe.”Not sure what else to add from here, as these are very fresh observations. I do know for sure, that I am of the nature to die. I am of the nature to get old. And, that I have a desire to be love, regardless of the return on that love.
Thank you, Jodi for sharing your insight. Your reminder to be present with your students and yourself (which requires boundaries and honest listening) is so powerful! Specifically, what stood out to me in your reflection was the insight that caring with boundaries can look like “not taking care of them in their experience,” which “allows for their own experience!” What an important reminder: if we listen to students and ourselves with presence, we can discern what boundaries we can place to offer kindness to ourselves and others. Thank you for sharing that holding boundaries, creating a container from engaging in the practice itself, listening (which requires presence), and inquiry are all tools of supporting discovery.
This reflection is so beautiful, Cheryl. What stands out to me is your awareness of the benefit of creating a container for students so they can show up as they are; something you have been able to experience in this teaching, as you shared, and in others that have left an indelible mark on your journey to an open heart. Your desire to be of benefit to others shows up in your reflection to remove your personal “I” from someone else’s journey. This reflection makes me think of the co-existing nature of the “self” and “non-self.” Although we can not completely remove the “self,” nor should we—as our lived experiences make for an embodied practitioner—we should also be diligent to not cloud the message that we hear from a student with our personal views. I can tell that your longing to be of benefit to others allows you, as you graciously put it, to “support and encourage them so they can discover their own insights and answers in their own way.”
Thank you for sharing.Thank you, Cheryl! I so appreciate your words. Your thoughtfulness, atttunement, and honesty makes this learning journey more enjoyable. It is a gift to be in training along side you!
Supporting discovery means to allow for freedom of an honest experience as it arises. That journey may look like experiencing the afflictions of the mind, experiencing feelings (physical, emotional, etc.) in response to our external/internal states, or experiencing being the breath. The primary tools that can facilitate discovery are active listening to what the person (along with ourselves) is expressing without assigning our own bias or judgement to it. This listening requires openness of our own minds, malleability of our mental narratives, and that we tune into our own felt sense as we are having it. Another useful tool may be mindfulness of the context of the experience. This mindfulness can come from asking “what is the environmental landscape in this given moment that would benefit from a particular response?” “How long do we have to engage in a discussion?” “What is being asked of me in this moment, and how would the environment support my response?” This mindfulness of context also stems from our ability to listen to the cues around us and tune into the feelings that arise within us (whether helpful or unhelpful). Another tool that may be especially useful is the tool of discernment. Without discernment, we may be unsuccessful in filtering out the signal from the noise within our own minds and from others/our environments. This discernment is also crucial for our ability to act in a way that may alleviate suffering within ourselves/others, facilitates freedom of experiencing something as someone is experiencing it, and know how to support someone as they navigate honest discovery.
Hi all,
My name is Kristin (Kris) and I live on-and-off in central/eastern Florida (where I was raised), Cape Cod MA (currently back on the Cape, with my new road-side puppy), and the Twin Cities MN (where my grad school is based). I have been practicing meditation and forms of yoga for ~13 years, starting under the teachings of an OHP member. It is the biggest delight to fall back on the practice and I have been eager to deepen my study in a formal training. I am grateful to be part of this teacher training with you all and am looking forward to more discussions. Thank you!
