Thank you for being here with me.
Today, the first publicly-shared excerpt from Hold Nothing for you, and a poem that seems fitting, to celebrate both my actual birthday (55 today) and my sober birthday (11 years later this month).
Redefining intimacy; with myself, with those nearest to me, with my practice, with the work of this season, from art-making to book launching to facilitation.
Poem first (written yesterday).
Then my conversation with longtime friend Kimberly Ann Johnson on her acclaimed podcast, and the first shared excerpt of the book.
the tangle
the practice itself
being
a
practice
of sitting down
in the tangle of your life
in the middle of
this
moment,
making direct contact
with strength, pain,
with
quiet, loud,
sometimes naming
what has meaning
what’s falling away
noticing
line by line
straight through to the silence,
the steady thrum of
whatever
is right here
(every thought, song,
doubt, fear, joy)
i bring my consciousness
and then abandon
each of those
thoughtssongsdoubtsfearsjoys
increasingly more gently,
tenderly, to
return to myself. to ask.
what is this?
a practice.
of sitting down.
in the tangle of this life.
Kimberly Ann Johnson chose the first excerpt to discuss on her podcast recently; a real, deep chat—listen on Apple or Spotify. Thankful for your thoughtful questions and earnest support, dear friend…
and finally, the first publicly-shared EXCERPT from Hold Nothing.
Photo: Pete Longworth
Being Empty and Still
Emptiness is a loaded, lonely word for many of us, containing connotations of weakness, loss, a void, and so on. Paradoxically, emptying my mind is precisely what I need to do prior to writing. Each time I return to this manuscript, it’s best if I sit still first, drop my ideas about what’s meant to come in next, and allow.
Zazen is a helpful practice for emptying myself of intellectual ideation, making space for what needs to emerge. Emptying myself of the past, of identity, and of certainty. Emptying myself of doubt, of distraction, and even of insight quietly reveals a deeper peace. Being empty and still, I can ascertain what might be of service to our delicate, shared humanity.
EMPTY OF CERTAINTY
Certainty can be a liability; if I have an answer, the conversation ends. Asking more questions and practicing sitting quietly strips certainty away and allows a freshness to emerge, a bright curiosity. Sitting in stillness helps us hear the din and crackle of the thoughts that keep us busy, allowing us to prioritize the open spaces again. Concepts and narratives can fall away, we can venture out beyond self and other, beyond yes and no, dead and alive, right and wrong.
The first draft of this book—quote heavy and impersonal—is an earnest, enthusiastic gloss on my first three years of Zen study, mostly a well-curated collection of time-honored teachings that have little to do with my own personal experience. Anne Lamott’s “shitty first draft” is the reality here.
In compiling those teachings, I manage to learn a great deal, but I gain even more perspective by emptying that file to begin again from the center of my being. Sitting quietly in the early mornings with nothing but a diminutive notebook, I set about recalling certain events in my formation that’ve changed me. This isn’t a comfortable enterprise, but the second draft slowly materializes.
Seeing the various projections, interpretations, and assumptions in my mind about a certain year or a persona I once prized, I can notice how these judgments continue impacting my choices right now. By emptying myself of those certainties each time I sit, little by little the inner landscape shifts. Some days I can sit with my discomfort and accept myself, even when I’m a ball of tightly wound hesitation and confusion. I can allow the yarn to unravel until I feel momentarily free again.
As I write these short personal essays to you, I realize each memory is a residue, a trace of an idea, a thread of some ideal, nothing to hold on to, no judgments needed. Yet each story holds information from the past that I am now tasked to learn from, then release. I feel more at ease relaying these missives without worrying how any of it will be received. My practice is to be empty of certainty. I simply don’t know how it will unfold, which feels like freedom after a lifetime of seeking perfect grades and absolute answers.
Emptiness is present in every interaction and relationship, yet we humans still find
ourselves imbuing the events of our lives with various levels of meaning. Imprinted and projected onto each moment are our attitude and our feelings; we can practice
becoming aware of that process. Seemingly fleeting sensations can become fixed and immutable if we don’t keep questioning.
Sometimes I still feel the emptiness of meditation practice as a challenge. Other times I catch glimpses of what it means to be nameless, formless, gone, free . . . Empty of certainty. A release into simplicity. Emptiness is our invitation, and it’s everywhere, awaiting our recognition.
Prompts for Reflection
Might you consider questioning and possibly releasing a certainty you hold dear?
Is there a situation where certainty—whether your own or someone else’s—is preventing connection?
What concepts or perhaps relationships can be relinquished?
What does emptiness mean for you upon reading this?
Get 20% off forever
This month, a gift for you in honor of both my sober and real birthdays… 20% off.
With a paid subscription, you’ll be able to listen to audio meditations, comment on posts, attend monthly Live Gatherings, and access all archives. Subscriptions are donated to support women and children. If you have financial need, say so; I offer a handful of scholarship subscriptions each month. Thank you for being here.
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Thank you so much for being here.
