There is a store a few blocks away from where I work in Manhattan which took me years to discover. I walked past it many times, partly because there’s no sign outside, just a random-seeming hat stand on the sidewalk—and partly because Manhattan exists, generally-speaking, in a driven state of getting somewhere. One day I looked in the window of the shop—just briefly, but it was enough time for me to see a beautiful bronze Buddhist statue. The next time I passed by I looked again; lots of statues, cloth, bits and bobs, trinkets… I went inside, and found shelves of raw and cut crystals for healing, traditional Hindu and Buddhist ritual objects, and hanging tanka Buddhist tapestries; statues worth thousands of dollars, bundles of incense for a couple of bucks... Best of all, I discovered that its owner is a warm and wonderful man from Nepal called Biswah, who will cheerfully blow a conch shell horn loudly in the shop if you ask him what it’s used for. I realized after some time that I’d been visiting the store with the cover of buying incense, but really I was dropping by to have a nice chat with Biswah and seek his advice on any and everything.
At the beginning of December last year, I found out that a friend I loved had died, completely unexpectedly. I was at work when I got the news, and I don’t think I realized I was in shock until a colleague asked if I needed to go home. I wandered outside and walked to Biswah’s shop. I told him what happened and cried. He thought for a moment, and then went over to a corner of the store and pulled out a small, beautifully decorated metal box. He opened it, and inside was a piece of handmade lavender soap that smelt heavenly. Biswah explained that this was special soap, to be used with careful attention when I washed my hands at the end of the day, as soon as I got home. He told me that the very simple act of washing one’s hands moves our awareness down, physically, out of our million-mile-an-hour minds, through the heart and into the hands. It moves us into touch, and aliveness and the beautiful smell of that soap; into cleaning, and renewing and taking a pause. Then you can sit down, he said. Just sit. For a few moments or minutes, and let the quiet find you.
If you’ve gone through heartbreak of any kind, you’ll know how all over the place it can make you feel. Moving your attention into the body, specifically into the belly, can be incredibly helpful at these intense times. A teacher once told me to imagine a tree in a storm; she said, would you go sit in the leaves and branches getting blown about by the wind? Or would you take refuge at the trunk, at the earth? You can think of the mind as the storm and your belly as the tree trunk. When there’s a storm stirring, you can gently move your awareness down, and rest somewhere safer and quieter. Breathe deeply into the belly and your roots. Notice how that feels; that’s all you need to do.
If you are experiencing agitation, it can be very hard to practice yoga asana—you want to lay down and rest, but it feels like everything’s whirring. I recommend moving through a gentle round of chandra namaskar, moon salutations, to get the body and the breath flowing. Stand in goddess pose, arms out cactus-style; as you inhale, straighten the arms and legs; exhale, move into trikonasana (triangle pose) on the right side; inhale and find parsvokonasana (extended side angle); exhale, find a medium squat with your hands in prayer, elbows on your knees (this one is also known as campers’ pose, for obvious reasons). Then inhale and move into parsvokonasana on your left side; exhale, trikonasana; inhale to standing, arms extended; exhale, goddess pose (you can stick your tongue out and open your eyes wide, Kali-style, if you like). This is half a moon-salutation. To complete it, repeat the cycle from left to right. Do this two or three times as you feel the body loosen and the mind soften.
Then you can get low and snuggly with some restorative poses. Try taking supta badakonasana followed by a restorative twist over the bolster, then child’s pose. Notice, as much as you can, every little inch of your body, and the places that you may be gripping; tension can hide out in really tiny muscles, like the ones around your mouth, or in your fingers. Check in with your hips and your shoulders. What are your shoulders doing right now this very second? Can you drop them just a little? Doesn’t that feel better?
I love yoga for its gentle, kind, loving aspects; and I also love it for its practicality and quiet discipline. Both these things shed light on the ways we can work constructively with the mind and the body. I still have a little of the soap remaining, and I try to wash my hands carefully at the end of the day; doing it slowly like this makes me feel much more peaceful than rushing through it, like a task to be crossed off a to-do list. So it goes with so many simple actions, and every yoga pose you move in and out of.
This kind of conscious care is equally important and useful when times are good. Happiness can be so deliciously exciting, giddying, even. I think that when we’re lucky enough to be blessed with good fortune and love, it can be beautiful to honor that joy by bringing it into the present: Yes! Wow, this is really happening—just as the water is running over my hands and the soap is smelling good.
You can refer to this seemingly simple act of bringing attention to the present as mindfulness. And you can refer to it as love; your precious self deserves nothing less.
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