Something your primal brain doesn't know: Most moments are actually safe
At least in my local area, it feels almost as though the world is waking up. I see people without masks for the first time in a year: neighbors, familiar people walking their dogs on the greenbelt, friends and acquaintances. Maybe you have too.
This reminds me of the year I was in Boston on the day it appeared spring arrived. The bitter cold was transformed by the sun and people came out, blinking in the sunlight, sunbathing on the Common. Like plants drinking in the rays of the sun after a long winter.
Along with the almost effervescence quality of this opening, I’ve also noticed a feeling of unease - in myself, but also a sense of this in the social sphere around me. I’ve spoken with others and apparently many of us feel it: uncertainty, a thread of mistrust. Will this stick? Can we trust it? Are we safe?
A meditation teacher of mine once said one of the most profound things. As she spoke it was as if a deeper hush fell over the silent meditation hall. Christina Feldman said, “Most moments are safe.” Even though we are primed for fight or flight, during the modern era, most moments actually are safe. How do we know?
On a personal level, I’ve meditated on this question often while navigating the challenges of a new chronic health issue. I’ve been down this path of uncertainty and change before. I know about surprise, shock and the adjustment and adaptation to a new normal. I also know, drawing on mindful inquiry, most of my moments are safe. Awareness of this in any single instance is centering. .
Reassuring Your Primal Brain
Ask yourself, “In what way is this moment safe?
Let go of past moments or imagined future moments.
Be here for the moments held by a single breath.
If not a full breath, half a breath.
If not half a breath, just the turning point where the inhale becomes the exhale.
Look around you. Let your eyes take in the environment.
Recognize the neutrality of shapes and colors.
Consider the support of inanimate objects: the sturdy teapot, the comfortable socks, the dependable chair....
Listen or watch closely …. for moments of silence … the laughter of small children…. watching a squirrel or a bird giving its full attention to an endeavor.
This kind of mindfulness practice may even start to inform how you care for yourself. As we collectively navigate this unprecedented time of change, equanimity is to find firm footing amid changing conditions. Or as Rumi said, in the following poem: in every small contracting and expanding:
Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror
up to where you are bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look, and instead,
here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.
Your hand opens and closes, and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.
Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.
– Rumi
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