The Worst
So, I was recently interviewed by the Angel of Yoga (check it out here) and found myself saying that life is so hilarious and no matter how dramatic and painful we have to laugh, etc... And then I heard the story of Chicago parents losing their infant son as the result of his being strangled to death by an unsuccessfully recalled crib. And I felt like an asshole. Raise your hand if kids dying by accident is funny. That's what I thought.
Life is funny when we get a glimpse of our smallness in the great movie god is making. Life is funny when we get offended at the word "god," as if we've got any better way to nod at the great unknown. (Ease down, militant universalists!) The humor of all of it can be a release valve when we realize we're entangled and powerless and suddenly something's got to give... So we laugh! For me, the funniest thing is when my strength and smarts and strategy are finally revealed to be as valuable as a pre-owned scratch ticket. Take, waist-deep snow, for example. Try and be serious when you've just walked out the door of your apartment and in to the Winter Paralympic Games. When it's a case of total helplessness, I laugh and laugh. Unless of course, it's the most horrible thing I can imagine and it's happening right now, to me and not my nemesis.
This morning, in bed with a how-to manual on writing, I sincerely burst into tears reading an example paragraph about a kid with leukemia. The fact of my being so easily moved (in 4 example sentences) was funny to me, and so I made it my Facebook status, because that's what we do now in these modern times. But then I began to think again about Danny, the kid who was killed by his crib, and about how suffering people aren't usually laughing people, at least not in the same moment. I can crack myself up about how dramatic and self-important I used to be, how painful life seemed when I was in my twenties, let's say. But what about the fact that I'm still dramatic and self-important? And that "my twenties" ended less than 45 days ago? Suddenly it's not as easy to laugh. Because today's struggles are here now and as real as anything, and while suffering may indeed be some kind of illusion, its a damned painful one.
So what happens in those moments? What do we do when we are right in the middle of unspeakable sorrow or terror or pain and no one is laughing? I'll tell you what some of us do. Some of us get a fifth of one thing, a quarter of another, an ounce of this and a few grams of that and get on the monorail to meltdown. Some of us cry and scream and call someone to babysit us until the pain subsides. While other, more "put together" people, quietly stop eating, sleeping, bathing, calling folks back, showing up to work... What very few people do in that moment is take action to help others, which is exactly what Danny's parents did. Within days of Danny's death, Linda Ginzel and Boaz Keysar began planting the seeds for a nonprofit organization called Kids In Danger, which is celebrating 10 years of incredible awareness and prevention work in child safety. (Read more of Danny's story here. ) This kind of selfless, courageous action is more than laudable - its astonishing, inspiring and worth throwing some money at, frankly. So, for anyone out there feeling that holiday itch to do some yoga for kids' safety, make a donation of $50 and Yoga For The Moment will give $50 to Kids In Danger, and a private yoga class to YOU! Blessings to Linda and Boaz.
For those of you that are still reading in the hopes that I'm going to tell you what yoga poses you should do when the shit really hits the fan... I'm not gonna do that. You know why? Because I have no idea. But I do have some experience with fanned shit, so I'll say something about it, since I brought it up. Back when I used to ride the meltdown monorail, I wrote down this list of things I imagined may be comforting to me, that I should read in case I was, let's say, in a bad way. It was this: 1) Time is passing, and 2) Gravity still works. At 19, that was all I could come up with. I think the idea was "this too shall pass" combined with "try not to think about throwing up." Finding something solid to lean on in the dreadful moments is a lifelong project, because, thank god, we eventually outgrow our tools. Once gravity didn't work for me, I read an old Tibetan poem which helped, then an incredible message came in a dream, and then writing was cathartic. Sometime later, I discovered that instead of desperately self-soothing (not to say the least bad thing about it), I could actually practice just being shitty, which is my primary emergency plan these days.
When I practice being shitty, I practice acceptance and tolerance and patience and compassion and, by default, wisdom. And in order to be in shape for the tough days, I try to practice these things even when I'm not so bad. Like practicing being uncomfortable when I am uncomfortable, wired when I am wired, amazed when I am amazed - noticing and exploring and being present with myself. It feels like writing a perpetual status update, only without a world-wide audience to consider impressing with my wit and "ironic" sense of self-importance.
Speaking of the holidays, I would like to share a pre-dinner prayer ritual taught to me by the fantastic family (not mine) with whom I spent holidays some years ago. It is called "The Prayer of Humility"; and is opened by the oldest person at the table, who announces, "I'm an asshole." The opener is then echoed by the entire assembly with, "We're all assholes." The youngest person at the table closes, "And I'm an asshole, too."
Meanwhile, remember this year's holiday theme, "Don't Be An A-hole," and apologize. For what? Are you kidding me? You can't think of a single thing? Amazing. Well, then next time something comes up. When you and someone else are having that moment you'll both try so hard to forget, when you hear yourself re-explaining the situation in a way which you imagine will absolve you of the inconsiderate thing you know you have done, try letting go of the intense desire to appear blameless and apologize. I'm just saying. You spot it you got it, and I know this because I'm an asshole, too.
Life is funny when we get a glimpse of our smallness in the great movie god is making. Life is funny when we get offended at the word "god," as if we've got any better way to nod at the great unknown. (Ease down, militant universalists!) The humor of all of it can be a release valve when we realize we're entangled and powerless and suddenly something's got to give... So we laugh! For me, the funniest thing is when my strength and smarts and strategy are finally revealed to be as valuable as a pre-owned scratch ticket. Take, waist-deep snow, for example. Try and be serious when you've just walked out the door of your apartment and in to the Winter Paralympic Games. When it's a case of total helplessness, I laugh and laugh. Unless of course, it's the most horrible thing I can imagine and it's happening right now, to me and not my nemesis.
This morning, in bed with a how-to manual on writing, I sincerely burst into tears reading an example paragraph about a kid with leukemia. The fact of my being so easily moved (in 4 example sentences) was funny to me, and so I made it my Facebook status, because that's what we do now in these modern times. But then I began to think again about Danny, the kid who was killed by his crib, and about how suffering people aren't usually laughing people, at least not in the same moment. I can crack myself up about how dramatic and self-important I used to be, how painful life seemed when I was in my twenties, let's say. But what about the fact that I'm still dramatic and self-important? And that "my twenties" ended less than 45 days ago? Suddenly it's not as easy to laugh. Because today's struggles are here now and as real as anything, and while suffering may indeed be some kind of illusion, its a damned painful one.
So what happens in those moments? What do we do when we are right in the middle of unspeakable sorrow or terror or pain and no one is laughing? I'll tell you what some of us do. Some of us get a fifth of one thing, a quarter of another, an ounce of this and a few grams of that and get on the monorail to meltdown. Some of us cry and scream and call someone to babysit us until the pain subsides. While other, more "put together" people, quietly stop eating, sleeping, bathing, calling folks back, showing up to work... What very few people do in that moment is take action to help others, which is exactly what Danny's parents did. Within days of Danny's death, Linda Ginzel and Boaz Keysar began planting the seeds for a nonprofit organization called Kids In Danger, which is celebrating 10 years of incredible awareness and prevention work in child safety. (Read more of Danny's story here. ) This kind of selfless, courageous action is more than laudable - its astonishing, inspiring and worth throwing some money at, frankly. So, for anyone out there feeling that holiday itch to do some yoga for kids' safety, make a donation of $50 and Yoga For The Moment will give $50 to Kids In Danger, and a private yoga class to YOU! Blessings to Linda and Boaz.
For those of you that are still reading in the hopes that I'm going to tell you what yoga poses you should do when the shit really hits the fan... I'm not gonna do that. You know why? Because I have no idea. But I do have some experience with fanned shit, so I'll say something about it, since I brought it up. Back when I used to ride the meltdown monorail, I wrote down this list of things I imagined may be comforting to me, that I should read in case I was, let's say, in a bad way. It was this: 1) Time is passing, and 2) Gravity still works. At 19, that was all I could come up with. I think the idea was "this too shall pass" combined with "try not to think about throwing up." Finding something solid to lean on in the dreadful moments is a lifelong project, because, thank god, we eventually outgrow our tools. Once gravity didn't work for me, I read an old Tibetan poem which helped, then an incredible message came in a dream, and then writing was cathartic. Sometime later, I discovered that instead of desperately self-soothing (not to say the least bad thing about it), I could actually practice just being shitty, which is my primary emergency plan these days.
When I practice being shitty, I practice acceptance and tolerance and patience and compassion and, by default, wisdom. And in order to be in shape for the tough days, I try to practice these things even when I'm not so bad. Like practicing being uncomfortable when I am uncomfortable, wired when I am wired, amazed when I am amazed - noticing and exploring and being present with myself. It feels like writing a perpetual status update, only without a world-wide audience to consider impressing with my wit and "ironic" sense of self-importance.
Speaking of the holidays, I would like to share a pre-dinner prayer ritual taught to me by the fantastic family (not mine) with whom I spent holidays some years ago. It is called "The Prayer of Humility"; and is opened by the oldest person at the table, who announces, "I'm an asshole." The opener is then echoed by the entire assembly with, "We're all assholes." The youngest person at the table closes, "And I'm an asshole, too."
Meanwhile, remember this year's holiday theme, "Don't Be An A-hole," and apologize. For what? Are you kidding me? You can't think of a single thing? Amazing. Well, then next time something comes up. When you and someone else are having that moment you'll both try so hard to forget, when you hear yourself re-explaining the situation in a way which you imagine will absolve you of the inconsiderate thing you know you have done, try letting go of the intense desire to appear blameless and apologize. I'm just saying. You spot it you got it, and I know this because I'm an asshole, too.
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