A while back I posted an article by Dani Shapiro on the challenges of the writing life, written no doubt as part of the promotional campaign for her new memoir, Devotion. (Shapiro is a publishing veteran, and I'm sure she knows it's best to get your name out there in every way possible when a new book is released). I somehow assumed the memoir would deal with the same topic, so I requested it from my library. When I finally got the book, however, I discovered it was more about her mid-life spiritual crisis--a very popular topic in U.S. publishing these days thanks to a large audience of Baby Boomers at a similar place in their lives. It was a very quick read, not exactly a good sign for such a book, but I did happen upon one passage that I liked a lot. And here it is:
…Some of my greatest moments of clarity—those little eureka moments of truth—had happened in unlikely places: wheeling a card down a supermarket aisle, driving along an empty stretch of highway, lying in bed next to Jacob as he drifted off to sleep. And I knew from my yoga practice that those insights are already fully formed—literally inside our bodies, if only we know where to look. Yogis use a beautiful Sanskrit word, samskara, to describe the knots of energy that are locked in the hips, the heart, the jaw, the lungs. Each knot tells a story—a narrative rich with emotional detail. Release a samskara and you release that story. Release your stories, and suddenly there is more room to breathe, to feel, to experience the world. I wanted to release my stories and find out what was beneath them—I wanted to work with the raw materials of my life—but I wasn’t sure how to do it.
So, the rest of the book is pretty much Shapiro's attempt to "do it," and I didn't find that especially compelling as I mentioned, but I could definitely relate to this idea of epiphanies or moments of sudden clarity to be a release of "knots" already embedded in our bodies. That's because often--maybe always--when I hit upon a truth in my life, I feel a lightening, a lifting, a physical release, generally in my chest area (my heart?). Now Shapiro presents it in a way that you might think these epiphanies are like buried treasure, maybe some ancient knowledge that is hidden with us from birth. I'd guess it's somewhat different: a difficult problem in our lives tends to create bodily tension that we hold inside us, sometimes for many years. The moment of clarity is indeed like shining a light on this tangled mystery and the very naming of it releases that tension.
I also like the idea of storytelling as a way to create more space in my life. That's how it feels to me, and more and more I appreciate experiences that make my heart and my mind feel more spacious.
Meandering on in the classic Japanese essay style, I'll conclude by saying that I have a large collection of cookbooks, many just for historical or cultural value, but a good portion I refer to for actual cooking. I consider a cookbook worth the money if there are at least three recipes I use over and over, but one really great recipe will do the trick. This paragraph from Shapiro's memoir saved the read from being a total waste--so thank you, Dani--but back it goes to the library this afternoon, to make room for more nourishing reading!
The photograph above is yet another from my summer vacation that will not be used in a blog post because I've decided not to bother finishing that particular memoir. It's the view from my oldest sister's terrace, set on a lovely woodland property near Monticello. Taken in high summer, I think the greenery is nonetheless appropriate for this weekend's celebration of spring and new beginnings.
Happy Passover and Easter to everyone!
4 comments:
"a difficult problem in our lives tends to create bodily tension that we hold inside us, sometimes for many years. The moment of clarity is indeed like shining a light on this tangled mystery and the very naming of it releases that tension"
This resonates with me as well. The idea of the knots indeed has been similar to the understandings I have had in that area. Healing "bodywork," as I understand it, is focused on such things.
Also, my breathworker has talked about things being literally embedded in our cells — patterns and things we learned as children (not information, but messages we received that resulted in that patterning). This is one reason breath, movement, stretching, etc., may be an integral part of inner Work. At my last appointment she invited me to "shake," explaining that one may literally "shake off" programming from our childhood. That is not to say it goes away as easily as giving our body a shake, but that the movement may literally throw off/short-circuit and help de-program/re-route the patterning.
Of course, this doesn't seem to me to actually mean that it is not some "ancient knowledge" that has always been with us. I would actually say it is our True Nature, which is always there, everywhere (it is what we're made of), and when space really opens up within us (and often space is not there because tension and patterning is filling and distracting us), Essence/True Nature is what comes in or is there. Thus it is both that what we truly are is always there but frequently undetected given the "loudness" of identifications, attachments, patterning, etc., and also that the "knots" may be there due to that exact patterning and life experience we have had. It has been said, as I understand it, by such spiritual masters as Gurdjieff that inner Work is simply remembering — remembering ourselves/what we really are(/our True Nature).
So it seems to me. ;)
I also like what you said about "naming it." Awareness is an enormous and arguably first step of inner Work, as it is very difficult to work on something or one's self in general if one is not aware of it or what is going on.
Thanks for sharing this, Donna!
Wow, I can relate to the quote you chose too, Donna.
To this point:
I also like the idea of storytelling as a way to create more space in my life. That's how it feels to me, and more and more I appreciate experiences that make my heart and my mind feel more spacious.
I say hear, hear. As an extension of that point, when I started committing myself to writing, I worried that I wouldn't be able to come up with much to say. But since starting...
Well, just try and shut me up!
Both within writing and to life beyond it, exercising the creative spirit gives more space. It gives us room to continue to grow.
Thank you for your insights, Emerald. I knew you'd shed some more light on this topic!
I really connect with the idea of "remembering our true nature" as a key component of inner work. It's all part of getting to know ourselves, and also how we fit in to the larger human story.
I've been mulling over the idea of stories in the body a bit more and I actually do like the idea of the buried jewels, treasures of wisdom from even beyond our childhoods (like the Jungian collective unconscious? I like that fantasy of connection, too). But your mention of memories in the cells, it makes sense to me. That is how we learn, through memory, and surely it is imprinted in our emotional responses as well.
Am I making sense? I'm sort of jazzed on malted milk ball Easter eggs!
Hey Craig,
So funny, I worried the same thing. That I'd find myself with nothing more to say. And in my writing and, interestingly enough in my daily conversation, you really can't shut me up. I was always the quiet one and am enjoying the luscious rush of words.
Excellent point about room to grow. Maybe that's why the space feels so good!
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