When I binge-read a work of fiction I’m deeply entrenched in, have I checked out of my body? Am I being unmindful? Am I checking out of my life? Or, is it possible to read fiction mindfully?
Read moreOff the Grid: Le Village des Pruniers
The following post was written by Ana Romero, graduate of The Perri Institute for Mind and Body. Ana is a yoga teacher, dancer and graphic designer who continually seeks for different adventures traveling and living abroad.
After a ten hour flight from Mexico, I arrived in Paris. I felt excited and scared. I was on my way to Sainte-Foy-la-Grande, a village in the countryside of southwest France. I was picked up at the train station in a big white van to go to Plum Village, a Buddhist monastery that was founded by Thich Nhat Hanh. This Vietnamese monk and peace activist has shared his teachings through more than one hundred books and dharma talks to a wide array of professionals including U.S. police officers and congress men and women. The scenery from the train station to the monastery was beautiful with all the cute hills, the vineyards, the sunflower fields, and other crops, and I really wanted to enjoy my experience of the view--but the truth is that I was terrified. I was more than 5,700 miles from home, with a severe inflammation all across my lower back that wouldn't even let me pull my carry-on luggage. After half an hour in the white van, I arrived at the Lower Hamlet, where some of the Buddhist nuns and laypeople practice the art of mindful living. As soon as I arrived, I felt the peace I could potentially reconnect with. It was an austere set of cabins surrounded by plum trees with a beautiful bell tower and a big lotus pond where every morning, one could hear the frogs croaking and the birds singing. Did I mention that there wasn't any internet or phone service?
At Plum Village, the wake up call is at
5 a.m.
with the sound of a bell. After rolling a little in bed and splashing some water on my face, I started walking towards the meditation hall. Right away, I felt the calmness of the subtle footsteps of the nuns dressed in long, brown robes, some of them wearing a kneaded hat to cover their shaved heads. The first day we experienced a guided meditation which called many aspects of nature related to the human being. Some of the days we would also practice a slow walking meditation in the hall. After that, we had some time to stretch our bodies, practice yoga, or run. At
7:45
it was time for breakfast; the meals were silent most of the time in order to really savor and concentrate on the gift of the delicious vegan foods, and the efforts around them. After breakfast it was time for working meditation, but before we began we would gather in a circle for announcements and for chanting pure and beautiful songs. Off we would go to start different chores like cleaning, gardening, painting, preparing food, etc. Each day we would also practice walking meditation amongst the trees or by a creek, connecting with nature, contemplating, but most importantly focusing on the breath, focusing on each step, focusing on the present moment. Another of my favorite moments of the day was arriving at the time of Noble Silence, which would usually start when the sun started its final descent. During that time, a nun would chant and ring a beautiful low-pitched bell to celebrate our big star. It was a time to reflect, a time to write or read, a time to just be.
I'm somewhat of a shy person, so I arrived to the monastery with the idea of really focusing on myself. And I did--but I also found that it was very easy to establish a connection with the other laywomen. There were moments of very loving and deep conversations, and there were other moments of so much laughter that I would have to find a tissue to dry my tears. As a laywoman, it was amazing to observe this community of monastics and experience their lifestyle in a less committed way. Their facial expressions are very pure and genuine, and there was room for hard work and seriousness--but there was also room for joy, for giggles, and for fun. It was really wonderful to feel their joy and their commitment. There were some days that all the monastics and the lay friends, men and women, would gather in one of the hamlets to celebrate the day of mindfulness. During that day, there was usually a Dharma talk, a sharing of a learning experience from one of the monastics. In one of the talks, a U.S. monastic was sharing his experience about living in a community, and how it isn't easy. Their talks were so simple, so honest, and even daring at times. This American monk shared with us about finding a little piece of soap that hardly lasted for his shower, and how those kind of things, on different levels, could be tricky when living with somebody else, and especially when living within a bigger community. But that simple talk was fun and spontaneous, because he suddenly made us aware that he was giving us images of him naked and showering. He made us laugh!
Plum Village is a beautiful place full of nature. It is a great place to practice being with yourself and with a community. The talks were simple and sincere, but at the same time, they left a huge learning experience. It was the ideal place to focus on my breath and just be. As a yoga teacher, I wanted to deepen my meditation practice to then share it with my students, and to incorporate it more into my classes. After all, yoga is a meditation itself, as well as preparing the body to have a meditation practice. Being at Plum Village not only planted the seed to deepen the meditation practice for my classes, but it transformed the way I feel when something is going wrong or difficult in my life. I learned from one of the sisters that instead of denying or pushing away that suffering, it was more effective to acknowledge it and give it love in order for it to heal. In a video talk by Thich Nhat Hanh, he said, "Take your suffering as if it would be a crying baby, you don't know what the newborn needs yet but at least you are holding and giving him/her love." My stay at Plum Village was a huge experience because I was really hurt physically, and yet, I was fine. Slowly, I started to feel that transformation of joy and laughter, and therefore, I started to heal.
-Ana Romero
Photography by Ana Romero
Monday Mantra: Playful
The following piece was written by Brianna Goodman, copy and features editor for MindBodyBrew. Brianna teaches yoga with The Perri Institute for Mind and Body in New York City. She currently attends Fordham University, where she is pursuing a degree in English and Creative Writing, with a minor in Communications.
“It is requisite for the relaxation of the mind that we make use, from time to time, of playful deeds and jokes.” -Thomas Aquinas
School's out for the summer, and the city's playgrounds are bustling with children celebrating their freedom. One doesn't have to walk far to hear the sounds of children laughing, singing, and calling excitedly to one another. Mimicking a child's boundless energy might seem tiresome to an over-worked, over-scheduled adult--but are there moments throughout our day when we too can step back from our work, call a friend, grab a game, and relish some time of laughter and play?
Can we also find ways to be playful in our yoga practice? Moments when our practice can become a little less than serious? When we catch ourselves furrowing our eyebrows in a high lunge, or holding our breath in a tricky arm balance, can we take a deep breath, laugh quietly to ourselves, and find a greater sense of ease in this instance of play?
What playful summer activities do you incorporate into your week? How do you find moments of laughter in your yoga practice?
-Brianna Goodman
Photo by BMiz
Monday Mantra: Sun
The following piece was written by Brianna Goodman, copy and features editor for MindBodyBrew. Brianna teaches yoga with The Perri Institute for Mind and Body in New York City. She currently attends Fordham University, where she is pursuing a degree in English and Creative Writing, with a minor in Communications.
"The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do." -Galileo Galilei
It’s a busy time of year. Whether you’re a student preparing for exams, a performer in the midst of performance season, or an employee structuring your upcoming summer schedule, this time of year is typically bursting with obligations and opportunities. With so many commitments calling our names, it can be easy to move through each task without taking a moment to confirm that we’re actually breathing.
Now that the warmer weather is (hopefully) here to stay, perhaps it’s time to take a cue from the sun. Can we, like the sun, give each individual task our fullest attention—whether that task is as simple as ripening grapes, or as complex as keeping the entire solar system in check? Can we find ways to be present in the busiest of schedules, and find moments to pause, breathe, and be mindful of the activity we’re engaging in?
No task is too small to merit mindfulness. Whether we are brushing our teeth or typing our final essays, we can still approach each task with equal focus, and equal presence.
Can you find moments in your daily routine to check in with your breath? In the spaces between one task and the next, can you take a moment to focus and reconnect with your mind and body?
-Brianna Goodman
Photograph by Dawn Ellner
The Heart Matters
The following post was written by TaraMarie Perri, the Founder/Director of The Perri Institute for Mind and Body. Her professional work is dedicated to yoga education and research, holistic health therapeutics, and the integration of mind/body practices with the arts and sciences. TaraMarie holds an MFA and serves on Faculty at NYU Tisch School of the Arts. She maintains private practices in New York City and Brooklyn.
As winter leaves the scene, my heart yearns to re-emerge toward the sun’s nourishing spring rays. As my heart makes the shift from beneath the protective hug of my shoulders, I notice how my posture changes. Similar to how the sun rises in the sky, I relocate more accurately my center point within. Each day I stand taller. I lift my gaze higher.
Meeting my heart again has led me on an investigation into its physiology, a celebration of its symbolism, and an inquiry into widening the circle of compassion. Below are four treasures from my hunt.
I: The Hearthstone
Greek physicist Galen said that the heart was “…the hearthstone and source of innate heat by which the animal is governed.” The use of the word animal led me to look at other forms of nature. Do plants, for instance, have a heart? I had heard that plants had nervous systems. It turns out that they do also have a vascular system--but they do not have a heart pump as animals do. Our heart pump is what makes us distinctly “animal.” It keeps us warm, it keeps the blood flow going, and it co-supports healthy respiration.
II: The Lifeforce Factory
The heart organ sits at the center of our chest cavity, and, through various pathways, carries “lifeforce” into all corners of our anatomical landscape. Veins, arteries, capillaries and miles of blood vessels are highways. The cycle flows in and out, always passing through the heart center. But go even deeper into this center, beyond the smooth muscle layer, and you will find a beautifully intricate landscape of cavities and valves. It feels like gazing into a mini factory of sorts. Because I teach movement, I often focus on the circulatory system’s function in aiding the breath and extremities--but it was through the images of the heart’s inner workings that I gained a new appreciation for its work ethic and energetic support. The heart keeps us going from three weeks after conception until death. It sends us the gift of life over and over again. It gives us the lifeforce required for living.
III: An Emotional Center
Whenever I work with students and clients requiring physical therapeutic care, a natural starting point is to ask the location of the pain or discomfort of concern. Similarly, if there is a physical emotional concern, I ask them where they “feel” its presence in their anatomy. It can be helpful in discovering the network of its cause or the nature of its impact. The heart is often a starting point.
You may have heard about the East Village explosion two weeks ago. Two people were killed, several people were seriously injured, and the lives of all of the residents and business owners in those buildings were changed in an instant. It has been amazing to watch the majority of the NYC community come together to heal and support. My NYU dance students, who occupy a nearby school building and dorm, and several of my East Village friends experienced the unfolding of this tragic event. Because I teach in the NYU building on the opposite corner of the blast, I knew several of my students must have experienced not only the blast’s concussive wave, but also the emotional exposure to the unsettling of the human lives affected around the corner. I heard phrases like “felt it down to my bones” or “into my heart” to describe their experiences of the blast as it interrupted a regular day of rehearsal and class. The surrounding buildings were evacuated for a couple of days, so we were not allowed back into the building right away. I was curious to note in my own body how I would experience the energy of the neighborhood when I entered the space--I knew it would give me a clue as to how to support my students that week in class.
Sure enough, there were unquestionable waves moving directly into my heart space. No doubt, a minor experience compared to the intensity experienced the day of the blast. While there are immediate needs required by the victims of the tragedy such as housing, food, and financial support, the essential emotional health of their hearts will also need precise and supportive care. If the explosion had penetrated the emotional heart of a neighborhood on a macro level, we can only imagine the impact on the individuals who were injured or directly affected by loss.
Undoubtedly, the heart will be the place to begin the healing process.
IV: At the Center
In 2010, Jaron Lanier wrote a manifesto entitled, You Are Not a Gadget. Lanier is the father of virtual reality technology and works on the interface between computer science and medicine, physics, and neuroscience. I encourage you to pick up this excellent book and read it cover to cover. It has countless merits for anyone interested in preserving the human experience while still accessing the benefits of technological modernization. Below is an excerpt:
“The most important thing to ask about any technology is how it changes people. And in order to ask that question I’ve used a mental device called ‘the circle of empathy’ for many years…
An imaginary circle is drawn by each person. It circumscribes the person at some distance, and corresponds to those things in the world that deserve empathy…
If someone falls within your circle of empathy, you wouldn’t want to see him or her killed. Something that is clearly outside of the circle is fair game. For instance, most people would place all other people within the circle, but most of us are willing to see bacteria killed when we brush our teeth, and certainly don’t worry when we see an inanimate rock tossed aside to keep a trail clear.
The tricky part is that some entities reside close to the edge of the circle…
When you change the contents of your circle, you change your conception of yourself. The center of the circle shifts as its perimeter is changed.”
Lanier goes on to discuss how our daily technological experience is directly informing how we define our circle of empathy. Let’s just say it is not good news. How, then, can we widen our circles of compassion when so many forces are acting on us to tighten them? This is a common inquiry for many working for connectivity in a world that seems increasingly detached and divisive. When I read this excerpt, I began to muse about the heart’s role in solving the problem. If we define the heart as an anatomical center for blood, a sacred space for our lifeforce, and an emotional symbol, can the heart also be at the center as we circumscribe our own philosophical “circle of empathy?”
I come back to the example of the East Village tragedy to demonstrate this concept. Our life behind the false community of social media is coupled with the anonymity encouraged in both urban cities and sprawling suburbs. We co-exist but do not “live” together. And yet, in a moment of tragedy, when constructs and boundaries could not be referenced, strangers rushed to help each other without pause, question, or bias. No doubt that impulse came directly from the heart as both a physiological and emotional response. Consequently, the circle of empathy of each witness widened to encircle another person who may not have been standing within its edge before that very afternoon.
What if we all “let in” someone new to our circle each day? What would be the exponential impact on community and humankind (not to mention the immediate benefits to all sentient beings on our planet) by making this simple choice?
My informal heart-inspired research period has demonstrated that anatomically, energetically, therapeutically, and philosophically, the heart holds a cultural place of importance for all of humankind. Despite all of our differences, we might have a chance to connect to each other if we recognize that every single one of us has a heart beating right at our center.
The heart matters.
- TaraMarie Perri