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Living in Boston this week was….

Let’s just say it provided some material for reflection.

What was particularly interesting, stressful, anxiety-making, for me, was yesterday. Yesterday, Boston was locked-down, with a stay-in-place order. Everything that could close down, was closed down. Mass transit. Taxi service. Schools. Hospitals. Workplaces. No group gatherings of any kind, anywhere. We were prevented from coming together, which meant each of us had to sit with ourselves.

That’s always interesting.

Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. No transportation. No ability to be anywhere other than where I am, right here, with what I have in the house, right now. Sitting with what is, sitting with the unknown, hour by hour, watching it unfold, with no “relief” in sight. No running out to the movies, no going to Starbuck’s (not because I really want coffee, but for the distraction of it all.)  No going out to eat, not even heading to the gym for diversion.

Just sitting.

Sitting with what is, with what is about to be, not knowing what will come next, with all of the familiar means of relief, diversion and distraction out of range and out of reach.

Gosh, if you didn’t know better, you’d think I was describing a silent retreat!

Isn’t immobilizing ourselves in order to sit quietly with the unfolding unknown something we normally do to pursue enlightenment? Isn’t that what seated meditation is supposed to be for?

Well I certainly don’t feel like I just came back from a weekend at Portals of Enlightenment Retreat Center. When I’ve done seated meditation or silent retreats it has been a voluntary affair. This one was imposed on me without my consent, and I don’t feel too zen-ish about the whole thing.

One of the most striking things I learned coming out of yesterday’s experience is how much I rely on my ability to “get anywhere other than where I am” as a means of relief. It’s not that I had to get somewhere important yesterday; truth be told I was just as happy to not have to go into work. We had plenty of food in the house. No medical emergencies. There really wasn’t a need to get anywhere.

But the list of places I wanted to go grew bigger as the day went on. I would have loved to go out to lunch, just to get out, but there was nowhere to go. Just a coffee, out. An ice cream. Dinner, drinks, a movie, the gym, “a drive,” ANYWHERE other than sitting at home waiting for the unfolding of what was to be, anything, would have provided relief.

I ate continuously during the day. Not just irrationally, not just obnoxiously, but continuously. I napped, not just a nap; I slept for two and a half hours in the middle of the afternoon, and felt like I could have slept all day. I stared at the news feed. Again. Again. Like ten years ago when we watched the plane fly into the building over and over and over and over again until, finally, we got it. We understood that a plane flew into a building, turned the TV off, and shifted the transmission of life back into “drive.”

The practice of sitting with what is, rather than squirming with it, cultivating the ability to put our arms around it and just sit with it, is an endless practice. Endless. Every time we master one aspect of it, the next lesson (and the next teacher) will emerge spontaneously, right on cue. As we master our ability to stop squirming with or trying to get away from emotions, or the body, or judgment, cravings, aversion, attraction, anything and everything that is, the next challenge emerges.

While I often begin the day with the mantra, “May all things teach me,” trying to intentionally open myself to what The Teacher will bring that day, I am hard pressed to find anything good that can come from this week. What I am aware of is how much suffering there has been, and how much loss.

Nonetheless, the great sense of relief that people had at the end of the day Friday, when we were able to come out of our homes, embrace each other socially and emotionally, and physically, makes quite a statement. We were prevented from assembling together for less than 24 hours, but our need for connection with each other is so great that even those few hours seemed like an unreasonable and interminable amount of time.

We seem to be wired to function by being together. We are all connected. We are all part of each other. I understand, today more than ever, why the very first amendment, the first entry in what we call the “Bill of Rights” protects our right to assemble–it reflects our need to come together.

Whether we sit with each other in pairs, as we do in Touch Practice, or in families, villages, communities or nations, our ability to sit with each other and face the unfolding unknown is bolstered by our individual, solitary practice. The ability to face the unknown unfolding within us, as we sit alone with ourselves, is practice for coming together. And the coming together is that much more joyous when we have each done our time alone.

I don’t wish this week on anyone. But I do encourage you to have a little “voluntary lockdown” in your life from time to time. Put away the things that distract, sooth, and numb, and sit still, very still, with the unknown unfolding in your life. Just for a moment. Maybe just 20 minutes.

May you know the joy of being connected to others, and the joy of being connected to the depths inside of you. Peace.

Have thoughts you’d like to share?

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