Body Buddhism

I was describing to a friend today about how I've started using mindfulness, nonattachment, and principles of Buddhism and mediation in ordinary, daily activities. 

For example, when I get into bed at night I focus on my breathing. I imagine the oxygen molecules coming in through my nostrils and traveling through my nose down into my trachea. I “watch” them entering my lungs and making their way down into my alveoli. From there I observe them exchanging with carbon dioxide returning from my body. I watch as my blood cells pick up the molecules and deliver the fresh oxygen to all parts of my body. 

When I eat I “see” the saliva in my mouth making contact with the food I'm chewing. I feel its presence as it moves down my esophagus and entering into my stomach. I watch as my stomach enzymes begin breaking the food down even further, preparing it for my small intestine. There I watch as the broken down food enters my body, providing nourishment and energy. 

When I workout I imagine the cells of the muscle contracting and relaxing, working in tandem to achieve the repetition. Each rep a harmonious, coordinated dance of my body's muscle working together to achieve a goal. 

Recently I had a particularly nasty chest cold. It was almost impossible to breathe. My chest felt like it was full of cotton that wouldn't budge, and I was sore from all the coughing. During meditation sessions during the day and at night in my sleep I imagined each individual cold virus to be a tiny Brillo pad, a scratchy, ugly irritant that didn't belong in me. Then I would watch as the elements of my immune system engulfed and destroyed each one.

As I do each of these meditations on my body I talk to my body. Literally. “Accept this fresh oxygen in the spirit it is being given.” Or, “Please use this healthy food in the best way you know how.” During workouts I encourage my muscle cells as I'm watching them, “Push! Pull! Feel us all working together!” And as for my illness, “Immune system, please use your abilities to help rid me of this infection.”

Does all that work? Maybe. Maybe not. The point is that it has helped me to have a much stronger relationship with my body and my mind. After describing all this to my friend this morning, he he came up with a fantastic name for it: Body Buddhism. I can't get the phrase out of my head as it describes perfectly what I've been trying to put a name to. Body Buddhism brings a deeper harmony to me that only gets better the more I practice it. 

Kensho, Satori, Working Out, and Oneness

Kensho, sometimes interchanged with the concept satori is generally defined as an insight or awakening. A glimpse into deeper understanding. I like to think of it as a flash of epiphany or "oneness". A connection to a deeper cosmic harmony. I was at the gym this morning listening to "A Stream With Bright Fish" from the album "The Pearl". I've been doing what I call "mindful workouts" lately. Totally focused on the rep and the connection between mind and muscle being worked. Slow, deeply focused repetitions. Not sloppy form, but form that really gets deep into the muscle. As I finished one set and that song was playing I looked out the window at the clouds floating by. In that flash of an instant everything was in synch. The floating clouds, the music, my workout, and my presence. It was all a brief nanosecond of profound harmony and sense of belonging with everything.

It was a great and profoundly serene moment. Everything around me fell away and it's just me in tandem with everything I mentioned.

I've had this experience two other times in my life. They were much deeper and profound than this one, which is not to minimize or take away from the one this morning. The one I had as a teenager I was walking off the football practice field. I literally, for a nanosecond, "felt" the Milky Way. I could see it from the outside. I could feel its rhythms and felt as if I was in all places at the same time.

In relating this to my friend Dan thinking it sounded a bit crazy. He commented, "It doesn't sound crazy at all. I have had two, one on a the lawn I have 5, and another in my grandmother's house when I was about 20. I was alone, looking at a fan rotate."

The sensation almost defies words when it happens. Mine have always been just a second or two. But within those few seconds is a vast expanse of time, I sense. My friend Dan says he sustained his for several minutes, and I told him I wished I could learn to sustain mine for that length of time. But I got to thinking, maybe I'm not supposed to sustain it. Maybe it's fleeting for a reason. A taste, so to speak, of the larger harmonies.