The
Eye of the Storm
On September 11th, 1992, a category 4 hurricane struck the Hawaiian island, Kauai. Someone I knew was living there at the time. Ironically, she had moved away from Los Angeles because she was afraid of earthquakes and she’d been on the island a short time when she was caught in a deadly hurricane. She told me that the winds were so fierce, she watched the roof blow off the house next to hers. While the damage and injuries were devastating, the part of her story that impacted me the most was when she described the eye of the hurricane. The fierce strength of the winds let up for a few moments. There was a relative calm, a space to take a breath until the storm resumed in full force.
As we endure the chaos of our daily lives in the disturbing leadup to the election with its lies and twists and turns that give us a stomach ache, there is a place to go where the chaos eases. Where fear and anxiety release momentarily, our thoughts stop racing and we slow down. Our job is to find it.
As usual, it’s in the breath. I attended a Death and Dying workshop in the late eighties when the AIDS epidemic was in full force. At least a hundred people were gathered and many were ill and suffering different degrees of pain. Some of us were caregivers and we were all afraid. The facilitator told us that in the center of the pain and fear, there is a resting spot, a place where physical ailments subside, fear and anxiety dissolve. It’s the eye of the storm.
He suggested that we all close our eyes and begin to gently breathe. He guided us into our center. The room went quiet. I felt my belly soften and a sense of relief came over me. All I could hear were inhales and exhales. I opened my eyes and looked around the room. People’s bodies and faces had relaxed. It seemed like a miracle and in all its simplicity and accessibility, it was. It was the conscious act of breathing, the first thing we do when we enter this world and the last thing we do before we make our final exit.
A month or so after the workshop, I visited a friend in the hospital who was dying of AIDS. His face was strained, he was in a great deal of pain, and he reached out and squeezed my hand. It felt like he was asking me to help him. There was very little I could do but I told him what I had learned in the workshop and I asked him if he wanted to try it. He said he would try anything so I guided him to his breath. I suggested that he pay attention to the pauses between the breaths and drop into the center point of his pain. In a few minutes, his body softened. Tears began falling down his cheeks. The good kind of tears.
“I haven’t been out of pain for days,” he said. “What a relief.” It didn’t stop his pain for long, but even a few minutes without pain was a gift. He got a respite and he knew he could return there.
Back in 1972, along with his pioneer cohorts, Baba Ram Dass and Timothy Leary, John Lilley was one of the leaders of the counterculture. He was a scientist who explored human consciousness and he wrote a book called, “The Center of the
Cyclone.” In the book, he invited us to find the center of our minds to discover the true nature of consciousness and reality. He encouraged us to find the space between the mind and the body.
There are a variety of ways to do this. I lived in England for a year back in the seventies and whenever something upsetting or difficult happened, someone made tea. When we stopped to drink it, it gave us a moment to stop obsessing about what was wrong and soothe ourselves. Dutch writer, Etty Hillesum, said, “Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.”
During these fraught days before the election, in the mornings while I’m having coffee, the existential chaos descends and surrounds me. Maybe a candidate said something that created a furor. Someone didn’t say what I wanted her to say. A ballot box had been compromised. Someone I knew refused to vote. Someone else
believed a conspiracy theory. It doesn’t take long before my head is spinning out of control and worst case scenarios are playing out in my mind. I know I have to do something to calm down. Sitting on the floor rolled up in a tight ball of fear is unacceptable and it doesn’t work anyway, so I focus on my breath.
I become aware of the space between the inhale and the exhale. The distressing pictures in my mind start to unravel. They become distant and the edges dissolve. Finally, I’m not thinking. It’s a great relief to feel the space where negative thoughts have no ability to flourish. I’m not saying that act takes care of it for good. The chaos is never far and it’s exhausting. But like my friend in the hospital, we can find a short respite that allows us the opportunity to implement our awareness tools, like changing the channel or repeating a calming mantra. Those few minutes can make a lot of difference.
When the people in my Zoom writing classes show up, we’re all carrying turmoil from the day. Fear and disappointment and anxiety. It’s not only about politics. Maybe someone we know is ill. Maybe someone got fired. Maybe someone’s relationship is falling apart. Whatever it is, I start the class by inviting everyone to talk for few minutes about how they feel. Once they’ve pinpointed what’s troubling them, we do a short mediation. We close our eyes, myself included, and I let go of being a teacher. I’m a human being just like anyone else in my class. I get frustrated and disappointed just like they do. We follow our breathing until we reach a resting point where everything is happening in slow motion. We remind ourselves that we’re safe and we aren’t the only one feeling these things. We all are connected. We all have fear and pain as we become aware that we’re breathing.
I like to remember what a wise woman told me. No one is alone. No one is doing life better or worse than anyone else. We are all fellow travelers along the path, looking for compassion and love as we search for the center of the cyclone inside of us. The eye of the storm. It’s the place where we can use our discipline and our breath to keep our lives in balance and find some peace in a chaotic world.
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