This essay is the second in a series on working through discord in family life. You can find the first essay here.
Practice, part one
I sit on my meditation pillow, upright and alert without being stiff.
I try to take a deep breath, as if I would pull the air gradually down into my pelvis and into the earth,1 before releasing it slowly back into the world.
I feel awkward and uncomfortable. My body wants to maintain its imagined borders: my diaphragm does not want to contract and flatten with ease, and my ribcage aches at little when expanding.
That’s ok.
I attempt another such breath. Again, my diaphragm and ribcage protest, but not as much as before.
A few more breaths. On the fifth or sixth, something in me unlocks: my diaphragm contracts fully, down and out. My lungs fill fully with air, and my ribcage expands with ease.
I feel suddenly expansive. I’m surprised by the size of the space—the literal, objective space—that opens within me with each breath.
My body is no longer working to protect its own borders. With each breath, each space that opens within, the outside world flows through me, as it always must.
I welcome it and feel at home.
Practice, part two
I bring to mind a recent squabble between the kids.
In memory, the rising sound of their bickering reaches my ears, and my body tightens in reaction, protecting its imagined borders, its imagined control. I feel uncomfortable.
I take another deep breath, as if I would pull the air gradually again into my pelvis and into the earth—the very air that moments ago, in memory, vibrated with the sounds of discord.
At first, my body seems to forget its own ease in breathing.
But with each breath, the sense of expansiveness returns. My body is no longer working to control circumstance.
With each space that opens within, the air that rang with recrimination flows through me, as it must, and I am here: steady, with space enough for both the conflict and a calm response.
Practice, part three
Little moments, throughout the day, when I remember.
Cooking. Driving. Checking the mail. Packing a school bag. Preparing for bed.
A deep breath, and another.
The sense of expansiveness—the vast inner space that opens within.
I move on, feeling steady.
Go-time
At a moment not chosen by me, from another room, the sound of my kids arguing rises in volume and hits my ears.
My body gets tight, and I feel uncomfortable. My false sense of control, steady though it seemed a moment ago, is little more than air, and yet—and yet—my body wants to protect its imagined borders.
Pause.
I take a deep breath, and another. The sense of expansiveness.
The air rings, even now, with recrimination, and yet—and yet—the air flows easily through me, as it must, and I am here: steady, with space enough for both the conflict and a calm response.
Ok.
Now what?
I learned this technique of imagining the depth of my breath as going into the earth from Lama Rod Owens’ excellent book Love and Rage: The Path Of Liberation Through Anger (Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2020).