Mountains and plateaus

When I observe beginners in practice I am amazed by how wide open they are to learning. The discoveries they make are exciting. Their enthusiasm glows in their eyes. The amount of change they undergo in the first few months is immense; studying about their body and mental tendencies, about movement and interaction, and about the application of what's learned on the mat into their daily life. Many of the things they do, like rolling, are completely new (and at times, scary) and may be done for the first time in their lives.

This first period of time is like infancy - indeed, a clean slate, a beginner's mind. We absorb and try everything for the first time. We change rapidly. We feel we can climb any hill and move any mountain with the power of our exploration. The next few years will be much like childhood - experiencing this world of new knowledge, and trying out everything with much curiosity. The path is colorful, and the landscape keeps changing.

Yet as time passes by, we find out that big discoveries are coming less frequent and we enter a new stage of work. We feel more comfortable. It seems harder to have "fresh eyes" and we become somewhat conditioned. We walk the gray plateaus, and the deeper we study, the longer the stretches. We have doubts and second thoughts, and we ask ourselves whether we want to keep going. We advance slowly and we sometime feel we regress. Now and then we experience a breakthrough. We come to the understanding that walking this path is not about entertainment. There is a lot of work to be done and much to be practiced. We get to experience the path with its subtle layers. No longer studying the techniques but refining them, not learning whole movements but working on subtle shifts of angles and positioning, examining our timing in every encounter. Yet in the face of hard work, we discover our own capacity to move on and enjoy our growth.

By recognizing the depth and richness this path offers - one will reach maturity. From infancy to adulthood, perseverance is right beside us. We develop our skills, sharpen our techniques and build our internal strength. Step by step, we keep walking, roaming the great plateaus.

Drum sound rises on the air, its throb, my heart.
A voice inside the beat says,
"I know you're tired, but come. This is the way."
~Rumi

Beginners' gift

At our beginners class tonight I noticed that one of the students felt somewhat "off", and was struggling throughout the class. At the end of class I asked him about his experience. He said it was unlike what he had felt so far, in the few weeks since he started. Being an enthusiastic student, this was his first time feeling he was not doing as well as he could. I told him this is yet another state of being, that he may encounter in his practice. I asked him to be ready for all sorts of "weather changes" as he continues, just like it is in life - good days, bad days - yet we keep on going.

All those "firsts" remind us how it felt, when we just started. Being in the unknown, trying to figure it out, getting confused, feeling clumsy and getting to know new muscles and joints in our body. We also used to have this "fresh" feeling, or what is sometimes called "Shoshin" (初心) in Japanese, Beginner's Mind. This refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying a subject. This is the state of mind we want to keep as we advance in our practice, see everything with our eyes alone, and not through the filters of our mind. The ability to tap into this state is a gift.

Another gift that the beginners provide is the practice of compassion. Every time we get to train with a beginner, we can go back to the days we started, and recall the confusion, excitement, fear and new-ness. Doing that, being in their shoes, opens our hearts to be in service, to empower and encourage, and to accept the pure gift of the beginner.