But first: an example. The art of stopping.

Stopping — as in, being in a state of intentional not-doing — is not really something that just happens. Most of us have to learn how to do it.

And the learning of it takes time.

It’s a progression.

You assimilate bits and pieces of practice, information, concepts, trust — adding layers of physical, mental and emotional experience until this turning everything off becomes familiar and automatic.

Shavasana.

I come from the yoga world, so this practice is kind of my sandbox, but most of my people don’t have that type of background.

So when I teach Shivanautical wackiness or Old Turkish Lady yoga as a part of a workshop or retreat, resting after the practice is something that requires explanations.

Try this. Try that. What happens when you do this. What happens when you do that.

It becomes an experiment. Something we get to mess around with. I love this.

When I teach Shiva Nata in a yoga studio, though, all I have to do is say the word.

Shavasana … and everyone collapses instantly, their brain seamlessly issuing commands to the nervous system, muscles, bones. Their bodies expertly performing hundreds of tiny adjustments without having to give thought to the process.

Because they’re right there in it.

One word becomes an incantation.

When you’ve spent so much time with a word — and the depth of concepts and experiences behind it — just hearing it or saying it zaps you right into the state being described by it.

That’s when it becomes a spell.

Every time you say the word, you are invoking its essence.

You are conjuring up both the experience and its attributes.

You’re summoning both the container and the contents. With one word.

We can do this with any word. It just takes time.

I did this with LOVE. The word, I mean. But also the experience.

When I started working with this about six years ago, my heart was broken broken broken.

I tried all kinds of heart meditations but at first I couldn’t feel a thing.

Then the word evoked a tiny, beautiful heart swimming inside of this giant warzone of another, larger heart.

This evolved — eventually — into a big, happy heart with a small, jagged, injured one on the inside.

And now LOVE is just my heart. It’s a place I can go to be at home.

If I say “LOVE“, I can be in it. Love for myself, for my internal world, for my gentleman friend, for my business, for connection, for deeper, more mysterious things.

But when I began, love was an abstraction. It had something to do with all the pain I was in. But it wasn’t a word that brought me into a state of being.

That’s where the practice happens.

Right now I’m working on “trusting in the timing of things”.

TRUST.

And when it comes to TRUST, I am exactly where my students are when they experience shavasana for the first time.

It’s new. It’s uncomfortable. There are so many little things that need to happen and I’m not always sure exactly where they are.

I have to stop and start. Stop and question. Stop and feel into what this trusting thing is.

I’m not yet at the point where the word TRUST instantly puts me into brain-tingling, heart-centered, grounded, delightful reassurance.

But I know it’s there.

And I know I will get there.

So I’m practicing.

When I say TRUST now, it’s not yet an incantation.

It’s just a word. That symbolizes an experience. That I’m in the process of learning about.

This post isn’t about the how.

We can go into that in a later installment.

For now I really wanted to introduce the concept.

The idea that, over time, you can expand a word into something that holds a thousand tiny movements, actions, shifts, associations.

So that by saying it (or even thinking it), you can plug right into everything it contains.

Comment zen for today…

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s something we’re practicing.

We’re here to acknowledge each other (and our own stuff), not to give advice or to tell people what we think they “should” be doing. Internet hugs all around.

The Fluent Self