We try so hard… to accomplish, to solve, to fix, to belong. Sometimes our effort is wise and meaningful. And sometimes this exertion comes from a place of fear, and we end up micromanaging our lives in a way that denies the grace and mystery of it all.
Our human condition invites each of us towards a balance of effort and surrender. Creativity is a wonderful example of this balance. All acts of creation — whether writing, music, painting, problem-solving, planting a garden or devising a business plan — require a careful interplay of deliberate action and an acceptance of the emergent quality or life. Mary Oliver, in her Poetry Handbook advises the would-be poet:
“Writing a poem is a kind of love affair between the heart and the conscious mind. They make appointments with each other, and keep them, and something begins to happen. Or, they make appointments with each other but are casual and fail to keep them: count on it, nothing happens. “
I love the way that Mary Oliver speaks of the relationality of our mind and heart – like a dance of human and divine; of reason and mystery. There is a trust that is cultivated in this love affair. We honour this trust by showing up. This is the effort.
And yet this relationship asks, as well, that we be willing to listen to the heart, whether these whispers are unnerving, vulnerable or bizarre. We must allow this whispered wisdom to move through us, informing our thoughts, speech and behaviors. This is the surrender.
When we become trapped beneath the weight of our busyness, or mired within the mundane muck of our doings and shoulds, it is often because we have misplaced this trust — or faith — in that which moves through us and all around us, but is not us at all. We forget how to let go. Margaret Atwood has often spoken of the importance of non-self in the creative process. When asked about her book, Negotiating with the Dead, she asserted, “You will never meet the person who wrote this”. And as Rick Rubin, Grammy Award winning music producer and author of the exquisite book The Creative Act: A Way of Being writes, “Ultimately, the act of self expression isn’t really about you”.
This rings true in my own creative expression as well. The poetry or writing that I produce is never really ‘mine’, but rather something that moves through me – a creative wellspring that I can tap into. In my teaching roles, there are times when something novel, resonant or edifying arises from my lips, within the container of a retreat, workshop or course. When I allow myself to be a vessel, then these words can become a gift and an inspiration… to myself and, hopefully, to others. When my intellect or ego become excessively involved, however, then the concepts or words begin to feel like sunlight filtered through murky water — the light simply doesn’t get through. My role is to get out of the way.
Healing is also a creative act that moves through us, but is not entirely us. Healing requires this very same fine balance of effort and surrender. If I am ill, it is important that I get some rest, drink fluids, and take the medicine that may quicken my recovery. This is the effort. However, I must also trust this body, and remember that healing is ever an innate movement towards wholeness. This is the surrender. It is this humility that allows me to understand what may be getting in the way of this movement, and what can facilitate this flow?
When Medicine is at its best, this is what we are so privileged to do as healers. Our role is to meet our patient with all of the skill, knowledge, experience, and compassion we have. This is the effort. And then we must let it go. We must have trust in the person we are in relationship with; in the medicine we are choosing; and in the healing process itself. Despite all of our technology and pharmacopeia, we do not do the healing. As healers we simply facilitate, and participate in, this mysterious and sacred propensity towards life and a balance of health. As Voltaire quipped, “The art of medicine consists of amusing the patient while nature cures the disease”
There is a balance of effort and surrender in meditation. Our effort lies in showing up to our practice, to our retreat, to our community… But there is, as well, so much surrender. Similar to Mary Oliver’s advice to a poet, meditation is also a love affair of head and heart. It is a courtship of trust. Meditation reacquaints us with ourselves, and invites us to remember how to listen deeply to that which arises within the stillness of practice. When the noise and busyness begin to settle we can once again fall in love with ourself as we are; with this moment as it is; and with this world as it is. Meditation is an effort of compassion, and a surrender into Love.