With thousands of protests happening all over the country, it’s difficult to ignore the current political climate and its instability. With Ukraine, Gaza, Sudan, tariffs, and countless other areas of chaos and uncertainty, this unstable energy eventually makes its way into our neural pathways and ultimately seeps into our lives. So this week’s meditation brings us into the beautiful crucible of inner v outer world. How do we manage the vicissitudes of the politics of the day, wars or the economic pressures of the moment?
I can’t recall the source, but there is an expression, “read the classics, not the times.” The libraries of literature and poetry from the great authors through time carry insights and wisdom that fill us rather than depleting us. Great literary works have been penned throughout history, even in the midst of the most difficult times. The daily news cycle, especially today’s on-demand news cycle, is relentless; intentionally so. It is designed to keep us enraged in a fight or flight mode. It is modern-day psychological and informational warfare. The toxic nature of a steady diet of “the times” is a recipe for depression, rage and hopelessness. And this has been a challenge for all of us lately.
I don’t think I am alone today, or even through the last century, in this need to seek refuge from the onslaught of bad news. I know there have been many—far smarter and more insightful than me—who have provided this same counsel. So today’s meditation brings the inner light back into focus as we once again move the lens from the outer to the inner. And because I am deep in a Pablo Neruda phase, I have to share his wisdom in a beautiful poem, “Keeping Quiet.” Enjoy.
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth
let’s not speak in any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want nothing to do with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
Now even though Neruda doesn’t explicitly connect breathing meditation with the idea of counting to twelve, that is precisely the intended effect of that call to action. Stop, breathe, count, come home. This is the way. “A huge silence might interrupt this sadness / of never understanding ourselves.” We are relentlessly pulled into exile from the homeland of the present moment. We literally live most of our lives in exile. When do we come home? We come home when we stop and breathe, when we connect with nature, when we keep quiet. “If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing!” So here’s to doing nothing for once! Keep breathing, keep the inner fire tended and bright; it is how we emerge from any darkness.
And here is the original version in Spanish. If you read Spanish, it is worth seeing the way Neruda shapes meaning in his native language.
Ahora contaremos doce
y nos quedamos todos quietos.
Por una vez sobre la tierra
no hablemos en ningún idioma,
por un segundo detengámonos,
no movamos tanto los brazos.
Sería un minuto fragante,
sin prisa, sin locomotoras,
todos estaríamos juntos
en una inquietud instantánea.
Los pescadores del mar frío
no harían daño a las ballenas
y el trabajador de la sal
miraría sus manos rotas.
Los que preparan guerras verdes,
guerras de gas, guerras de fuego,
victorias sin sobrevivientes,
se pondrían un traje puro
y andarían con sus hermanos
por la sombra, sin hacer nada.
No se confunda lo que quiero
con la inacción definitiva:
la vida es sólo lo que se hace,
no quiero nada con la muerte.
Si no pudimos ser unánimes
moviendo tanto nuestras vidas,
tal vez no hacer nada una vez,
tal vez un gran silencio pueda
interrumpir esta tristeza,
este no entendernos jamás
y amenazarnos con la muerte,
tal vez la tierra nos enseñe
cuando todo parece muerto
y luego todo estaba vivo.
Ahora contaré hasta doce
y tú te callas y me voy.
