Tara Brach - Taking "The Exquisite Risk:" An Undefended Heart (2017-03-22)

Episode Date: March 24, 2017

Taking "The Exquisite Risk": An Undefended Heart (2017-03-22) - Poet Mark Nepo uses the phrase "exquisite risk" to describe our willingness to be fully alive, open, available,  living true to our heart. This talk explores the challenges and blessings of taking the exquisite risk, both in becoming more intimate with our inner life, and in engaging with others from full authenticity. Your support enables us to continue to offer these talks freely. If you value them, I hope you will consider offering a donation at this time at www.tarabrach.com/donation/. With gratitude and love, Tara  

Greetings. We offer these podcasts freely and your support really makes a difference. To make a donation, please visit tarabrock.com. One of the metaphors for spiritual transformation that we hear a lot is that we're like a caterpillar and a cocoon and that the awakening comes as we feel the sense of the cocoon and realize it's time to go beyond and then we transform into a volcano. butterfly and fly into freedom. And it's really actually a very useful metaphor individually and as a species in the sense that we live in this familiar cocoon of our egoic thoughts and behaviors and so on. And they serve us, the cocoon serves us earlier stages of development and then

the time comes to go beyond. And if we don't, the cocoon creates a pressure and we start getting more and more squeeze because we're living into smallest space for our growing spirit. So that pressure is a reminder to take the chance and break open and it's damaging if we don't. It's a rested development. It's even more useful if you think of it in terms of for these humans that we are, it's not a one-shot that we're continually waking up at of a cocoon, of, you know, illusion, a cocoon of limiting beliefs, a cocoon of in some way

behaviors that are keeping us small, that it's a continual ongoing process of coming into contact with a wider reality. So it's like shedding a skin and each round that we shed a skin we become more, we feel that vulnerability. You know, the new skin's more porous, okay, than the old skin. So there's more contact, more flow through, and there's more of a sense of vulnerability. And so I'd like to take a phrase that I heard recently, and I really liked, from the poet Mark Nipo, who I love. And he describes it this way.

He says, this shedding of a skin is like, it's called taking the experience. exquisite risk, that every time we kind of open up out of our cocoon, our familiar cocoon to contact a wider reality, to really touch aliveness more fully, we're taking the exquisite risk. And I love it because exquisite connotes this kind of beauty and excellence and sensitivity and responsiveness. and risk, its exposure to danger and to loss, that we're willing to let go of an old experience

that gave us some measure of comfort or security or certainty and exchange it for what's unfamiliar and way more alive, the exquisite risk. So one of the flavors that I thought I'd share of the exquisite risk came from Andres Gregory and many of you saw my dinner with Andre and in it a man asked him about writing and he responds with a story about his wife and his wife went into surgery and after she had anesthesia he realized he was put under he realized he hadn't said what he needed to he said that from then on he dedicated himself to speaking as

heart as if for the last time, not to take the risk of not being real, as if for the last time and then he told the man, write like that, right like it's the last time, like this is it, and live your life like that from that wholeheartedness. The exquisite risk, basically it arises this path of the exquisite risk, it arises in the moments that we're willing to be fully present. It's full presence, full unconditional presence, meeting the moment wide open. It's like one Buddhist nun from, I think it was 1500s, said, I meet this life with my whole body. You can kind of feel that, this undefended presence. So, Frederick Nietzsche writes,

The snake that cannot shed its skin perishes. So again, we're talking about when we're not willing, what happens. And this coincides with a belief that indigenous people had that humans originally had the power to rejuvenate and to live fully by shedding their skin. That's what gave them the power. And there's a story from the Polynesian culture, and the way it goes is this, that the mother of the tribe went regularly to the river to shed her skin.

But one such time, she shed her skin and the old skin got caught on a bit of driftwood. So she goes back to the village and her teenage daughter sees her and goes, ah, you know, because she doesn't look like her old self. And the mother tries to reassure her daughter that, you know, it's me, it's me, it's okay. But the daughter was revolved in some way by seeing this kind of raw-skinned new person that didn't look like her mother. So the daughter was so distressed and angry that the mother decided to sue their fear, she'd go back to the river and she found the old skin, put it back on,

and from that day on, humans lost their ability to be immortal, arrested development. Now again, I just want to say that shedding our skin doesn't mean to be without skin. It means that we're opening to a level where there's more transparency and more porousness and more of a natural exchange, a belonging to our world. So what I'd like to do in our reflection this evening is to look at the challenges and the blessings of taking the exquisite risk. And what it really means not in like some big superhuman way that we're going to plan for down the road, but right in any moment, to write this moment, as much as any moment in your life, you can take the exquisite risk

of really arriving and putting down ideas and certainties and orientations, that quality of openness. So the challenge for all of us is that we're very habituated and attached to and identified with our particular familiar skin or cocoon. Every one of us. That's part of the way evolution is, that we develop our cocoon and we're attached to it and we have to deal with that. And you can think of it that the ego self is just organized around controlling life. We're trying to get what we want and avoid what we don't want happen.

happening most of the time. Most of the time we're trying to hold on to security and comfort and push away fear or pain. And you can see it with meditation that, you know, meditation supposedly, oh just relax, just come into the present moment. That little word just, do you know what I mean? It's like we're rigged to be vigilant to not come into the present moment to constantly be darting off. In fact, our brain is designed with a default network in it, that when we don't have a task, when we're told, oh, just be, well, that default network gets activated and it has us skirting around to reaffirm our selfness by looking into the future in the past, just to reorient ourselves. So I say that because it's part of our evolutionary

potential to keep awakening out of our cocoon and we've got poles to stay in. In the Buddhist tradition the poles are described as our reaction to the eight worldly winds that we are constantly trying to control, have praise but not blame, have success but not failure, pleasure but not pain, fame but not disrepute. Those are the eight heaven. So that's the way we're maintaining our cocoon. We're busy trying to organize around having what we want and not in some way losing what we really want to keep with us. Okay, so in this vein, a student and a Zen master lived across the river from each other and they often discussed Buddhism. And one day the student, whose name was Su Dongbo, felt

inspired and he wrote the following poem. I bow my head to the heaven within heaven. Haraline rays illuminated the universe. The eight winds cannot move me, sitting still upon the purple lotus. Okay, so here he is and he's basically saying he's attained a very high level of spirituality. He's no longer buffeted around by the eight winds. Okay, so he's impressed with himself, then he sends a servant to hand carry this poem to the Zen master across the river.

And the Zen master's name is Foyen. And when he reads the poem, he immediately sees that it's a declaration of spiritual refinement. And smiling, the Zen master wrote the word fart on the manuscript and had it returned to Su Dengpo. Okay, so Su Dengpo's there thinking he's pretty cool and he's expecting compliments and a seal of approval. and he sees the word fart and he gets really, really upset.

So how dare he insult me like this? What a lousy old monk? He's got a lot of explaining to do and he gets his scene together. He goes to indignant, rushes out of his house and he orders a boat to ferry him to the other side of the shore so he can set this guy straight. He wants an apology. However, Foyan's doors closed and on the door is a piece of paper for Sue Dongpo.

Here's what was written on the piece of paper. The eight winds cannot move me. One fart blows me across the river. Okay, so, I don't know if I need to tell the moral of the story or not, but it was a turning point in Sudangpo's spiritual development, and he became more of a man of humility. It's hard to overestimate the power of the eight winds and how many moments we are holding on to our skin, so to speak,

We're trying to thicken it up, trying to hang on to that cocoon so we can protect ourselves and get what we want. And so the big question is, what enables us to keep evolving to let go eventually? And what we find is it hurts more to hang on than to let go, that it's suffering to to stay in that small container. Mary Oliver, after she had a brush with cancer, and this is what she wrote, she said, do you need a prod?

Do you need a little darkness to get you going? So the inquiry for many of us, and this is just another language for it, is that, you know, where in our life right now are we sensing that prod? You know, where's the cocoon squeezing? You know, where are we suffering that's basically our growing edge? And I'll just name a bit of how for many of us the cocoon is squeezing. And for many of us, the hook is looking good and getting approval, right?

and that's where we get small. It's interesting. Don't take my word for it. Just look when you're in an interaction. Just check and sense how much of the way I'm expressing myself is in some way designed to get a certain response from another person. One story, a man walked into a produce section of his local supermarket and he asked to buy a half a head of lettuce.

And so this young man that's working there says, you know, we don't do that. We only sell whole heads of lettuce, but the guy's insistent. So the young man goes back into the back area and asks his manager about it and he says, you know, some jerk back there wants to buy a half a head of lettuce. But just as he's finishing a sentence, he sees the gentleman standing there and he goes, and this fine gentleman wants to buy the other half, you know. So anyway, later on in the day, later on in the day the manager

you know pulls him in the back room and says I like a young man who can think on his feet where do you come from son and the guy says like well I come from Canada he goes oh well what what had how come you left Canada and goes oh all they have in Canada are horse and hockey players and the manager said you know my

wife's from Canada oh what team does she play for we get rewards for good presentations. We get rewards for being clever, we get rewards for having the right answer or for looking a certain way or acting a certain way. But we can also see how much the seeking of approval stops us from being spontaneous and stops us from being really authentic. and in a deep way, as long as we think we need to act a certain way to be okay, we can't trust in our innate lovability.

It keeps us trapped in insecurity. Some months ago I was teaching a fearless heart weekend up at Garrison, New York. And one of the questions I asked was, so what, have people get into groups and name, things that they were afraid of. And one group said it was interesting to them that they all said the same thing and what they're afraid of was other people's judgment. You know, and this is again in terms of these worldly winds, we wear our skin tight because we're afraid that if we don't, others will see something about us. We don't want them to see. Or they won't see something about us that we do want them to see. So that's one of the places we

get stuck, one of the places that we hold on to our skin. Another is the habit of blame. You know, it's one of the behaviors that, you know, we can see where the prod is. We blame and blame and blame and then there's distance. One friend described the breakdown with the teen because she was in such a... It was so hard for her to accept the way her son was behaving. She got into a chronic blaming. Even when he wasn't behaving that way, she in some way was resentful and the wedge there.

So that was the prod. Sometimes the prod that we get comes because we're addicted to trying to achieve. We just have to keep striving and doing more and proving ourselves more and more. and then maybe the prod is that all of a sudden a partner wants a divorce because we just haven't been present for the last 10 years. Or it might be that our hook is soothing ourselves with food or drugs or obsessive thinking, planning, worrying.

I'm just giving you examples of the ways that we hold on tight to a familiar cocoon to make ourselves feel better, but then it backfires because we have. we end up feeling bad about ourselves, ashamed. So we need the prod of the cocoon, the squeeze, because we get so habituated. You know, whatever we practice regularly, you know, whatever we're regularly thinking and the regular ways we behave, whatever we practice is what we strengthen. So if you're practicing worry, you strengthen the pathways that have to do with biological and psychological fear.

And if you're practicing blaming, that gets strengthened. So we need that prod so that we begin to practice in a different way. So we start turning towards presence. So let's take a moment to reflect. I'm going to be asking you a little bit about how you wear your skin, how you might hold on to your skin or cocoon. And as we pause just to sense the pausing, that you're just letting yourself rest for a moment,

open, just feel yourself breathing and sitting here. So bringing to mind someone who's important to you, someone you care about, someone you care about and care about how they're relating to you. And then sense, what is it you most, want this person to see about you and also sense in to what is it you most want them not to see about you? Then you might bring to mind a recent time that you were together and how much were you practicing your habitual persona showing some parts, covering some parts? In other words,

what kind of skin were you wearing? Was it a familiar old skin? where you were somewhat habitual, was there more of a sense of that exquisite risk where you were taking the chance to be real? What might it be like with this person to take the exquisite risk, to shed an older skin, to be more real, more porous, more transparent?

And let this be not just an inquiry for right this moment, but you might bring your interest and care to the next time you're together and sense, well, what would that really mean? Opening your eyes if you'd like or if you enjoy sitting with your eyes closed, that's fine too. So for some people what will come up when we think about people that matter to us but we care about their opinion and so on, is it that sense of I can't really dare, to be real because something is wrong with me and if they saw it they would judge.

That's just how it is. And I bring this up because perhaps one of the most binding and pervasive cocoons that many of us live in is what I sometimes call that trance of unworthiness, where the cocoon or skin is really built on that we're practicing beliefs of something's wrong with me. I'm not okay. If people see it, they won't like me. And I wanted to name that because this sense of I'm falling short is exactly the place that we're getting squeezed, that we can begin to take the exquisite risk more. Rather than practicing the thought, are we willing to actually pause and come into the actual vulnerability of that moment?

can we unpack it some? And you wouldn't be here, you wouldn't be listening if you're listening to the podcast if there wasn't that wisdom in you that felt how old skin binds and had a longing to live in a more awake, open reality. So if that's one of the areas, that sense of something's wrong with me, if that's what you're practicing and making stronger, then that's a perfect place to take the exquisite risk. So let's shift and look more closely at what does it actually mean?

We're using this language of take this risk. What does it mean? And the grounds of the exquisite risk are exactly the instructions for meditation, which is come back to what's right here. Really come back, though. The grounds are a willingness to, feel what's here with tenderness, with presence, with honesty, and stay. Again, let's just close our eyes together and explore what it means with a meditative

presence to dare to be more present in the moment. And you might bring to mind something that is going on in. in your life that's challenging. It may be one of the things I named. It may be somewhere that the trance of unworthiness is playing out, a sense of insecurity or feeling of failure. It might be a place that you're feeling caught in seeking another's approval. It may be an addictive kind of a behavior. Maybe a place where you're caught in blame. but somewhere where the cocoon is squeezing you, where you feel that prod. And when you bring to mind that challenging situation, you might first see if you can

observe without judging, what are the habitual thoughts or beliefs that go with this? What have you been practicing thus far that reinforces the cocoon? What do you tell yourself about yourself or about others? What is it you're believing that's keeping you small? You might ask, well, what is it that I'm unwilling to feel? What's under the beliefs, under the thoughts that in some way I might be avoiding or running from? I'm willing to feel.

And can I dare to fully contact this? Can I take the exquisite risk of deepening intimacy, right this moment, with the place in me that's asking for attention. Can I dare to hold this with compassion? Because this is such a short amount of time we usually need a while to get in touch with our bodies and our heart, you might sense your intention, your intention to explore letting go of the old skin of just practicing those same thoughts and beliefs and coming into this tender connectedness with what's really here, breathing with it, feeling it, offering it kindness. This is the grounds of being able to take the exquisite risk with others.

If we're willing to be bravely with the vulnerability inside us, then we can begin to engage with others without a mask. We can begin to be more real. Again, if you'd like to open your eyes, please do. So often we're with each other and we, to others it might seem like we're being real. We're being who we are. We might be in a lively place, a fun place, a sweet place. But only you know for sure.

whether you're actually engaging from what is kind of a groundless presence where you're not playing out, you know, your routine but you're really there. Only you know that. And to be taking the exquisite risk requires dropping a lot of our certainty and really listening inwardly and outwardly and really being interested in what's it like for you. So there's an internal awareness of what it's like going on inside of your own being, but it extends to a real curiosity that's attending to the other. And there's a willingness to be changed by the shared experience. So I'm talking about really putting down our habits.

It's a radical kind of presence. So I want to name a few guidelines and then we're going to be practicing again, just kind of exploring into it. And the basic attitude, if you want to more consciously dare to be present in this way, the most basic attitude is to be very forgiving of how hard it is. and how quickly you laps back into the old familiar cocoon behaviors. Like truly forgiving. Because the conditioning's there and it's not our fault.

All we can do is intend to be real. So we need to know we're going to open sometimes, we're going to close sometimes, we need to encourage ourselves. Saul and Mort are walking from religious service. Saul wonders if it would be all right to smoke while praying. Mort replies, well, why don't you ask Rabbi Schwartz? So, Sol goes up to Rabbi Schwartz and says,

Rabbi, may I smoke while I pray? And Rabbi Schwartz says, no, my son, you may not. That's utter disrespect to our religion. So Sol goes back and tells his friend what the rabbi said. And Mort said, I'm not surprised, you asked the wrong question, let me try. So Mort goes up to Rabbi Schwartz and says, Rabbi, may I pray while I smoke? To which Rabbi Schwartz eagerly replies,

by all means, my son, by all means. Give yourself a lot of leeway. And just like meditation, you know, we have so much pain and so many wounds from our early connections with each other or lack of that we're afraid of each other. We are. We're afraid of each other.

It's in there. It's in our bodies. So to be able to recognize that and know that sometimes taking the exquisite risk is not the most compassionate and wise thing to do in a moment because it will re-traumatize ourselves in some way. We'll freeze. We won't be able to. The person's not, there's not enough mutuality, whatever it is.

So it's not like this is like every single moment, thou shalt take a risk. There's a wisdom to it. We do it and we start where it seems like there's... enough safety. It's never 100%. It's not supposed to be. But we start coming out of the cocoon where it feels safe enough. And like meditation, you set the intention, you anchor in your body, and especially when strong emotions are there like anger, fear or grief, what I found in taking a risk is that my best friend is pausing because my habit, my old cocoon habit

is to keep tumbling into what's next and saying the next thing and doing the next thing. It's like do, it keeps me secure. So the non-doing, creating space, takes away my ground, but it makes me more real. I'll give you two examples. and one was a few months ago I was going for a walk with my sister

and she said something that sounded pretty critical to me and the way I knew it sounded critical is I felt my, that kind of familiar heated twist of irritation were sisters you know we know our patterns and so on so anyway so I was breathing with that and where I typically would have

I could hear my mind launching into its defense. I just didn't say anything. I just was breathing with it and being being quiet and feeling into it. And then, you know, I could feel as I got a little more present, I could just some part of me said, okay, she's upset about something. Quiet, a little longer. And then she said, you know, I know that sounded judgmental. And then she went on, here's what's really bothering me about this. And what I got was, you know, she attuned and that made it easier. But even if she hadn't, the pause, from pausing, I would have responded from more of a real place, a little less defended, a little more porous, just a little, we're

sisters, it takes a while, you know, there's so much of a habitual thing. so helpful. And then, another example from this week, I did a Skype call with a friend who had lost both of her parents within a very short time in the last year, very close. It was a really huge absence. And so I knew I was entering this call with a deep intention to show up. And at one point she was speaking and the story was really compelling. and I could tell she was about to finish a piece of it and kind of invite me in and she did. And I could feel myself rehearsing the right things to say. And as you know, with people being with dying, there's no right, there's nothing, really.

But nonetheless, I was kind of getting ready to say what I thought would be the thing that would be the right thing. And when she stopped, something in me just said, no, just wait. So I waited and there was a bit of awkwardness because she was kind of ready for me to say something. But I just knew that I couldn't be coming from, I couldn't be as real. So I just waited some more and then tears started flowing. And then we both just cried together. And a Skype cry works as well as any other cry, you know, we just did it. So I'm sharing with you two examples of taking the exquisite risk, and I want to confess

that I have had countless times of taking the exquisite risk in retrospect, you know, looking back and, oh, that's where I could, you know. So it's a real practice, and it's a practice with an amazing gift, which is, you know, that our habitual filters dissolve and we get to see more truly what's here in ourselves and in each other which equals intimacy. We get to see the goodness that's here. Let me ask you to check in again. Let's just keep checking in with what's going on for you. And in the spirit of this exploration, just that risk just to really be right here. like just to write this moment, sense the hereness, the experience of being, allowing the person

you were considering before that you care about that's important to you to come to mind and go ahead and imagine the next time you have some time together. Imagine look on that person's face and their eyes and what they might be wearing and where you might be. And imagine having that intention to take the exquisite risk, to engage without an agenda, without rehearsing, without thinking you know what's going on, just open and curious and tender. You're letting that person be really right here in your awareness right now. You might sense that you're seeing them as if for the first time, not allowing your past knowledge or experiencing of them to be there just right now for the first time fresh.

Look for things in them you might have missed because of familiarity. the particular ways that goodness or spirit shines through. You cannot love what you cannot see afresh. It's very much about what's right in the moment. You can't love what you're not discovering anew. You might bring to mind another person in the same way, letting all the old filters or ideas of them go. So you're just sensing the presence of this being first time.

sense what you might have missed, to sense the goodness moving through. When we start shedding the skin of our old habits, our old filters, our ways of impressing or having agendas, we begin to see afresh. We get to see beyond the mask. We get to see the goodness that's there

and start trusting it more and more. And as we do that with each other, it can ripple out to be a way of seeing and being in widening circles in our society, seeing this goodness. I'll read you something from Nelson Mandela, from his long road to freedom, that I've always loved this. He says, no one is born hating another person because of the color of the color of his skin or his background or as religion. People learn to hate. As they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. Even in the

grimyest of times in prison when my comrades and I were pushed to our limits, I could see a glimmer of humanity in one of the guards, perhaps just for a second, but it was enough to reassure me and keep me going. Goodness is a flame that can be hidden but never extinguished. The habit is to come into this radical presence and see afresh, the more we can not only see the goodness in ourselves and each other, but invite it out. Again, if you'd like to open your eyes, you can.

And I thought I'd share one last little story that came to mind as I was reflecting on this, that one of my friends, as part of his path and his practice, really very drawn to exploring in this way, kind of living, putting aside uncertainty, the certainties and being really fresh, decided to do it by working as a doula, those who are dying, attending companion, being an attending companion in people's final days. And he's working with primarily low-income people who don't have family in Baltimore. So, very early on in his Dula career, he was spent time with a man who was unable to speak. And the first day he was trying to communicate, the guy was trying to communicate with him.

And the man was pointing to the door of the bedroom. And so my friend was thinking, you know, he was trying to put aside and be present, but he's going, okay, what does he need? What does he want? What should I be doing? So he's going into his old pattern. And the man got increasingly focused, struggling to get up and putting his arm... And so my friend put his arm around and he goes, oh, he wants to stand up, maybe he needs to go to the bathroom, whatever. He helped him to stand. He walked to the door of the bedroom with him and the man pointed out into the kitchen at the fridge and then pointed to my friend and then he motioned, eat. and he realized that he was trying to be a caring host. He wanted to make sure that my friend was comfortable

in getting the food he needed. It's so easy to see someone who's older as old or someone who has cancer as a cancer patient or is overweight as an overweight person or of another race is... You know what I'm saying? It's so easy to be in our cocoon. and miss out on the humanness and the heart and the spirit that's here.

It's such a gift as the indigenous people thought. We tune into a timeless presence. We become immortals in that sense when we can keep shedding our skin of familiar thoughts and habits. So in that spirit, we'll take one last pause together to come into presence. to have that intention in our lives to keep on waking up into that larger reality,

that larger heart space, to sense even as you leave this evening, to connect with a few people and doesn't have to be deep, silent, soulful, staring into eyes, but really that intention to be fresh, to be there, open, present, curious. And right in these moments,

to deepen your attention, and to sense what it means to really be intimate with the life that's right here and close with a poem by Mary Oliver when death comes like the hungry bear in autumn when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me and snaps his purse shut

when death comes like the measlepox when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades I want to step through the door full of curiosity wondering, what is it going to be like that cottage of darkness? And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and as sisterhood and I look upon time as no more than an idea and I consider eternity as another possibility. And I think of each flower, each life as a flower as common as a field daisy and as singular. and each name a comfortable music in the mouth

tending as all music does towards silence and each body a lion of courage and something precious to the earth when it's over I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement I was a bridegroom taking the world into my arms when it's over I don't want to wonder if I've made of my life something particular and real

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened or full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world. Namaste and thank you for your presence. For more talks and meditations and to learn about my schedule or join my email list, please visit tarabrock.com.