The Practice of Asking Questions

The initial shock of the election results is fading, leaving in its wake a dull ache of impending doom that I am not expecting to fade. As news keeps rolling in, the absurdity has begun to feel somewhat normal, which is not awesome. Or, maybe the situation is awesome, as in the original meaning of the word awe: “Dread, terror, and wonder inspired by an authority figure, the sacred or the sublime.”

As is my usual way, I have been coping by throwing myself into activities of daily living and holding fast to practices of self-care and self-study. Meditation helps. Writing helps. Reading helps. Exercise of all kinds—asana, running, lifting weights, walking—helps. Good food helps. Connection with others helps. In general, routine helps. So does sleep. And with the time change, I am finding I need more sleep than I did during the long days of summer. 

And, of course, there are dogs. Dogs definitely help. 

I remember a time where I felt like spiritual practices were going somewhere, leading towards a kind of fulfillment of promise that would manifest in an outer expression of optimal well-being and societal peace. I have never found rose-colored glasses much to my liking; that being said, in retrospect I can see many pockets of unconscious assumptions that guided my efforts and fueled my participation in inner work. I was practicing under the premise that my efforts would lead to somewhere positive, progressive and peaceful, and that I would see that unfolding in my lifetime. 

To be clear, I think there is a “somewhere,” but the somewhere isn’t what I thought it was. I have come to understand that the cycles of evolution and progress are much larger than I envisioned in my younger years.

I was listening to a friend talk about the way her image of God is unfolding. She said that she always thought God and prayer would “keep her safe” or “keep bad things from happening” to her and the ones she loved.  She explained that—while she no longer thinks this is what God or prayer is for—she still believes in a power greater than herself. She remarked, “You know, when I read about God in the Bible, it seems clear to me now that there is no promise of things working out or of bad things not happening, like I was taught as a child. There is only a promise that we are not alone.” 

I have a Buddhist friend who recently reminded me, “Well, you should be thankful you feel disillusioned about the nature of reality and the purpose of practice. After all, the point of the path is just that—to be free of illusion.” Leave it to the Buddhists to take sentimentality out of the equation whenever possible.

Whether you define faith in religious terms or in more secular humanistic terms—whether you are atheistic, agnostic, theistic or undecide—it seems to me that current events are inspiring many people to do some soul searching and to take a deep dive into clarifying what brings comfort, provides strength, and what will sustain open-hearted engagement in life as it is over time. In that inward-looking process, there is plenty to be grateful for and to practice with to bring one’s discoveries into expression through action. 

I have long since grown uninterested in prescribing means and methods for other people to access inner wisdom, cultivate inner strength and develop resiliency. I know some of what helps me.  I am interested in what helps others. I am very cautious when phrases like “people need to” or “people should” pop into my stream of consciousness. I do my best to withdraw my attention from a vague sense of “they” and “them” and to focus my efforts on the specificity of my own inner work. For me, yoga—or any spiritual practice—is a process of asking questions. And while many of us engage that question-asking process in community or sangha, there is no guarantee that everyone in the community will arrive at the same answer. In fact, it’s highly likely that we will arrive at different conclusions. The great paradox of community is that we need enough similarity to form a group and enough difference to allow for autonomy, authenticity, and individuality. Not an easy task. 

My spiritual teacher, Lee, was an art enthusiast. In the last years of his life, he sold Asian antiquities and inspired, sacred art of all kinds. As a result of his passion for art, many of us in the sangha became collectors. One of the informal rituals of visiting one another often involves touring one another’s homes and art collections. Many of us have paintings and prints by the same artists. I have always been intrigued by the way that each of us chooses different colors of mats, frames, and placements for the same image. 

It’s a perfect metaphor for community, I think. On the one hand, we have a similar experience or picture—life with a teacher, studying the teachings and engaging in a set of practices. On the other hand, each one of us has a different frame around it, chooses a mat that highlights a certain color within the image, and places that experience in a different place within our homes or ongoing lived experience.

Same questions, different answers.

 And so, as I continue asking questions, I remain bolstered by the good company of so many others who are doing the same. I remain committed to expanding enough to hold the reality of our different answers and to knowing myself enough to have meaningful boundaries within the effort of this expansion. And while I no longer see the process in the same way, I remain committed to asking questions through sitting quietly, making shapes on an asana mat, studying the teachings, running on the trail, lifting heavy stuff at the gym and listening to others with as much presence as I can muster. And I remain interested in the many ways life, as it is, answers my questions and never fails to offer me more to explore.

Christina Sell

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