This past weekend I hurt my back quite badly lifting a plastic bin that was way too heavy for my size.
Since then I’ve been experiencing a level of pain that is deeply uncomfortable—and a pain that demands my full presence.
During my meditation practice this morning there was nowhere to go, but head first into the pain; because, there it was.
My mind was racing, estimating the minutes till the timer would go off, screaming at me to end my practice…
I know this voice well, and in nine years of practice, I’ve learned to notice it, without taking its counsel.
Hundreds, if not thousands of times, I’ve superseded the inner dialogue, but today I chose to heed to the voice urging me to stop.
And I did what I rarely ever do, I ended my session 15 minutes early.
On the one hand, I could push through, be with the pain, notice the mind, all of it… yet, I made a different choice.
I opened my eyes and stretched out my body.
I noticed the pain—and the relief—and noticed the activity of my mind, now judging me for doing the very thing it urged me to do.
I felt frustrated by the endless barrage of inner criticism.
If I stayed with the practice till the end, the inner critic would remind me that I’m too intense, an extremist, that I don’t love myself, that I’m more committed to maintaining a discipline than listening to the signals of my body…and so much more.
On the other hand I ended my practice and the inner critic reminded me that I’m weak, that I’ve lost myself to pleasure, that I’ve become averse to pain, that I’ve gotten soft, that I’ve lost the center I’ve developed through years of extreme discipline, that I give up too easily, that I've broken from the practice and lineage...on and on an on.
Feeling frustrated, angry, and semi-defeated by my own mind, I called an Uber to pick me up and take me over to my dad’s house, rather than walk, because of the pain.
I got the text from Uber that Reggie was waiting for me outside.
I grabbed my shit, hobbled down the stairs and bitched to myself about my own discomfort.
I opened the door to the minivan and immediately noticed the entire rear seat missing.
Strange, I thought.
My eyes then gazed over to the driver, to my right.
There was Reggie.
Seated on the driver's side.
In a motorized wheelchair.
I sat down, buckled up, took a breath, and we pulled away.
I sat, quietly, in deep contemplation.
After five minutes I began to share with Reggie how I was having a shitty day, feeling challenged to navigate my life with this additional variable of pain in my back.
I shared with him that seeing him there, in his wheelchair, clearly facing his own challenges, yet powerful enough to take action despite his circumstances, was deeply humbling and inspiring.
In a matter of moments, we were in the depths of conversation… unraveling the ways the mind keeps us imprisoned to our own stories of limitation.
I sat and simply received this man’s wisdom and teachings for the five minutes it took to get to my dad’s house.
I wasn’t just in a van, his van.
I was in church, Reggie’s Church!
I knew this and I think he did too.
I let my pastor preach and received every word the way the scorched earth receives the first rains of spring.
I thanked Reggie for his profound medicine of inspiration and perspective.
I shared with him how though 100’s of people could have picked me up, it was him who picked me up—and for that, I thanked Spirit (out loud) for literally delivering me to the medicine.
We both felt the sacredness of this moment.
This was God doing what God does.
We hugged, smiled, laughed, and fist bumped.
I told him I loved him and thanked him one final time.
He looked me square in the eyes and said,
“I hope this conversation sparked you to change the world.”
"If nothing more, it sparked me to change my world brother. Thank you for being you."
This, right here, is intimacy in action and intimacy is the new currency.
I have space for two new clients. Two women ready to access a depth of power and reservoir of intimacy with Self that can't help but to rumble life into the next stratosphere of experience.
Interested? Shoot me a message and let's chat.
PS - Interestingly enough my meditation teacher's name is Reggie and here was Reggie, teaching me, as teachers teach.
You can see the original Facebook post here.