Embrace the Tiger

I haven’t posted anything for several days because I’ve been, well, cranky. Irritable, out of sorts, agitated, restless, not comfortable in my skin. This morning I was waiting for a call from the electrician who, I hoped, was going to come soon and fix the garage door switch which had shorted out. I asked my daughter to listen for the phone while I took a quick shower. When, instead of just saying no problem, she started telling me why she couldn’t, I got angry and went on a five minute rant, longer than it would have taken me to shower. After my rant, I still wasn’t showered, and I was still upset.

Wow, I thought, what is going on here?! I stumbled off to take my shower and started belly breathing to calm down.

Later in the day I got testy with a couple of folks who had made mistakes in unrelated situations, mistakes that I had initially taken in stride days ago but that today seemed worthy of detailed comment and not so subtle criticism.

I also did a lot of swearing under my breath, in between those belly breaths.

This is where we practice, isn’t it? When we are at the edge of what we can handle. When our equanimity is disrupted. When we are hooked by the drama of our own making. When what we want is relief, escape, distraction, a scapegoat. When we want things to be something other than what they are. When we want to be someone other than who we are. The way I felt today. The perfect opportunity to learn.

Joko Beck, in Everyday Zen, talks about the fragmentation that results when we separate ourselves from our experience. I feel agitated because I am identifying a problem over there, separate from myself, a problem that I want to fix by fixing circumstances or people. If I can fix it, I’ll feel better. Everything will be all right. I’ll be all right.

This fragmentation triggers fear. The only way I’m really going to feel all right is to return to my natural state of wholeness. How do I do that? By doing what seems counterintuitive. My instincts seek distance and escape from what frightens me. But I’ve learned that the way back is the way through.

Beck uses the image of embracing the tiger. By leaning into my agitation and anger, my fear, rather than trying to fix it or get away from it, I can loosen its grip. She suggests focusing on what is happening in my body. My stomach is tense, I can feel my heart beating faster, my face is scowling, my throat is tight, my head aches, and my mood swings from wanting to yell to wanting to cry.

Oddly, when I do this, when I drop everything else and turn my attention to my nonverbal experience of body sensations right now in this moment, what Beck calls walking on the razor’s edge, I find what I was really looking for all along – relief. The belly breathing becomes less forced, the tightness releases, my face relaxes, my mind clears like storm clouds parting after the rain.

The calm is fragile. Lightning still flashes on the horizon. I keep coming back, back to now.

I don’t know why I’m so “gritchy” these days. It will pass if I let it, if I don’t hold onto it or struggle against it. I feel better already.

The tiger purrs.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
--William Blake

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