What I Learned in Therapy

Thank you for joining me today for
our meditation on the Niyama tapas.

The Fire within.

So just take a moment to find a position
in which you can close your eyes,

a space for you to quiet the mind

and give signals to your
body that it's time to relax.

There isn't anyone in this world who
knows what you need more than you do.

So when you find that position,
invite your body to settle in.

Invite yourself to feel the weight
of your hips, your feet, your arms,

the weight of your head.

And the weight of the thoughts within.

As you relax your body, bring
to mind consciously that the

earth is holding you right now.

Bring that awareness into the light that
you are being held by the universe, by

the earth, and by this body of yours.

And if you can, I invite
you to close your eyes.

And if that doesn't feel safe, find
a soft gaze and let your eyes rest on

something that is not moving, that is
not making noise, that is not speaking.

And then bring your awareness
to the rhythm of your breath,

the rise, and the fall of your tummy.

There's no need to change it.

Just notice

today we are going to meet a fire.

A fire to be trusted.

A fire to befriend,

not to be feared.

But understood

today we meet the inner fire of healing.

Each of us at some point has felt it.

, the deep sudden burn of inferiority it
might come when an old wound stirs

when a voice from long ago pops up
and whispers, you're not enough.

You're not doing enough.

Look, you're failing.

Why are you even trying?

And when that fire flares inside of us,
the instinct is almost always the same.

Retreat, run, hide.

Hide in the shadows
where no one can see us.

Limping our way toward loving ourselves,
where no one can see the ache in our soul.

This is the fire of inferiority.

I promise you though.

However counterintuitive it might feel.

The fire of inferiority
is not a punishment.

It is a signal.

It is a signal that a wound
needs tending to right now,

left unattended.

The fire of inferiority
can collapse inward.

Curling our bodies into
shame, isolation, despair.

It can drive us underground beneath our
own lives, beneath our consciousness.

And it is there that nothing new can grow

yet observed with clarity
observed with Satya truthfulness.

Observed with my favorite ZA nonviolence.

The fire of inferiority becomes
the first spark of healing.

I promise you it's not
asking you to vanish.

In fact, quite the opposite.

It's calling you to stay, to stay
present with the burn, to tend to the

wound and rise amongst and through
the flames, not run away from them.

You know, it's common knowledge that
our federal lands across forests, across

open spaces, rangers and caretakers
of the earth set fires on purpose.

Controlled burns,

the fire burns through the underbrush
consuming all the dead brittle leaves,

the needles, the tree trunks that branches
to feed and make space for renewal.

And without these fires, the forests
would choke the soil would harden.

And the old brush would build
and build and build until the

first strike of lightning.

The first trigger would not
bring rebirth, but catastrophe.

We cannot let our bodies be
containers for untended wounds because

catastrophe will certainly come.

Fire saves the forests, it feeds them.

And the same is true for us.

When we feel the fire of
inferiority, we are given a choice.

Hide and let it fester and build and
build and build for catastrophe or stay.

Tend to the fire, tend it into
something sacred, something that

clears the old debris for new growth.

The Yoga Sutras speak of this discipline.

Here's one of my favorites, quote.

By self-discipline and purification,
the body and senses are refined and make

ready for the realization of the self

pain is not proof of failure.

Pain is proof of hurt.

When we sit with our hurt, we begin
to purify it so that we can see the

landscape of what has happened to
us that we did not choose our pain.

Our pain is there for us to grow
into wisdom so that we can help

prevent similar pain in the world.

Our pain is the teacher
for the whole universe.

Now bring your attention to the fire
of inferiority that has lived with you.

Where is it in your body that it
inflames when you encounter old

wounds, old voices, old experiences?

Notice where that lands in the body.

And then imagine right there, right
there where it burns a tiny flame.

Nothing wild, nothing dangerous.

Just a small controlled flame.

This is your controlled burn.

It belongs to you.

It does not burn to shame you.

It burns to show you the way.

Can you notice the sensation
of sitting with your burn?

Perhaps it's uncomfortable.

Maybe you wanna get up and
grab your phone or go on a walk

to look away from yourself.

Whatever it is, notice and please stay.

Please practice the burn.

Let's use the breath with each inhale.

Imagine feeding this fire with courage,

with remembrance of everything
you've ever done and everything

that has been done to you.

And with each exhale, imagine
releasing some dry, brittle debris.

Some old story, some shield that you
wear that no longer helps you, some

mask where you hide your wounds.

Breathing in feeds the
fire with courage to stay.

Breathing out releases the dead story.

You can stay here.

You are not burning alive.

You are being revealed.

You are becoming.

The self that cannot
burn is what will remain.

The fire of inferiority
says you are not enough.

And the fire of tapas says, you are more
than you have ever dared to believe.

So stay here and let it burn away.

Stay.

When you're ready,

let the image of the fire gently fade.

And take a big long inhale

and a big, long exhale

and see if you can still
feel the warmth of the flame.

I invite you to carry
this warmth with you.

Out of your meditation, out into
the wild, into your life, into

your work, to your friends, to your
family, share all of your fire so

they can see there is a pathway too.

Remember, pain doesn't
mean you're failing.

Pain is the very fire
that makes you whole.

Within the ashes of old wounds, the
soil is rich, fertile, and alive.

Something beautiful is waiting to grow,
but only if you stay Something beautiful

is waiting to grow, but only if you stay.

Stay with the fire.

It knows the way.