I recall some months ago I was preparing a salad for breakfast. I was peeling (and later seeded) a pair of cucumbers – and as I was doing that I thought to myself ‘Why am I peeling the cucumbers?’. Of course, there is a ‘logical’ answer – since we can’t afford organic vegetables we prefer to remove any potential traces of insecticide which, we assume, concentrate in the peels and in the watery center. But then it hit me that this recurring act of peeling is actually an internal movement of doubt – doubt in the intentions and methods used by the farmers that grow my food. Doubt had become an unconscious yet constant part of my nourishment.

Shakuhachi

Also some months my wish for a new Shakuhachi came true – and a semi-professional flute entered my life. The purpose of this flute was to open a door to studying with a teacher. I was under the impression that a more fine-tuned instrument is required for formal studies. Indeed shortly after it arrived I found a teacher who is kind and generous and fulfills my indulgence for a lesson once in a while.

During the first lesson my teacher attempted to assess the quality of tuning of the flute – which is difficult to do over Skype. Getting a correct pitch in Shakuhachi is a challenge – it depends on the tuning of the flute, on breathing technique, the embouchure (shape) of the lips .. and on the weather (bamboo changes pitch in varying temperature and humidity conditions). Knowing the flute enables my teacher to better guide me (or maybe more importantly not misguide me) in my playing. I was left with a doubt about the tuning of the flute. Doubt, again, this time in Shakuhachi, an instrument I took on as a part of my meditative practices.

Faith

All of my attempts to dispel my doubts regarding the tuning of my Shakuhachi failed and led to unpleasantness. I questioned the maker (who’s life work made it possible for me to hold a Shakuhachi). I resented my teacher (for causing me to question myself and the maker). I pushed myself too hard to play better, to prove that the flute is in tune and that I can play in tune, which ultimately inhibited my playing – and left me with even more doubts … until … a recollection of an incident during a lesson in my Yoga teachers training course rescued me.

We were studying Ayurveda. Our group included numerous students who had come from a background of modern alternative-medicine studies. My teacher indicated at the beginning of the lesson that some of the ideas he will be introducing may strike some of us as counter-intuitive to what we already know and believe. He suggested that we refrain from dissecting and judging the teachings, that we take them with us as a complimentary perspective to what we already know, and that only after we’ve lived them for a few years, we indulge in evaluating their truths and relevancy to our lives as practitioners and teachers. Ironically, a few minutes later, some of the soon-to-be Yoga teachers railed out against the teachings that were offered.

I applied this lesson to my Shakuhachi predicament. I decided to embrace my Shakuhachi settings, including my instrument, it’s maker, my teacher and myself. I decided that I would take a few years before making any observations or coming to any conclusions. This choice has replaced my doubts with faith. It has fostered a softer setting in which I can explore and fluctuate in my relationship with Shakuhachi.

As for cucumbers… it’s getting better but I still haven’t achieved peace. I have been asking myself why I don’t trust farmers in my society… and though I have strong intuitions I have not yet found or formulated clear answers that I can put in writing. But inquiring into the matter has brought farmers and farming in my soceity closer to my mind and heart. I am more in touch with the things I have in common with them and therefore able to experience more sympathy for them and for their choices. Sometimes I go crazy and refrain from peeling or seeding (sometimes both!!) my cucumbers.

Wait, Just Wait

In my consciousness there is an instinct associated with doubt, and it’s programmed to ‘go out and find who’s responsible … and fix it!’. It’s a stubborn instinct (as instincts will be)… and it’s pointless. Instead, waiting, patiently and softly, usually creates a window of opportunity for my attention to move inward, and given time, magical occurs: pushing morphs into embracing and the disturbing energy of doubt becomes a soothing energy of faith.

In Shakuhachi playing I am getting comfortable playing the in the first register – sounds that are first experienced when blowing the instrument. I am still only an occasional visitor in the second register – which requires changing the flow of air into a more condensed stream which is key to reaching higher notes. I am usually a welcome visitor in the higher register when I arrive softly, and I am greeted by nice and steady sounds – which catch me by surprise. When I try too hard I can make the sounds, but they are not sounds I would wish to listen to or play.

In knitting I am not actually making anything – I am simply knitting to practice getting a flowing technique and consistent quality of work (like any new experience, you need to actually be there to meet subtle qualities which are difficult to describe). I find myself straining too much, I am definitely not consistent and I miss a stitch now and again. But I am getting a sense of flow and ease of movement as I practice.

In both cases I have thought, experienced and felt “failing”. I have failed to play a steady high-register note. I have failed to create consistent stitches in knitting.

Luckily I can draw a deeper perspective on “failing” from two different and persistent areas in my life – Yoga & fatherhood.

Yoga first – it’s easier. No matter how much I practice, I can never achieve a sense of completion with any of my practices. There is always room for refinement and introduction of additional subtle elements. My theoretical knowledge exceeds my physical knowledge – which means I know that I haven’t arrived and I know I never will. I have been given enough teachings to realize this and to continue to developer my practice indefinitely. In the first years of my practice I can recall a sense of conquering some intermediate challenges,only to find myself facing new and distant challenges (at best) or, more likely, a length period of repeated, uneventful practice. My teacher would remind us that practice is about “succeeding in trying rather then trying to succeed”.

I recall a story (I have no idea of it’s true) that flowed around the internet about Picasso – that as he was sitting in a park a woman came up to him and asked him to draw her portrait. He agreed, and with one continuous motion that lasted only a few seconds drew a portrait she loved. She asked him how much it would cost for her to purchase the drawing and he names a ridiculous sum, to which she replies “but it only took you a few seconds”. To which he replies “yes, but I’ve been practicing for it my whole life”.

Though we are expecting, we are not yet parents and Andreea is not yet biologically pregnant. Andreea teaches women (Romanian, Hebrew) about femininity-related issues including fertility, pregnancy & birth. Once in a while she encounters skeptics who claim that she can’t possibly be serious about teaching these things because she herself has not given birth. Even amongst family and friends there is a notion that we have “failed’ to get pregnant. We understand this and have experienced our own doubts and confusions. Yet our experience is that we are and have been pregnant for a long time, it has not yet manifested in body. We have been making and continue to make changes to our lifestyle, to our perception and to our relationship with the world around us. We feel that we are in many ways preparing for a time when a spirit will choose to manifest in our lives through pregnancy. Yoga teachings suggest that pregnancy is first experienced in heart and mind of two people – usually a mother and father – and only later becomes a physical reality.

In the end…

My teacher once told us about studying chanting in India. Chanting is usually taught by listening and repetition. A teacher chants (a sound, a word, a phrase… depending on the practice) and students repeat… over and over again – until eventually you get it. There are no mistakes, the very idea of a mistake is not a conscious part of the practice – you simply move on. In this way there is no marker in memory of it, and therefor also no expectation for it to happen again – “here comes that difficult word again, I hope I don’t mess it up again”. You stay in your practice, remain attentive, repeat … over and over again.

I can honestly recognize only one failure in my practices and in my life – forgetting that I am in endless process of practice & exploration.

click to play Shakuhachi recording

click to play Shakuhachi recording

click to play

click to play shakuhachi recording

Here is a short recording I made of practicing just one tone with this idea in mind: playing bamboo leaf shaped tones

When I viewed this recording in a sound editor I could actually see the tone shapes and how they change. Though it can be very challenging to reach a consistent shape and tone the practice is always rewarding. I experience great pleasure every time I experience a soft and effortless fading of a tone, every time I complete a tone just as my breath comes to an end, every time I discover a new potential for refinement (I realized fading in is a very different challenge than fading out). This simple image of a bamboo leaf created a vast space for me to explore.

Finally, here is a recording I made of playing the first 5 breath of Take Shirabe where I try to incorporate this idea of bamboo-leaf shaped tones: 5 breaths of Take Shirabe

I have been granted knowledge of an intimate relationship with a soul that is in the process of leaving a body and returning to a new one. Over recent weeks every time I play Shakuhachi, a recurring melody appears and connects me to this soul. When this happens tears flow, every time. I play to communicate with this soul. I play so that this soul becomes familiar with the sounds. I play so that this soul can find a way through the transition it is facing. I play so that this soul can find a familiar comfort when we meet again.

It is a divine experience. There is no sadness, and no happiness. There is peace and a sense of wholeness and purpose.

As a teacher I am blessed to be in situations where I resonate in the presence of a student and then make a choice and offer a teaching. It is humbling to realize that what I offer as a teaching in the present will take years of patience and movement to manifest. I am reminded again and again that teaching is sowing seeds. It is then in the hands of the student to nurture those seeds and create the conditions for them to grow and bloom.

As a Shakuhachi player I am again a student. Yet, due to the nature of the Shakuhachi and it’s place in my life, it is not just an instrument I am learning to play, but also a spiritual practice. So, musically I am a complete beginner – I meet myself every time I try to get & hold a note in Kan (the second register on the Shakuhachi). But “myself” that I meet already has some experience as a spiritual practitioner. I am less prone to confusion, frustration and over-exertion.

I know that my Shakuhachi teacher has sown seeds within me. I still have expectations to enjoy the fruits of my practice every time I play, but when those expectations are not met – I do not experience disappointment. I step back from the practice, create a new empty space and then step back in to practice some more… again and again… day after day. A part of me is looking forward to experiencing fruition of my Shakuhachi training – both for the sounds and the silence.

I have observed numerous patterns in the development of my practice:

• Recess leads to Progress. Almost every time I came out of recess and resumed practice – I experienced substantial progress. I found I could do things with my body and breath that I couldn’t do before. It felt as though recesses enabled my  body to assimilate things I had learned and practiced. My body not only remembered what it had known but found it’s way into new places.
• Progress usually leads to Excess. Progress leads to a sense of achievement and satisfaction. It enables me to do more, to intensify my practice. Being able to do more makes me curious and curiosity motivates me to push my limits. If I am not attentive I over-do and push my system into excess. Alas, progress is a temporary experience – it is quickly assimilated and then it’s gone. When progress ceases, motivation wavers. So I cannot maintain excess for long, and my practice breaks.
• Excess leads to Recess. When my practice breaks, it usually wavers and eventually I find myself in a period of no practice. And the cycle repeats itself.

I am currently in a period of consistent and focused practice. My focus and exploration now is on correct effort. I try to approach every practice session, every practice sequence, every asana and every breath with an awareness of correct effort in intentions, breath and body. I have a feeling that I am doing something different this time. I know where the trap to excess awaits me, I am practicing near it and I have not yet fallen into it.

I think that my Shakuhachi practice is tempering me. I am a beginner in Shakuhachi playing so I am revisiting a phase of learning that is slow, unsatisfying and requires persistence, patience and much repetition.

I am curious to see what happens in the coming months.