This week’s Torah portions, Nitzavim (standing) and Vayelech (and he went) detail the covenant G-d makes with the people of Israel before Moses passes along his leadership prior to his death. When looking at these portions in the context of the Jewish calendar and the upcoming High Holidays, we can glean some inspiration for our self-reflective work as we plan to “stand” before G-d, our community, and ourselves.

The text describes a warning: when the people of Israel are aligned with their covenant with G-d, there will be blessings, and when they turn away from their covenant, there will be curses. The text uses different versions of the Hebrew root word “shuv,” which translates as “turn” or “return” – an interesting coincidence in light of the approaching holiday. At this time of year, we are asked to do “teshuva.” While this is typically is interpreted as “repentence” the word originates in the same root word this portion uses: to turn/return.

When G-d addresses the nation, the text details the diverse members of the larger community that are being addressed: from leaders and officers, considered highly ranked in the group, to the woodcutters and water-drawers, the lowest rung of society. It has highlighted by commentators that not one person is left out of this covenant, regardless of their social standing or assumed worth.

In reading this, I thought about how when I started a meditation practice, I was hoping it would foster my higher self and help me get rid of sides of myself I disliked. I wanted the “leader” in me to step forward and the “woodcutter” in me to go away. As I practiced, I realized that I spent a lot of energy running away from parts of myself that could not be separated from the whole of who I am.  My attempts at turning away again and again from the parts of me I didn’t like just fueled my frustrations and intolerance of who I am in comparison to who I wanted to be. After some time, my practice took on a different focus that is much more in line with the description this portion offers: whatever and whoever is within me, I make space for it all. I do not distract myself or avoid the parts I dislike in favor of the things I prefer: I am dedicating my practice to include all sides of myself. In doing this, I have found much healing and compassion within myself.

We spend so much of our energy trying to prop up those sides of ourselves we value while ignoring or avoiding the parts that we dislike. What if we took the time this holiday season to re-establish a covenant with all parts of ourselves? What if we turned to address and acknowledge each part of the whole package of who we are? Perhaps this type of teshuva or returning would bring us closer to atONEment and make space for blessings and peace in return. My kavanah (intention) for practice is to sit in openness for all parts of ourselves. We can gather up the pieces of ourselves that we love as well as what we dislike and stand together in one-ness, recognizing that all of our selves are necessary, from the high priests to the water gatherers.

A few weeks ago, I was at the Garrison Institute for the Awakened Heart Project and Institute for Jewish Spirituality Jewish Mindfulness Teacher Training Program’s first retreat. After a week of teachings, practice, and silence, we were going to have a “talking breakfast.” We were told that another group was beginning a conference at the retreat center, not a meditation retreat, and we would all be in the dining hall together. It made sense that we would break our silence beforehand and not require the other group to have a silent breakfast.

I should tell you that during this retreat, one of the themes that kept popping up for me was integration. And, more specifically, how am I integrating all aspects of my life. Now, through Joshua Venture Group, I will be supported in directing the JMC, but I also will continue to work part-part-time as an urban planner. This career juxtaposition was on my mind, because I love my urban planning job, I want to finish my projects, and leading the JMC (and being supported financially to do so) is a total dream come true. How to do both and not burn out?

Back to breakfast. We all entered the dining hall. The other group was already there, talking, loudly. After a silent retreat, I always have a little bit of a hard time adjusting to not being in silence. My energy level spikes, and I feel kind of shaky. It’s a hard transition. Anyways, that happens. I take a few seconds to just notice it, and then a friend starts talking to me. I notice over his shoulder someone from the other group, sitting, eating breakfast. I recognize this person. I try not to ignore my friend, but I quickly realize that sitting before me is one of my urban planning heroes. I quoted him extensively in my Masters Thesis, cited his work constantly, and loved his recent book. Van Jones. Totally out of context. He was at the Garrison Institute for a conference on the “Green Economy.”

I looked back at my friend, and told him the situation. “Go talk to him!” And so I did. I walked over, interrupted his oatmeal, and said “Hi. You’re Van Jones!” He looked up and nodded. Said hello, politely, cautiously. “I’m Alison. I’m actually here for the meditation retreat, but I’m also an urban planner.” Now he smiled, got up, shook my hand. “I wanted to come over and say hello, because I’ve been so inspired by your work. Thank you.” He hugged me, we talked, and he said “Thank you. Thank you for going on meditation retreats. Thank you for taking care of your spiritual self so that you can do good work in the world.”

This seems to be the lesson I come back to over and over again. To me, it doesn’t matter if you’re a “good” meditator, or spiritual practitioner. Your practice on the cushion is going well- awesome, but that’s not that exciting to me. What interests me is how we take our practice into the world. How do you treat other people- strangers and loved ones and not-so-loved ones? How are we working to help others? Integrating our practices and our lives can be difficult, but when strange coincidences that open your heart and blow your mind start happening, I like thinking that means I’m going in the right direction. After talking with Van Jones, I floated back to my table and smiled over my oatmeal.

All these years I’ve meditated and been committed to a truly noble path, supported by extraordinary teachers and spiritual community, I kept waiting to calm down. Not to get so worked up– to have my big emotions and wild mind gently subside. I think I’ve finally stopped expecting that to happen, and started believing in what I’ve read and been taught over and over– that I’m fine just as I am.

Why now? The other night around 1am, after a stressful grant application process, I read a poorly composed email and got really angry. However, while quite expertly pitching a fit, with audience, at the surface, the rest of me rested in a sort of calm clarity that wasn’t reacting, or judging. Awareness prevailed, emotion subsided, and I was shocked.

We’ve all heard the cute admonishment, “You are what you eat.” From a meditation standpoint, “You are what you think” is a sound statement that after a few years of steady meditation, interlaced with bouts of mood-itation, I believe in from experience. Change how you think, check your motivation and amp up your positive aspirations, and you begin to change who and what you are at a very deep level.

“You are what you feel:” is this as true a statement? In the tradition that guides my life, Tibetan Buddhism, the Tibetan word for feelings or emotions often translates as afflictive emotions, while the word for thoughts, or concepts, usually translates as discursive thoughts. So am I afflicted by my emotions, or afflicting others, and merely led astray or burdened with non-essential stuff (one definition of discursive) in terms of my thoughts? One thing I’m sure of: stringing thoughts together like a train, constantly anticipating the future and retracing the past, only leads to more confusion, because I cannot be certain that every thought I have is altruistic and mindful. And even if I was, having tasted the open space that really is available when thinking subsides, when thoughts are just allowed to dissolve like the wispy, insubstantial things they are, I wouldn’t trade that glimpse into the non-dual expanse for a truck-load of shiny, happy, thoughts that still involve me taking myself seriously.

As for emotions, letting oneself be run by emotions is both exhausting and potentially dangerous. (Sometimes I read the news to remind myself of this.) Emotions are regarded differently than thoughts though. Of course, emotional responses, however grandiose or subtle, fuel thoughts and then actions, if things go that far. But within emotional reaction is a unique opportunity to watch on mind, as one of my teachers advises. And within big emotions–strong reactions and assertions of “how I feel”–is a unique opportunity to maintain awareness and even equanimity, while experiencing genuine and natural emotions. The tricky things is that these opportunities arise and dissolve in a heartbeat.

And for so long, I’ve slept through that heartbeat. I’ve thrown my fit, had my emotional response, and come through the other end feeling bashful and utterly lacking in awareness and grace. How many times have I heard or read from reliable sources that emotions don’t go away, and they don’t need to. Whatever our emotional constitution may be-angry, jealous, full of desire, inclined to dullness, proud as a rooster–are the tools we have to work with on and off the cushion to foster awareness and truly awaken to our in-dwelling divinity. Every moment on the cushion does inform our whole existence. It’s these moments when clarity and awareness prevail in a tough situation that affirms this. More practice needed? Definitely. Can I accept myself for what I am and have confidence within that? Now, I think so.

This morning was our second morning sit (thanks for your dedication, early birds!), and last night was our second evening sit (this is where I remind you that “Brownstone Enlightenment,” our weekly sitting meditation, is every Monday evening at 8pm and Tuesday morning at 7:30am; the first Monday of each month is geared specifically for beginners, and we meet at the lovely Brooklyn Zen Center).

The creation of the Jewish Meditation Center of Brooklyn grew out of a desire to have a neighborhood space for Jewish contemplative practice, to have a regular sitting group grounded in the practice and teachings that we have been doing on our own. There’s something so special and beautiful and inspiring about practicing together. It’s unique, I think, to find spiritual community. I know it happens constantly, and has happened throughout all time, but when you feel connected, through practice, through silence, through your own spiritual path, it doesn’t feel so commonplace. Maybe that’s the nature of it, it’s banal and mind-blowing at the same exact moment.

Sitting together, in silence, in a group allows each of us to evolve and grow into ourselves in ways that just are not possible when you are alone. Rabbi Alan Lew used to say that a benefit of sitting together in a group is that you’d be too humiliated to get up and stop practicing after 10 minutes, because you’re bored… that by feeling that your presence is a necessary part of everyone else’s practice, just by showing up, your own practice grows roots. Not wanting to let other’s down, recognizing our personal responsibility in supporting community, works. It makes sense, but Rabbi Lew and many other teachers also point out that it goes much deeper.

Practicing as a community reminds us that we are all connected. When you sit together, breathe together, fill a silent room together, there is a palpable exchange of something- spirit, energy, intention, aspirations. When we connect deeply in this way, we are also connecting to every other being- knowing and acknowledging that others’ suffering is our suffering, our happiness is everyone else’s happiness, too. Not feeling the isolation that goes along with being a person, or maybe, more importantly, sitting with it fully, without fear, and feeling it together, as a community.

Since starting a daily practice (although in the past few weeks, it’s been more like weekly), I’ve been thinking a lot about the benefits of just showing up.  After months of meditating regularly, there were no lightening bolts, no miraculous epiphanies, very few fireworks. I’ve had those sorts of ecstatic experiences in the past, and at the time they were more scary and weird than helpful. But now, nothing. Or so it seems. Instead, what I think is happening is a deepening of my practice, like I’m settling into my self.

For months, I was feeling overwhelmed. Whenever I’m extremely busy and lots of things are happening, I think “it’s just life, life’s busy,” but at that moment it was just a lot of life. Personal life, career, spiritual practice, health, happiness, it’s a lot of work! Add in being kind, love, learning, growing, and it’s even harder. “It’s hard to be a person,” I say a lot. Not in a negative way. I’m with the Buddha in the first Noble Truth that “life is suffering,” and I don’t think the Buddha was a pessimist. It’s not good or bad. It just is. Suffering exists. The way I see it, the point is to ease the suffering of others, and that practice eases your own suffering.

It’s called practice for a reason. You don’t start meditating and instantly get a halo, wings, and a black amex. Life is still hard, there’s still suffering, but you’re so much better equipped to deal with it. To find a balance and not get overwhelmed.

So, still no fireworks, no light-filled realizations of enlightenment, just more of an integration. At some point, in some subtle way, I realized that life doesn’t feel as hard. There are moments, of course, that are challenging and difficult, but they’re fleeting. Mostly, I feel grounded and have faith (miracle of miracles) that everything’s unfolding perfectly, whether it makes sense at the time or not. And it feels like this is because of my morning practice.

Somehow, just showing up does something. Making that committment to yourself, to your practice, setting aside time for your intentions and aspirations, is magical. Not at the time, usually- most of my morning sits are sleepy. I’ve  spent weeks  each morning imagining how I want to redecorate the living room, going over a recent project for work, daydreaming. Some mornings it’s easy to concentrate, and I start the day with a clear mind and a full heart. And, when it’s difficult, I try other meditation techniques, or sometimes I just let myself mentally rearrange the living room furniture. I’m starting to believe that it doesn’t really matter how vigilant I am. As long as I show up and practice.