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The dog at my feet

For more than a year now, I have been practicing meditation. Some might describe it as "meditation light" because I generally do not sit longer than 30 minutes at a time. Indeed, that has been my longest session thus far. Every other day, I attempt to sit in the early morning hours for 20 minutes. Along with my yoga practice and my writing rituals, this feels about right to me. I have spent some of these 20-minute sessions sobbing or choking back tears. Other sessions have delivered me from the fog of some important issue I needed to see more clearly. Of course, many other mornings it's a battle to find some quiet in the chatter before the bell sounds the session's close.

About six months into this practice, I bought and read Jack Kornfield's book A Path with Heart: A Guide Through the Perils and Promises of Spiritual Life. At the end of every chapter, Kornfield provides excellent guidance in the art of meditation, incorporating whatever lesson raised and ruminated upon in that particular chapter. In this way, I have meditated with many different intentions in mind. And, as God is said to have noted after each new day of creation, I have seen that this is good.

Right around the same time I was learning more about the art and practice of meditation from Kornfield, we got a dog, a puppy from our local shelter. Because I am the early riser in the family, I am the one who first greets our dog every morning. As a result, he and I share a special bond. This includes my meditation time. Most mornings, my dog is at my side as I go through the ritual of lighting a candle, arranging my cushion on the floor of our guest room, setting the alarm, and sounding a chime, which signals my call to quiet. When I take the one seat, as Kornfield's teacher Achaan Chah describes it, my dog sits down, too, at my feet just in front of my blue cushion. It is remarkable how he has learned to be still along with me. In fact one of the early chapters in Kornfield's book A Path with Heart is entitled "Training the Puppy," and I have to smile now, thinking about how much my dog and I have learned in practicing this routine together.

When my dog first found me seated quietly, he would come into the room with a ball in his mouth ready to play. He would approach me and attempt to drop the ball into my open palm. When the ball rolled out, he would try again. After several failed attempts with one palm, he would try the other until, at last, he would realize that I was not going to move. Deciding, then, that he could live with that, he would curl up against my legs at the front of the cushion and wait. This ritual was repeated a few more times, and now he knows not to bother with the ball. Instead, he waits for me to take my seat, and then he takes his and sits quietly with me until the chime signals the time to rise. Kornfield was right. The puppies have been trained.

And yet, in many ways, my dog needed no training at all. At the close of each meditation session--and I do mean every session--my dog stands up and performs quite naturally a perfect ahdo mukha svanasana (downward facing dog) or its opposite urdhva mukha svanasana (upward facing dog). I am amazed each time. He shows me every time, not only this is how it's really done, and this is really where the pose comes from, but, more importantly, this is how to greet the day. A great big stretch, a complete embrace of and connection to the outside world.


Of course, my dog has learned all of this without having to read a single book. He hasn't had to pay for a single yoga class to perfect this pose. He simply decided to keep company every morning with someone he loves. You know that "Dog is my co-pilot" bumper sticker? I'm beginning to understand its message.

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