This morning, I started my day with my Zen practice routine, after which I laid down to rest for a minute. And that’s when I experienced a profound release deep in my abdomen. It felt as though a heavy knot of tension had suddenly dissolved in a single, powerful breath. My breathing became deeper and more relaxed, and an intense sense of calm washed over me, a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I can compare the sensation to that instant relief you feel when after a long flu, your nasal passages finally clear, or when your ears pop, and the world becomes crispy and audible again. But this was deeper and more profound. It was a release that radiated from my core, and its warmth seemed to flow throughout my entire body.

A few nights ago, I had a vivid dream that has lingered in my mind since. In the dream, I became acutely aware that I was dreaming. I was walking along a beautiful lakeside landscape when everything suddenly became blurry, as if my vision had failed me. In the dream, I thought, “If this is my dream, then I should be able to see clearly.” And in that instant, everything snapped into focus. A visual clarity that was much sharper and clearer then even in my waking life.

I continued walking up a path until I came across a carving of an elephant. As I gazed at the carving, I noticed a swirling ball of energy emanating from it’s face. As I focused on it, I felt that same swirling energy begin to rise within me, and it became so powerful that it jolted me awake. I was up now but that energy stayed with me until I fell asleep again.

I’ve always tried to dissect experiences like these, and understand the mechanics behind them. But in this case, I’ve had to accept that I don’t really know what’s happening or how it works. Is it an ability that I’ve been honing through my ZEN practice? Did I truly choose to see clearly in my dream? Did I consciously release that heaviness from my abdomen, or did it happen on its own, as a result of the mindfulness and inner work I’ve been doing at the Harmony center?

Perhaps, like the analogy of congested nasal passages clearing, it’s all a matter of healing. Maybe this is my natural state, and I’ve been “sick” for so long that I had forgotten what normal even feels like. It’s only now, after this experience, that I can see just how far from that natural state I have been. And maybe, the process of letting go and releasing has allowed me to experience a deeper sense of peace that’s always been there, waiting for me to come back to it.

How many times do I need to re-learn the same lesson before I finally “get” it. So many times I was sure that it had finally clicked, just to fall over and repeat the same mistake again.

The lesson I’ve struggled with as it relates to my tendencies of perfectionism – is that the only way for me to move forward and accumulate real understanding is to first flush my information by putting it out or just letting it go. It does not matter even what the form the “putting it out” takes. I end up holding onto ideas, and concepts and memories, feeling like they need an outlet – but until it’s released it just leaves me stuck with the unresolved hanging threads that remain to occupy and consume my mind, blocking me from a natural flow.

This is a matter of timely learning. If I see life itself as my teacher, to incorporate the lessons I am learning, there needs to be processing and flow of those ideas and truths (and energy) into something else, whatever form that takes. I’m writing this blog now to try to express and output an understanding that I’ve arrived at after many years of struggle. But only after I release it in this form can I actually move on to the next attempt and next lesson and next iteration. So action is needed but still I tend to hold on to things for too long, until they are overripened or overcooked. At which point it just becomes a soggy mush.

As a antidote to this tendency I am learning to embrace the perspective of a practicing student— that it’s okay that I don’t know everything now or am able to do everything perfectly. It’s much more important to stay committed and consistent with the actual practice so I can accumulate enough familiarity with the lesson until hopefully it finally sticks. And accepting all the embarrassments and failures along the way with humility and grit will allow me to grow that much faster. There is a lightness that comes from remembering that I don’t need to have it all figured out. I am practicing, learning through the doing, and trusting that understanding will come in its own time.

So I again fully surrender to the flow, allowing actions to take shape without my preconceived judgments or expectations. Reflection, and analysis will still have it’s time, but they come separately after the doing. In the act of doing, I aim to simply be open and present with the practice. As my teacher keeps reminding me – Do it now, and judge later.

As a chronic overthinker and perfectionist, I often find myself inadvertently missing the natural timings of life. It seems that somewhere deep down, I’ve felt like time is an infinite endless resource, and that there will always be an opportunity to go back and complete things later. This sense has led me to be careless with time, often being late or delaying the start of certain tasks believing that there will always be time.

And it’s not just the timing of physical actions; it’s also in the timing of my emotional responses. It’s often like my reactions are on a delay. Emotions come, but sometimes a beat too late, missing the natural flow of the moment. When I should speak up, I hesitate. When I should let go, I hold on too long… often leading to an odd kind of awkwardness in my interactions.

Whatever my intention is – these missed beats are communicating something: hesitation, ambivalence, uncertainty. Though internally I see it as a moment to collect my thoughts, to the outside world it can look like a lack of conviction, a lack of care, or even disregard. This becomes especially apparent in my relationships. In my social life I sometimes find myself holding back my true feelings out of a fear of causing hurt. But that hesitation, that delay, ends up creating more uncertainty and more suffering.

So how do I get back in tune with the natural flow of time? I can reflect on the lessons from Tai Chi where the goal is to “make mind and body as one.” It is exactly a practice of being present, allowing body and energy to naturally flow from the center without overthinking each movement. When the body and mind move together, there is harmony. I’ve learned to physically move with the natural energy that’s already present, not forcing or resisting. So why don’t I take that lesson and apply it to all the other aspects of my life? Now is the time!