image: quatriemedimension via Pinterest

“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor… Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”

~ Rumi

Tell me the things I already know.

I’m annoying. I’m a nag. I can’t relax. I’m bossy. Tell me about the pull of your samskaras. Tell me more about how your samskaras got loose and are now running naked and off-leash down your street.

Don’t let them drag you under.

Tell me the worst things about myself—those things that I am already aware of, that I am working on. Help me feel worse about them. Please, highlight them for me. Make sure you remind me of them often.

“Samskara runs deep,” my teacher says. And he is right.

There are unsaid things about the self that lie under every surface—we can bury them and keep them there and this is the easy thing to do. I’d like to call an estranged friend to say hello, you look good, hope you are doing well. But it is easier to avoid hearing their reply I’m still angry, I don’t want to hear from you. And all of this is hypothetical, of course. But I might call this friend if I knew I could keep past hurts tucked under the covers.

Samskara runs deep.

I crave acknowledgement; I want to be thanked for going out of my way for the people I love, but instead I am chastised. Chastised for the way that I help—which makes me want to stop helping all together. Feeling this way, I think of the people that help me and the way I push them away or chastise them in the same way people do to me. My mother. Aren’t we always just becoming our mother? And so I begin to understand what it is like to be in a sometimes-thankless-role and to be okay with this. And this makes me understand myself—and my mother—more.

Samskara runs deep.

It is very difficult to hear someone confirm what you already suspect is true about you. Someone might say that You are not enough or You are too exuberant. Is it true? Are they right? How did they know? And although in my heart I know that their words are a mirror to their own reflection—it seems too coincidental. Coincidental that they should say the words I’ve suspected for quite some time.

Samskara runs deep.

I drag my body through the quicksand of the past lives that I carry—my own and those of the people that created me. I carry the past lives of the people I love. And we are always just carrying these loads, trudging along, dropping baggage as we go. Here and there, without regard for where it lands. Like carrying an armful of laundry up a flight of stairs and dropping socks on each step. Someone could slip on the sock if you’re not careful—if you don’t see how and where your samskaras land. They run deep, you know.

This is a meditation on myself and others but mostly of myself.

For every person I meet is a mirror and a guide. Some mirrors are taller than others. Some mirrors are skewed. So when I step onto my mat every morning, I do this by choice. Recognizing that some reflections are not always what they seem. Choosing that these layers must be understood and protected. They are a part of me and you and they should not be tossed about thoughtlessly.

These samskaras are dangerous weapons.

Don’t let them drag you under.

 Like elephant journal on Facebook.

Ed: Bryonie Wise