Yoga Tales from Rural Maine: The sound of compassion

Today was one of those days when my students healed me.

I sort of limped into my teaching week yesterday, a bit drained by some experiences in my personal life. And today, I felt so disconnected and unable that I thought perhaps I should cancel my classes.

But what yoga teaches me is to show up. 

So, I showed up. And my Beth Wright students were utterly lovely. By the end of class, I felt more beautiful and less shredded. Often times teaching is like getting a hug from someone who makes you feel really good, and this class was like that for me.

Later, still feeling a bit wobbly, I prepared for my evening class, fully expecting it to be empty. It was raining and no one (usually) comes to yoga when it rains. But as our start time approached, my students streamed in the door until we were packed-to-overflowing.

The theme for our class tonight was The Sound of Compassion. I taught my students the mantra Om Mani Padme Hum for the first time. I explained that while the literal meaning of this mantra is about beholding the beauty of a lotus, the fuller meaning—the deeper yoga wisdom—is about summoning the power of compassion. These words are like the abra cadabra of compassion, I told them. When you speak them, or even better, when you chant them, you can make compassion appear seemingly out of nowhere. When you chant Om Mani Padme Hum, you become a beacon of light, and you call toward you all of the compassion that comes from our Oneness, the compassion of our Source, the compassion that is always all around us if we just tune in.

Whether you believe in the cycles of the sun and the moon or in a form of divinity—or both, or something else--this compassion exists between us as beings; it is in the breath that we share with the trees and with the ocean and with one another. And when we chant Om Mani Padme Hum, we are vibrating with the energy that is that compassion. We can call it to us when we are in need; we can send it out from us when others need it, too.

When I stood in the rain early Monday morning, gazing out at the stark gray expanse of the bay, waiting for my turn to search for the body of a man who had jumped from the bridge, it was this magic that I called on. When I felt a tidal wave of grief looming up before me, I chanted softly from beneath my firefighter’s helmet, Om Mani Padme Hum. When the high-pitched twang of fear plucked discordant inside me, I chanted. Om Mani Padme Hum. I said the magic words over and over. The rain beat down, the recovery boats crisscrossed the heartless bay, and I chanted very quietly until I felt like a lighthouse on that shore. And when the light filled me up, I sent it out—out to that man’s family, out to that man’s spirit, out to everyone who was looking for him, and out to the ones who would find him.

Today, I came to my teaching uncertain that I had anything to offer. But by the time our evening class was under way, I felt much more myself. Just the happy presence of all those students helped my heart to get its bearings.

Because it had served me so well as a first-responder on Monday, I taught my students The Sound of Compassion. We chanted it slowly at first. And then we tried the rapid-fire version. As we began the first round of rapid chanting, I heard one of my students in the back begin to giggle at himself. He was trying mightily to chant om-mani-padme-hum really fast, as I had instructed, but he got tongue-tied and he started to laugh. I felt the moment when I might be able to hold true to my neutral teacher space and sing us all past the laughing that was about to erupt, but this was no tidal wave of grief to be fended off, so that I might serve in a time of crisis; this was the opposite of that. This was a giant wave of happiness, about to crest, and when it did, I jumped on. Just as I said “yes” to getting into the rescue boat on Monday, I said “yes” to hopping on that raft of laughter. The whole class and I stopped calling compassion, and for a moment, we just laughed. We surfed on a wave of giggles. Every tired face was alight. Every mouth turned up into a smile. I let all my inner tension, all the holding on and holding up, I let it break and wash over me. What could be more compassionate than that?

Om Mani Padme Hum is the abra cadabra of compassion. It is the magic words. It will always bring you compassion, if you ask. It will bring you quiet strength, when that is the form of compassion that you need; and it will bring you a room full of people to laugh with, when that is the form of compassion that you need.

*Om Mani Padme Hum*

Three of these students (but none of these donkeys) were with me tonight, chanting and giggling, too.