Practitioner

ผู้ฝึกตน Practitioner – I first heard this word back in elementary school in Thailand. We, as young students, had to study Buddhism. Memorizing all the rules and philosophy was part of the curriculum. To pass the test, we had to chant in Sanskrit. It wasn’t very exciting, a bit boring, but doable for most of us. Buddhism was a big part of our lives, and as young kids, our brains were fresh. After a few days of repeating mantras and trying to remember words we didn’t understand, we passed the test without really grasping anything.

One term that frequently popped up during those chanting sessions was “ผู้ฝึกตน,” which is actually in Thai. So, why am I rambling about my life and Sanskrit chanting? Oh, right, because I used to know about Buddhism only on the surface. Chanting, for me, was a way to momentarily forget the world and focus on each letter, trying to pronounce each word correctly.

Now, at 37, living far from my hometown, working as a yoga teacher, moving daily on the mat, guiding people to a state of calmness, I slowly understand the term more. Not just through words or theories, but through practice, doing, and facing the truth of “practicing.”

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You are a learner.

There’s a story about a Buddhist monk known for his astonishing calmness and the peaceful aura that seems to radiate from him. People even say that just looking at his picture can bring a sense of calm to your mind. Sounds amazing, right?

But one day, a guy who knew this monk for a long time shared an interesting story. It turns out, the monk used to be quite evil and mean, even having taken someone’s life before. This revelation shocked those who heard it. Yet, the monk’s current astonishing calm and the beautiful demeanor he radiates are real. It’s a fact that nobody can deny. So, what do you think?

My therapist shared me this story one day in our therapy session, as I poured out my heart, expressing my frustrations about my parenting challenges. I long for the tranquility I find in yoga, where each breath is deep and enriching, and every movement is slow and graceful. However, in the whirlwind of my children’s tantrums, as they lie on the floor, kick, shut their ears to my pleas, and drown in their tears and dramatics, I find myself mirroring their chaos, shouting, yelling, and, at times, screaming—actions that unleash my own storm of tears and dramatic expressions. This mimicking of their behavior, while unintentional, starkly reveals a side of me I struggle to reconcile with. The realization that my actions, words, and even the tone of my voice could leave a lasting imprint on their lives, shaping their very perceptions and experiences, weighs on me profoundly. It fuels my quest for balance and a persistent calm that can weather the stormiest of times.

The story about the monk tells me something important – being a practitioner means you might not have the qualities you want, you wish, you beg for right at first. Tell me, who was born and could walk right away? None. Or even gripping a pencil the right way…none. These are skills and it required some practice and adjustments. You are a learner and by doing it over and over, things eventually transform. Absolutely, the bigger change, the harder it is.

…That’s the first thing I now know about being a ผู้ฝึกตน practitioner.

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The second thing…

It’s such a journey.

Handstand is a prime example. Four years ago, I cautiously walked my feet up the wall for the first time. My arms were shaking uncontrollably, sweat pouring – a moment of uncertain triumph as I teetered on the brink of the floor. Fortunately, I survived unscathed. Only two holes in the wall for me to patch. DIY project is waiting for me.

Witnessing myself achieve what I’d believed impossible for a lifetime was truly incredible. Endless doubts – ‘I’m too weak,’ ‘lack shoulder strength,’ ‘can’t even manage a single push-up,’ ‘small blood cells’ – played in my head until I defied them after giving birth to my youngest son. The desire to run, play, and jestingly throw my kids into the sky or maybe, for a moment, consider throwing them down on the floor…. just kidding

In my perspective, practicing should be a daily journey of improvement – small steps leading to gradual progress, like a straight line drawing upward over the years. Consistency, I thought, is the key to winning in practice. It’s akin to depositing coins into a piggy bank; with each contribution, you anticipate a larger sum, but reality is kinda….. differs.

What does practicing look like?

Practicing is a dance of ‘CAN’ days and ‘CAN’T’ days, intertwined with ‘REALLY DON’T WANT TO’ days. Sometimes, life just decides to throw you curveballs—kids get sick, and the whole house succumbs to illness, back to back, two or three times in a row, necessitating a necessary ‘PAUSE’ day in your practice.

On close examination, the path appears wavy, filled with ups and downs, The graph might not be as straightforward as one might hope. However, this initial theory isn’t entirely off the mark. Each time you show up for your practice, you indeed gain something. While some gains are tangible and measurable, when you zoom out, this seemingly erratic line begins to form an upward trajectory. This is because there are countless immeasurable aspects—numerous nuances that enrich the journey, demonstrating that progress, though not always linear, trends positively over time.

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Practicing doesn’t mean controlling

Third… practicing is not about control at all. Does it sound like it doesn’t make sense?

Before enlightenment chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment chop wood, carry water.” ~ Zen Proverb

A few years back, when I thought about practicing, it felt like it involved strict control. Consider dieting, for example. The initial instinct was to tightly manage food intake to lose weight and get in shape. But this often led to extreme actions like skipping meals, followed by intense cravings for sweets and chocolates shortly after. Resulting eat like a storm the next day. Does that scenario ring a bell?

During the past year, I lost more than 10 lbs, a story similar to many moms worldwide. Pregnancy brings significant weight gain, and it feels like that extra weight is here to stay forever. We’ve heard that moms burn tons of calories producing milk. GREEN LIGHT!! we can eat whatever we want? We need energy! Suddenly, our pre-pregnancy clothes feel like they belong to someone else, and the idea of fitting into them again seems impossible. We are so sad to see ourselves in the mirror.

But last year, something unexpected happened. One day, my husband returned home looking jaundiced and weak. Concerned, I urged him to see a doctor the next morning. After numerous scans, the doctor discovered a minor issue with his pancreas. To prevent it from escalating into something more serious, the doctor advised cutting out red meat from his diet.

In solidarity with my husband, I decided to join him in this dietary change. Despite my love for pork and beef, I committed to cooking only chicken, fish, and seafood at home. Outside the house, however, I allowed myself to indulge in my favorite meats occasionally. After all, they’re just too delicious to resist!

How does this connect to the Zen proverb? Well, let me tell you. To me, this situation felt like throwing myself into a circumstance with potentially life-or-death consequences for my husband. The right food choices could mean preventing horrifying diseases, while the wrong ones could lead to dire outcomes. We cherish him dearly and want him to stay with us. I love him, even when his dad’s jokes get a bit tiresome. So, ever since, I’ve been cutting back on pork and meat consumption.

It hasn’t been easy, nor has it been overly difficult. As a housewife accustomed to cooking mostly pork (about 70%), with a sprinkle of chicken, beef, and seafood, adjusting to this new diet posed its challenges. I must admit, I’m not particularly fond of chicken. In fact, it was quite a struggle.

But rather than focusing on strict control, I’ve learned to navigate this circumstance peacefully. We’ve experimented with various dishes—grilled chicken, fish, mushrooms, boiled and fried chicken—paired with rice, Thai noodles, Japanese noodles (ramen, udon), and Italian noodles (pasta) until we exhausted our culinary repertoire and started over again. It might not sound too difficult, but the lack of variety sometimes leaves me longing for the easy and delicious pork bone broth.

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I feel like everything happening in my practice mirrors this journey. Whether it’s mastering a handstand, yoga, managing my anger, or practicing meditation. I jump into each circumstance fully. I approach it with flexibility, taking breaks when needed, and acknowledging moments of tiredness, boredom, sighing, and complaining. Yet, just like a Zen monk who diligently tends to his tasks, I persist. Days pass by, and gradually, something shifts—I grow, I learn, and transformation occurs.

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This was such a long writing… I didn’t mean to write this long. The first purpose I have is just to jot down my thoughts about the term ‘practitioner’ that resonates deeply with me now. They signify a return to the simplicity of life, the continuation of the journey even after achieving enlightenment. As I reflect on my own path—from childhood chants to the struggles of parenthood, from mastering handstands to navigating dietary changes—I realize that the essence of the practice lies not in reaching a destination but in the ongoing journey itself.

Through the ups and downs, the challenges and triumphs, I’ve come to understand that being a practitioner is a wider perspective. It isn’t about perfection from the outset. It’s about embracing the process, acknowledging the imperfections, and persisting in the face of obstacles. Like the Zen monk who chops wood and carries water, I’ve learned to find peace and purpose in the mundane tasks of daily life.

So, what’s next after all these transformations?

After enlightenment chop wood, carry water

It’s simple: continue the practice. Keep showing up, keep striving, keep growing. Because in the end, it’s not the destination that matters most, but the journey itself—the journey of becoming a true practitioner, both on and off the mat.