Between the Moving Train

On Sunday, I went to the LP Chalee Meditation Center for meditation and a dharma talk. Phra Bryan spoke about the Seven Factors of Awakening “as antidotes to the Five Hindrances.” I’ve reflected on these two themes before. The seventh factor is equanimity.

I may have misheard him and I didn’t ask for clarification. My mind was too busy in the words. I think I caught him saying equanimity is a state of ease and calm. “The mind is unmoved.” “The mind is detached.”

I’m not sure I agree that equanimity means an unmoved mind. To ask the mind not to move feels like asking the ocean not to have waves.

Equanimity, as I’m beginning to understand it, is not rigidity. It is capacity. It is alive. Hindrances can touch my heart, but I don’t have to be dragged by them. I’m still confused by it but my heart is telling me that equanimity isn’t about nothing touches me. It’s this touches me and I remain whole.

Today in yoga, during the final pose, the teacher spoke about looking toward what is positive when life feels challenging. She said, give yourself grace. Imagine a cup that holds love. If that cup is empty, there is no love to offer, not even to yourself.

On the way home, I was stopped by a passing train. I watched the flickering headlight of a car on the other side of the tracks. For a moment, I thought it was the car itself, but then I realized it was the train.

That flickering felt familiar. It wasn’t a glitch in the car’s light. And maybe the flickering in my life isn’t a glitch in me. Maybe it’s the heavy, fast-moving things passing through, the transitions, the losses, the changes. These make it feel like my grip is slipping, even when I am doing everything I can to survive.

The flickering made me wonder: Is my cup empty? No, it can’t be empty. I love my child with my whole heart, and yet sometimes it feels like the cup is dry. Later, in the shower, another thought came. Maybe my heart is not a cup. Maybe it is a well. And my well is not dry.

Perhaps what the yoga teacher meant by “giving yourself grace” is not about refilling an empty cup, but about drawing gently from the well. Maybe my cup feels dry because I haven’t been offering that love to myself.

Forgiveness was a decision my mind made. But healing? That’s in the body. It moves slowly, unfolding, whether I notice or not. Equanimity, a balance, happens in the nervous system, when my mind and my body stop fighting.

I can forgive someone and still feel my heart ache. I can have closure and still feel unsteady on my feet because my life’s rhythm has changed and is still changing.

My slipping grip is not failure. It is transition and I need patience. Eventually, the train passed. The car’s headlight became steady again. Right now, I am still watching the train go by. It is still making noise. It gently vibrates something inside me. Sometimes it makes the light look like it’s flashing.

But I don’t need a perfect grip to do a good job. Maybe staying in the car while the train passes is enough. It will pass. The fact is that the light was never broken. It was only interrupted.

This is how I am growing my equanimity, not by forcing the waves to stop, but by learning to remain steady in the moving dark.

Slowly. Steadily.

Wooden Toy Train