I live in Montana. Big Sky Country. A state with more livestock than people, more fresh air than pollution, and lots of wide-open spaces. My house is in town, but the ski area at Bridger Bowl is only 30 minutes away, and it takes no time at all to get out into the countryside.
There are many reasons why I moved here from Denver two years ago, such as less traffic and shorter lines almost everywhere. But more space is the big one. Because I need vistas—views where my mind and heart can expand into the distance, feeling the expansiveness of life, and the abundant breadth of possibility held in the cup of every single day.
I had this fact brought home to me again in September when I drove back to Montana from Colorado, through the wide-open territory of central Wyoming. For most people, this barren landscape is a boring interval, best seen in the rear view mirror. But for me it is a visual retreat that opens my consciousness to wider views—and not just of the land, but of myself.
It also has a lot to do with living on the razor’s edge—which I had an opportunity to share with a local business women’s luncheon immediately after making this trip.
I began my talk by asking the ladies what the razor’s means to them. For many, it has everything to do with juggling their professional and home lives, getting everything done every day.
A yoga teacher talked about pushing the edge—knowing what your abilities are, deciding if you should push out or stay where you are. And an esthetician, who feels like she’s always on a razor’s edge, said it’s about being on a beam, in the zone, going beyond your comfort zone, and actually allowing your spirit to inspire you to move forward, beyond your wildest dreams.
Here is the transcript of how the talk unfolded from there:
I want to do a quick exercise with you. Sit comfortably in your chair so you can breathe deeply. At your own pace, take a very relaxed in-breath and then a very relaxed out-breath. Breathe in and then out. And one more time, breathe in and breathe out.
Did you notice anything between the in-breath and the out-breath? You weren’t panting, were you? This wasn’t Lamaze breathing. So you breathed in; and before you breathed out, what happened? There was a pause, wasn’t there? And what happened in that pause? Did you decide how you were going to breathe out? And maybe each time it got a little more relaxed. You did three in- and out-breaths, and maybe the last time it was more peaceful.
Well, that pause--that interval--is actually the razor’s edge. It’s the space between activity and inactivity, in or out, up or down. And so we are living with the razor’s edge all the time.
It’s the point of transition. It’s the point of decision. And what our esthetician was alluding to is that it is also the point of inspiration and intuition—where, moment by moment by moment, we are making decisions about what’s next. What’s to come? What am I going to do? How am I going to do it? And how am I going to be present with it?
That interval, that couple of seconds, is actually the present moment. And as we find with breathing, it’s not static.
How many of you had the idea that the razor’s edge is a single point? A "something"? I think we kind of accept that concept. We almost think of the razor’s edge as a sharp point. Maybe it’s the point of the knife. Maybe it really is a razor. It’s something sharp and it’s static. When, in fact, the razor’s edge is actually fluid.
While I was working on my third book, The LIGHT Process, I came across a term called nunc fluens. It comes from the Middle Ages. In the Christian tradition there was the idea of the fluid present. And the present is actually not a single second; it’s a moving interval of time.
I just got back from Denver and, unlike a lot of people, I really like driving across Wyoming. It’s actually one of my favorite things to do because—especially between Casper and Sheridan—there’s not much to distract you. Okay, there’s the highway, there are a few highway signs. But, otherwise, it’s wide-open spaces.
And what I discovered this time—because I didn’t have anything in particular to think about—I noticed that I was seeing the way an artist sees. I felt my whole body absorbing the nuance of the sky, the clouds, the color, the gradation of color. The foliage—and in many cases, the lack of foliage. But the nuance of sagebrush and the light and shadow playing on the landscape, the rolling hills.
And I thought: "This is one reason why we need wide-open spaces—to give us a chance to expand our horizons, literally."
This is also a wonderful manifestation of the razor’s edge, as I understand it. In daily life, as when we’re consciously breathing--we can be very focused on single task. Our whole perception can get very small, when, in fact, the razor’s edge is pregnant with possibility.
The razor’s edge is almost like our own “Big Bang”—right where we’re living. Because it is the portal, if you will, into great expansiveness, into our own expansive creativity, and our own opportunity at any given point in time to be more than we were in the previous moments.
The other thing about driving across this landscape is that it gave me such a visceral experience of the fluid present, because the landscape is always changing. Even in its sameness, the miles are going by. It’s always changing and yet it’s always the same. And the transitions between different kinds of topography are very natural in their unfolding.
At some point we realize that we got from Casper to Sheridan. And they’re different places. How did we get there? It was a process of being present—making sure we’re still consciously inhabiting our bodies while driving the car—being present with the landscape, with the world that we’re in, with the ground itself.
And I’d like to propose to you that that’s actually how we can approach the razor’s edge in whatever our activity is—whatever our business, whatever our lifestyle, whatever the demands are upon us in our lives. If we can pay attention to this razor’s edge, this point of decision, this point of intuition, this point of “in-spiration”—inspiring us through the breath, especially when we’re in life's big transitions.
So we’re not just rushing through life's changes, trying to instantly transport ourselves from the metaphorical Casper to the metaphorical Sheridan. But we’re actually present through the whole journey—so that when we get to our destination, we know where we’ve come from, and we enjoyed the process.
Copyright (c) 2014 Cheryl Eckl Communications, Inc. All rights reserved.
For more about living on the razor's edge, see www.TheLightProcess.com