BY CARRIE GROSSMAN

Exhale. It’s summer and everything is in full bloom: the earth is rich with color, the garden abundant, the days long and light. Finally we can break out that stack of books, fire up the grill, and enjoy a delightful dip in the ocean. Finally we can slow down and relax. . . . Oh, if only it were so easy.

As much as we all want to unwind, most of us don’t always know how—or if we do, we rarely take the time. Spinning in a cyclone of busyness, even relaxing can seem like another item on our lengthy to-do list. In order to take in a bit of peace and quiet, we have to rip ourselves away from the iPads, iPods, and iProblems that rule our perpetually plugged-in existence. Lost in a maelstrom of techno-madness and fake news, we have severed ourselves from the earth as we stare at our devices, hoping they will fill our deepest need.

Perhaps the problem is that we have made a god out of illusion, and we regularly bow down to it. As the wise Indian philosopher Krishnamurti once said: “It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” And what is a sick society? One that defines happiness by the number of likes we get on Facebook or how we look in filtered photos. These misperceptions breed a culture of comparison and competition here the drive to be better than others—and to be “right”—creates a subtle tension that follows us through our days. We want to relax, but it always feels like there is somewhere else to go, something else to do, and someone else to become.

These days, the word relax is so overused that it’s hard to know what it even means. Etymologically, the term comes from the Latin relaxare, often translated as “loosen” or “open.” Of course, we want to curl up on the couch and take a hiatus from the hamster wheel of life, but is that it? Perhaps more than anything we want to untie the knots of closure that keep us tense and shut down.

In this world of duality, to speak about relaxation is to speak about tension. After all, without closure we would not know openness, and vice versa. Tension has many causes—namely stress, a word closely related to the Old French estrece, meaning “narrowness” or “oppression.” How appropriate, since when we feel stressed, our bodies constrict, our breath shallows, our muscles tighten, and we feel overwhelmed by life.

According to the American Institute of Stress, 75%–90% of all doctor visits are stress related. But stress itself is tricky to define because how we perceive and respond to potential stressors is very subjective. As the Greek philosopher Epictetus said: “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.” While one person may respond peacefully to a traffic jam, another may burst into a blasphemous rage.

Stress activates the fight-or-flight response, the body’s mechanism for dealing with perceived threats. If we are in the jungle and a furry, fanged creature wants us for dinner, it’s the fight-or-flight response that helps us brawl or bolt. Though today most of us don’t live in the bush, carnivorous thoughts follow us around and threaten our energy. Resentments, worries, and negative self-talk create a constant backdrop of tension, keeping us in a heightened state of alarm. As our bodies try to adapt, we habitually—and quite skillfully—build armor to protect ourselves. While such self-protection serves a purpose, it can also keep us from experiencing the full depth and beauty of our humanity. When we’re tense, we’re more apt to act without awareness. We’re also more likely to bark at coworkers and offer rude salutations to innocent telemarketers.

True relaxation brings a quality of softness. Such softness is often frowned upon in our culture, and many of us are taught that we need to be rigid and defended to get ahead in life. But if we look deeply, we may discover that softness is what we truly want. How many personal ads say: “Seeking lover who is closed, resistant, shut down, tense, and disconnected?” That’s not exactly appealing. While such states are natural and necessary, don’t we long to connect with someone who is vulnerable, open, and sincere? That idea is attractive, albeit intimidating. And that is what makes our intimate relationships so unique: in them we drop at least a little bit of our armor and meet our partner—or parent, pet, child, teacher—in a space of increased openness, shadow and all.

How then can we experience true relaxation? To begin, we can create space in our day to simply be. Often as soon as we have time to “be” we feel the need to “do.” All of the “shoulds” come rushing in, and the more we try to relax, the more stressed-out we feel! The Taoist teaching known as wu wei offers an antidote for this. Wu wei is about letting things arise spontaneously, without force—it is the path of “non-doing.” As the poet Rilke wrote, “Trees do not force their sap, nor does the flower push its bloom.” In the same way, our wounds heal and our hearts beat whether we “do” anything or not—so why not be at ease and trust the power that knows the way?

If that approach doesn’t work, we can breathe—mindfully and deeply. This practice stimulates the vagus nerve, which activates the parasympathetic nervous system and helps the body to relax. Spending time in nature works wonders as well. Instead of being so uptight and ungrounded, we can let the natural world lure us back into our body. When we feel the sand between our toes, smell the salty air, listen to the rain, or feel the warmth of a fire, we rediscover our place in the web of life. For a few moments we may even forget about the clenched fist of our egoistic existence and remember our interconnection with the vast and radiant cosmos.

If none of the above ideas resonate, try writing the word “control” on a piece of paper and putting a big “X” through it. Set that image in a visible place and look at it, often.

Ultimately we must gather our scattered mind and untie the tight knot of self. What is this “knot of self”? It is the notion that we are separate and isolated individuals, distinct from the rest of creation. The more we hold fast to this view, the more we push life away and exhaust ourselves in the process. When we relax both body and mind, we also relax this sense of separation and reclaim the totality of our being. How does this happen? By letting go of harsh striving and instead surrendering to each new moment. As we let go of tension, we release our rigid thoughts and yield to reality. We accept life just as it is and rest in the soft, shining, unbound openness that we are.

Carrie Grossman in senior editor of Common Ground. CarrieGMusic.com

COMPILED BY CARRIE GROSSMAN

The sacred erotic spirit is celebrated in every culture. From the Tantric Buddhist texts of India to Taoist love manuals to the Gnostic Gospels, the erotic spirit has been expressed in inventiveness, in constant discovery, and in the play of ceremonial devotion. In honor of the sensual, Common Ground is pleased to share this small selection of amorous poetry to ignite your desire and open your heart.

Her perfect naked breast
upon my breast
her lips between my lips,

I lay in perfect bliss
with lovely Antigone,
nothing caught between us.

I will not tell the rest.
Only the lamp bore witness.

—marcus argentarius (ca. 60 bce)

Xanthippe, singing at her lyre,
with whispering eyes
sets my soul on fire.

But when? Where? How?
Everything’s uncertain.
Except that my soul is burning.

—philodemos (fl. 75–35 bce)

“Song”

Winter skies are cold and low,
with harsh winds and freezing sleet.

But when we make love beneath our quilt,
We make three summer months of heat.

—tzu yeh (4th century)

My black hair tangled
as my own tangled thoughts,
I lie here alone,
dreaming of one who has gone,
who stroked my hair till it shone.

—izumi shikibu (970–1030)

“Blue Water”

He drifts on blue water
under a clear moon,
picking white lilies on South Lake.

Every lotus blossom
speaks of love
until his heart will break.

—li po (701–762)

Sometimes, everywhere I look,
O my love, I see your radiant face.
With you ever present,
how could I close my eyes to anything?

—kabir (1398–1448)

“Song of the Dream Garden”

Pillowed on your thighs in a dream garden,
little flower with its perfumed stamen,
singing, sipping from the stream of you—
sunset, moonlight—our song continues.

—ikkyu sojun (1394–1481)

Late evening finally comes:
I unlatch the door
and quietly await
the one
who greets me in my dreams.

—otomo no yakamochi (718–785)

Having wet me with love,
why did you leave?
You abandoned your unwavering consort,
having ignited her lamp wick;
she’s like a pleasure boat
set out to drift on an ocean of craving.
Either way Mira’s dead—
unless you return.

—mirabai (1498–1550)
trans. by andrew schelling

“Busy in the Spring”

Bright moonlight shines through the trees.
In a rich brocade, the flowers bloom.

How can I not think of you—
alone, lonely, working at my loom.

—tzu yeh (4th century)

Late evening finally comes:
I unlatch the door
and quietly await
the one
who greets me in my dreams.

—otomo no yakamochi (718–785)

Is that the same moon?
Is this the same old springtime,
the same ancient spring?
And is this not my body,
the same body you once knew?

—ariwara no narihira (825–880)

“I Am He That Aches with Love”

I am he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? does not all
matter, aching, attract
all matter?
So the body of me to all I meet or know.

—walt whitman (1819–1892)

I long for him most
during those long moonless nights.
I lie awake, hot,
the growing fires of passion
bursting, blazing in my heart.

—ono no komachi
(fl. mid-9th century)

“She”

Give me all the kisses of your mouth.
Your love is better than wine.

Your body oils are fragrant,
your name pours from my tongue.
That is why I adore you.

—the song of songs
(ca. 3rd century bce)

Give up erotic games, Kabir,
let longing flood your heart.
Only through tears of longing
can you glimpse the face of the
beloved.

—kabir (1398–1448)

As if to lift my babe-in-arms,
my brazen lover touched my breast
with just a fingertip.

—bihari (1595–1664)

Eros seizes and shakes my very soul
like the wind on the mountain
shaking ancient oaks.

—sappho (6th century bce)

I long for him most
during those long moonless nights.
I lie awake, hot,
the growing fires of passion
bursting, blazing in my heart.

—ono no komachi
(fl. mid-9th century)

From Erotic Spirit by Sam Hamill, © 1996 by Sam Hamill. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boston. Shambhala.com.