The Anthill Cushion
What do you do when your cushion turns into an anthill? You find yourself sitting one morning/evening/afternoon, and you can't seem to sit down still? Your body-mind is screaming, kicking, squirming in rebellion, and you don't know what to do. You're at a loss, sweating profusely under your arms, your heart racing like a mad horse. Perhaps a bit over the top, but I hope you recognize this feeling.
I ask this question not only with regards to formal sitting, but the usually more difficult aspect of everyday practice. The practice where you run to submit late papers, the practice you should be doing instead of therapeutically cleaning your room, the practice of not buying things outside the budget, the practice of getting up to a projected long looooong day-- the general practice of doing what you must and avoiding the excess, the poisonous.
What can we do to bring our mudra of meditation into open hands to the poor, the hands holding pens writing notes, keeping track of bills, the hands that rest firmly on keyboards tip-tapping away to get the job done?
How do we just do it?