Brush and Sword

The newsletter by Sameer Sharma

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Issue #2

Invest In Loss-What Might You Gain By Letting Go?

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A Lesson From Push Hands

“Invest in loss,” my Sifu told me (Chinese for, “teacher”) after a Tai Chi class. We had been practicing “tui sho” or “push hands” as it is known in English. Push Hands is a practice in the martial art of Tai Chi were two practitioners cross arms and try to take each other’s balance through the sensitivity of touch. Actually, the word “push hands” is a misnomer. You’re actually not trying to push your partner. Rather, you are listening to your partner’s energy and intention through the tactile sense of touch. It’s this listening skill (“ting” 注意的 in Chinese) that one develops when practicing push hands.

In order to “listen” to your partner’s energy, you must be receptive and willing to be pushed by yielding and letting go. This is the hard lesson that nobody wants to learn; including me. We naturally want to resist something that pushes us. As humans, our bodies are wired to either resist a perceived threat or run from it; aka “fight or flight”. Our reptilian brain does a great job at keep us alive. But this primal instinct becomes a limitation when we allow it to hijack our higher faculties. In push hands, the more I resist and brace against my partner’s force, the more I get pushed and knocked down. This is both the paradox and the lesson.

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After a lot of frustration and failures, I finally listened to my Sifu’s instruction. I invested in loss and let go. But this wasn’t an immediate fix. In fact, I got thrown around like a rag doll by my Sifu even more. I felt like a crash test dummy just going along for the ride. This went on for weeks. More than my body, my ego was what really got pushed around. That was harder to bear than any physical discomfort. Yet, I’m stubborn enough to keep doing something until I get it.

In a few weeks, something magical happened. I could sense, yield and redirect my Sifu’s force sooner and keep my balance a bit longer before eventually getting thrown. When practicing, the goal isn’t to not get thrown, but rather to discover what emerges when you no longer resist. This can only happen when you let go and are willing to be thrown. This willingness, this acceptance is the real skill.

Giving Up the Fight

From this state of surrender, a new level of control and stability emerges. It comes from a deeper somatic wisdom that is inherent in our bodies. But we’re usually cut off from it because we live in our heads. According to the German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche,

Having been a martial artist for almost 30 years, I know this to be true. Letting go, surrendering and being completely accepting what is here in this moment, is one of the hardest things to do as a human being. We seek safety, familiarity and permanence in a world that is not. Rigidity and an iron will are considered the antidote. They are not.

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The creative act requires a degree of comfort with the unknown and the ability to let go. This can seem scary, as if a part of you would die if you did. Actually, a part of you does die-the small self, the ego that thinks it’s in control and knows all the answers. But this little death is necessary to truly feel alive. The poet, David Whyte said,

The Drawing Draws Itself

While doing this drawing, my frustration forced me to heed the lessons of letting go and investing in loss that I learned from my push hands practice.

I was imposing a control on the medium that didn't exist. I wanted the precision of a sharp graphite pencil from a blunt piece of chalk. If I pressed too hard, the delicate chalk broke under my hand’s pressure. I had to let go of trying to make the medium perform in a way it wasn't designed. The blunt chalk and the small space didn't allow me to get the detail I planned in the figure's face. I had to give up my initial plans and accept what was staring back at me on the paper. My limitations forced me to find freedom and space by letting go.

I chose to work with the medium rather than against it and did a larger study of the face. If I were able to get the razor-like precision from the start, I wouldn't have done the larger portrait study. I’d have missed out on practicing my portrait skills, learning the lessons, and making a drawing that turned out better than I expected. Otherwise, my fear, masked as perfectionism, would have thrown this drawing in the trash.

Letting go of controlling the chalk led to letting go of controlling the outcome. I reached a point where I hit a wall and didn’t care if this drawing sucked. Sometimes a breakdown is needed to break through. It’s a form of grace. The bigger, wiser Me allows the little me to exhaust itself until it surrenders. Then It can step in and do with ease what the ego couldn’t with brute force.

Like push hands, I let go of the idea of control and became present with what it is in front of me. In that moment, I found a different relationship with the medium that created marks I couldn't have made with a sharp pencil- softer, looser lines, subtler changes in value and an overall more expressive effect. When I gave up insisting how it should turn out, I allowed a dialogue to open between me and the work.

Rather than insisting what it should look like, I listened to what it wanted to be. This is the real “work”- to let go, get out of your own way, and allow something greater to come through you on its own. Perhaps this is what St. Thomas meant when he said,

This drawing that was within me had to destroy my resistance in order to come forth. My attachment would have become a death grip that choked the life out of it had I not listened, invested in loss and let go.

An Unselfing

All resistance stems from fear. The small self, the ego, is literally afraid for its survival. The obstacle isn’t the work; but the beliefs of the ego. “I am a great artist! I shouldn’t be making these mistakes! This drawing has to be perfect! I’m not good enough! I’m a fraud!”. These are a few of the many compelling arguments my ego makes when I hit an obstacle and fear that my very survival is at stake. Investing in loss and letting go is no longer identifying with this inner critic.

I’ve found the best way to deal with this inner critic is not to suppress it, but rather acknowledge it and keep moving. When I try to deny it or drown it out with positive affirmations, the critic just shouts louder. I buy into its trap and reinforce the resistance that I’m trying to overcome. I do my best to befriend it, allow it to be and just keep working. Action, no matter how small or imperfect, is the best remedy.

This is the “unselfing”- the detachment and disindetifdcation with that petty, fearful voice. I have to lose my attachment to it to gain a sense of equanimity and centeredness. Slowly, the Gordian knot of limiting beliefs starts to loosen and my ignorance of knowing the answers is replaced by the wisdom of knowing nothing. In this selfless state, something else can come through.

An Act of Generosity

Once I finished this drawing, I realized that letting go is also an act of generosity to myself, my work and those who will come in contact with it. When I am generous with myself, I give myself permission to make mistakes and reap their valuable lessons. Otherwise, I deny myself these gifts. I no longer flog myself into achieving unrealistic results. I am generous to the work because I give it space to breathe, and evolve on its own. I am generous to others by giving them the opportunity to engage with my work. None of these benefits would exist had I remain attached with a vice-like grip.

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By investing in loss, I lose my resistance and gain whatever I was withholding from myself. Perhaps what is really withheld is a sense of “enoughness”. When I feel there is enough, I don’t grasp. When I feel the work is enough, I don’t hide it. When I feel I am enough, I don’t defend. Investing in loss and letting go sets both myself and my work free.

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Share your thoughts. I'd love to hear from you!

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Best,

Sameer

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