The Still Point at the Center
Reflecting on Stillness for the New Year
Like a clock, a compass, the Aztec calendar,
mandalas map the way to the still point at the center,
the place where the clock hands don’t move,
where they move from.
Standing, I gaze at the mandala photo.
Upright on the wall, a third axis added,
what was flat takes on three dimensions.
The replica now a representation of radiance:
gaze and suddenly the Earth beneath feels as radiant—
a mandala in at least three dimensions.
The center of the earth
is our center. All beings on earth,
held to this same center
by the same gravity—
gravity being nothing else but the attraction
through space of one mass to another,
a representation in form,
perhaps, of love, of belonging,
of what makes us land, what brings us home.
-From “Encircling earth, the center of our gravity” by Karina Lutz
As we begin the New Year, which, by all predictions, will be filled with a dizzying amount of change, transformation and chaos, I’ve been thinking about stillness, that still point in the center of a storm, a refuge, the place where motion stops.
All traditions talk about this still center. Some call it God, Buddha-mind, the Dao. Not that Ultimate Reality is static: it’s not. It’s a verb, not a noun. But there is a place where, in the center of all the motion, there is stillness. The apex of motion is stillness, when things move so fast it looks like they aren’t moving at all. Think of a spinning top.
Consider our own bodies. Atoms spinning around so fast we appear solid. Everything we see that seems still is really just atoms and molecules moving so fast they appear unmoving. Spinning creates gravity. Electrons spinning attract other electrons. Everything is being pulled toward the still center of a planet spinning wildly in space.
I am reminded of an amusement park ride I loved as a kid. It was called “Barrel Full of Monkeys,” and was a cylinder that spun around quickly, the centrifugal force pinning you to the wall as the floor beneath you dropped. The other kids would scream, turn upside down or try to pull themselves off the wall, but I just hung there, suspended, perfectly still, while the world spun. It was my favorite ride.
Daoists teach that from stillness Wu Wei, or effortless action, arises. From stillness comes motion, but we must rest in the still point for the action to become useful. Otherwise, we are just spinning around until we exhaust ourselves (which is another way to get to stillness, but not recommended).
Breath also has a still point between the in-breath and the out-breath. Everything comes to a place of rest, even for a split second.
Being pulled to that still center is home. It’s safety. Perhaps that is what a spiritual longing is: being pulled by the force of gravity/attraction toward stillness, toward the center. Toward home. “Be still and know that I am God.”(Psalm 46:10) Like the mandala, the center of it all is a point. Still.
These days, I think of that still point as the place I to which I can return when it all feels too much. Where I can let the world spin and be unaffected.
“ 'Cause I'm alright with a slow burn. Takin' my time, let the world turn,” as Kacey Musgraves sings in “Slow Burn.”
More and more, I believe this is something we need to cultivate in the coming months. Stillness, silence, letting the world spin around us, while we rest in that still point.
As the new year begins, rather than giving yourself a longer “to do” list, try removing some of the outer “to dos” and finding stillness instead.
This year, less is more.
Still.
If you want to begin the New Year with a practice that brings stillness, consider a purchasing a copy of TEN WORDS.