How To Catch A Feather

Many, many years ago, I was attending a meditation retreat at a beautiful center set beneath the evergreen folds of the Catskills, Dharma Drum Retreat Center—a place of true serenity, set beside a small, sublime lake, and with some of the sweetest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting

I had been there once before, several years prior—an experience that unequivocally changed my life.

However, this time, I was struggling. And I was struggling hard.

Though I had dabbled enough with meditation, I simply couldn't settle into the practice this time for the life of me.

During the times meant for stillness, all I could feel was the deafening chaos of my mind, unwilling to quiet itself in the least.

The experience of peace, calm, and, dare I say, enlightenment that I had been so eagerly anticipating had instead been replaced by the most disquieting discomfort I could have known.

After several days of trying and trying, flailing and failing, I was downright exhausted.

The disappointment was so overwhelming that I even thought about leaving the retreat early.

Just calling it quits.

Thankfully, however, the nuns leading the retreat were kind enough to offer sessions where we could come bring in questions about the practice and receive some form of guidance—essentially Buddhist office hours.

I signed up without hesitation.

I was paired with one of the main facilitators, Chang Ji Fashi.

Bless her soul, because I came in hot. Mind you, at the time, I was a young brother coming from the bustling streets of New York, so I shared what was going through my mind in the best way I knew how:

“Look, I know I’m not supposed to be thinking, but I keep thinking about not thinking… and then I’m thinking about thinking about not thinking… and then I’m thinking about not thinking about thinking about not thinking about not thinking…”

I’m pretty sure I was waving my hands wildly in the air—you know, the universal signal for “I’m losing my damn mind here.”

To her credit, she chuckled softly, offered a compassionate smile, and leaned in.

With a curious invitation in her eyes, she asked, “El, how do you catch a feather?”

I looked at her quizzically, and replied,

“Ma’am, with all due respect, I’m from Brooklyn. We don’t catch feathers. We got pigeons. We don't know what they’ve got. And we definitely don’t want to be picking up whatever they’re dropping, you know what I mean?”

She laughed a little, though still unfazed and intent on being with me through this moment of growth.

“Fair point,” she said, smiling. “But indulge me, if you will. Imagine a feather, slowly drifting down before you. How might you catch it?”

I hesitated. “I mean… I’d grab it?”

“And what happens when you do?”

I pictured it—reaching out, grabbing for it, only for the feather to flutter out of reach with each attempt.

“It slips away.”

“Mhmm. So stay with that. If it slips away when you grasp for it, how else might you go about it?”

As she asked, she allowed me both the space and the grace to encounter a conclusion that organically emerged from within, an insight undoubtedly made possible by her kind, patient, and inviting presence—and one that I will likely never forget.

I sat with it, and thought, and contemplated, and listened, and felt.

And with a breath that rolled boulders off my shoulders, I looked up at her, and whispered:

“With an open palm.”

She returned my gaze with a smile.

“Yes. We open our palms. We wait. And we allow the feather to land of its own accord.”

As I heard her reflection, I felt the knot that had formed in my chest these past few days finally loosen, the weight of all that forced effort slowly lift.

For I understood that the more I grasp, the more we grasp, the more we try to grab and grip this ephemeral gift of being, of life, the harder it becomes, the further it flutters away from us, and the more frustrated we become.

But when we soften, when we wait, when we open, then what we seek is given permission and space to settle gently where it was always meant to.

Here, with us.

In that moment, shared between wooden halls and patient breaths, I began to understand.

Meditation isn’t about forcing stillness or wrestling silence into submission.

It isn’t about “not thinking” or “clearing the mind.”

It’s about allowing. About softening.

About holding compassion, patience, and loving invitation for what is meant for us to land.

This is what Chang Ji Fashi was kind enough to offer a restlessly impassioned kid from Brooklyn.

This is what I am privileged enough to offer my mind now when it begins grasping and gripping, as it does, and as all minds do.

And this is what I offer to those I serve.

To you, now.

An open palm.

Reflections for Growth

• Grasping vs. Opening: In what areas of your life are you currently grasping—forcing outcomes, rushing timelines, or trying to control the uncontrollable? How might you shift toward allowing, trusting the process to unfold?

• The Feather Moments: Think back to a time when something beautiful, unexpected, or deeply meaningful entered your life—without you having to force it. What conditions made space for that moment to land?

• Patience as Practice: In what ways does waiting make you uncomfortable? In what spaces of your life are you rushing toward answers or outcomes? How could patience be an active, empowering practice rather than a passive one?

Invitations for Practice

• The Feather Meditation: Find a quiet space. Close your eyes and imagine a feather floating slowly toward you. Notice any urge to reach or grasp. Instead, practice softening, trusting that the feather will land in your open palm when it’s ready. Stay with this visualization for 5-10 minutes, breathing deeply.

• Softening the Hold: Where in your body or mind do you feel the most tension right now? What might it feel like to release that grip, even just a little? What fear or belief fuels the need to hold on so tightly? What is it requesting or requiring in order to soften and open?

• Pause Before the Reach: This week, when you notice yourself tensing, controlling, or reacting impulsively—pause and ask, “Am I grasping? Or am I allowing?” Take a breath, and adjust wisely & accordingly.

As you practice, please jot down your thoughts and experiences. And as always, feel free to share your reflections directly with me.

With an open palm and a heart full of gratitude,

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