Welcome to The Overturned Jar

An exploration of the intersection of mindfulness and thought work.

The direct experience of your human life.

The master set a water jug in front of his students and asked this question

“If you can’t call this a water jug, what do you call it?”

Kuei-shan kicked over the water jug and walked away.

Direct Experience. It’s the difference between reading about having a pet and actually living with a dog in your house.

I’ve spent a lot of time reading about happiness and reading about mindfulness. I’ve invested a fair amount of time on a cushion focusing on my breath, a fair amount of time in downward dog – always looking for a way to quiet my mind.

I wanted to understand how a thought could go by like a cloud. To me, a thought always went by like a baited fishhook.

I wanted to understand what Zen masters were talking about when they said things like ‘wash the dish, don’t wash the dish – same thing’. What? No. One way the dish is clean, the other, it’s still dirty. What the heck did they mean?

I really wanted to understand what Stephen Cope was talking about when he said his teacher stopped all yoga practice for a year and told his students something like – American’s don’t know how to love themselves – and for one year, self-compassion was all they worked on. How could they spend a year on something I couldn’t manifest for more than a hot second?

Above all, I wanted to know how to love myself.

That question – “How can I love myself?” – was so far removed from possibility, I didn’t even know it was something I could have or should want. I didn’t know that I sought it above all else.

Then I discovered a life coach. She changed the way I think about thinking.

Thought Work Practice is the difference between reading about self help and actually helping yourself.

I coach people using Thought Work Practice. Above all else, I seek to bring others into direct contact with self-compassion. This website, this work, is my way of paying forward the great insights from all my teachers.

Namaste,

Amy D’Annibale