meditation

Sitting…Listening

September 12, 2013 by admin

I took my knitting and went outside, where I found a shady spot on the wall at the bottom of a slope. My purpose? To sit and observe. I would knit a row, then look around, watching the patterns of the sun. I studied where rain water drains into an easement. I enjoyed the view of the tree, where deer often rest when they need relief from the heat.

I am starting to learn about permaculture. At its micro level, permaculture is a design method that utilizes strategies to get Nature to do much of the gardening work. By enriching soil, guiding water, and combining a variety of plants, garden yields can increase while workload decreases.

One of the first principles of permaculture is to observe. As we spend time in our yards, we learn little details about them that will help us later. No planning, no judging, no ideas, just listening. There will be time for action and planning later in the process.

At the same time, I am entering into the deep woods of menopause, waking more at night with hot flashes and night sweats. While I take herbs to help provide relief, this is a time of withdrawing and observing. I am told that when I get to the other side of the turmoil, I can then figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. For now, though, I need stillness and solitude and rest. It’s been one reason that my blog has been so hit and miss. While I like engaging with my readers, I am going through a powerful transformation and have to let go of what I think I “should” be doing.

Yesterday, after a relaxed morning, a loved one needed my emotional support. Because I wasn’t exhausted, I could be fully present and helpful. Last night, before bed, hubby and I lay a blanket out on the deck so we could watch the stars. It was a perfect night, with the Milky Way revealing itself more and more with each minute we were away from the artificial light. In the Not Doing, we could marvel at the miracles of the universe that are everywhere…something we need to do more and more in these troubled times.

I know that as one delves into permaculture more deeply, there are larger implications for our communities and our world. Already, I have learned enough to blow my mind about the solutions to food and climate issues that already exist. For right now, though, as I say goodbye to the young woman I was and embrace the beginning of my crone-ness, I am content to observe my own land and let it speak to me. My garden and I will grow in our own time and in our own way.

Book Tuesday: Feeding Your Demons

November 6, 2012 by admin

When we remodeled, we created a small room intended to be a guest bedroom. We had planned to put in a trundle bed. However, when we rerouted our heating system, we had to place the door in a different spot, making it impractical for a bedroom. Yes, if we need to, we can put in a cot of some kind, but for now we have made it a reading room, with two comfortable chairs and a lamp table in between.

Today I stopped joking and used the room for that purpose.

I’ve written before about how I work with fear, depression, and anger — I prefer to “dance” with them, or “invite them to tea.” However, lately that’s been easier said than done. A recent interpersonal conflict has disrupted my work, and I’ve held so much tension in my jaw that I broke one crown and dislocated another tooth (yes, I’m getting a mouth guard). It’s been a painful experience in the midst of an otherwise idyllic life. Unfortunately, I can’t say anything more about it than that. Let me just say that some people have WAY too much time on their hands.

I’ve taken appropriate action on a practical level, but I’m more concerned with what’s going on inside of me. How can I dance with this? How can I take this situation to tea? I can’t change the actions of others. I can, though, change my response. I can find inner peace. This time, though, I need a little extra help!

Enter Feeding Your Demons: Ancient Wisdom for Resolving Inner Conflict by Tsultrim Allione, which provides a five-step meditation technique known as Chod.

Allione is a former Buddhist nun who runs a retreat center in Colorado. Like me, her life was cracked open, and its trajectory radically altered, after the death of a child. Like me, it took her three marriages to find her true partner. Reading her words, I find the wisdom of someone who has “been there and done that,” who understands my inner challenges.

I went into my reading room and, iPad next to me, went through the five steps. Even with having to look at the instructions, I still had a profound experience. Here’s a summary:

After breathing in the method prescribed in the book, I examined the “demon” I wanted to work on. I chose Fear, a dominating force in my life. In the conflict I mentioned, which has escalated, my greatest fear is of having my actions misunderstood and misinterpreted, then communicated to others.
I “personified” the demon, which appeared to me as a fragile glass/ice man. He was translucent, pale blue, and afraid to move — much like people whose bones break easily.
Asking the demon a series of questions, I discovered its need for protection and strength. He expressed a sense of separation from me.
I imagined myself “feeding” the demon, which came in the form of rosy energy coming from my heart. As I did so, he transformed into a handsome, vibrant young man with clear blue eyes and porcelain skin. I asked and confirmed that he was my ally.
Then I asked the ally a series of questions about how he would help and support me. He offered to alert me when something was wrong, but also to provide the strength of healthy “male” energy. He said that all I needed to do to access him was to look into his eyes.
Next, I sat in stillness for a few minutes to integrate the experience.

While I don’t know yet how this meditation will help me vis a vis my current dilemma, I did feel stronger and more grounded after the meditation ended. At any rate, I think this method can be profoundly effective.

Allione also notes how we can use journaling, artwork, and partners to facilitate the process. Feeding Your Demons provides not only detailed instructions to the method (much more than I’ve outlined here), but also a series of examples of how it works in peoples’ lives. If you’re looking for a useful technique for releasing stress and emotional pain, I highly recommend this book.

The Zen of Wool

October 10, 2012 by admin

A group of ladies sat outside in the fresh spring sunshine spinning wool into yarn. Each wheel had its own charm and one, or sometimes two, treadles. Fluffy fiber transformed into even strands that wound onto their bobbins. They looked serene, relaxed…happy. “I want to do that,” I said. So, when I saw the name and telephone number for Amelia Garripoli, aka The Bellwether, I was ready. She was starting a new beginner spinning class the next week.

My first spinning efforts, like me, were tense. Terror showed up in the thread as it alternated between “not spun enough” and “spun to within an inch of its life.” Here I was with yet another “enjoy the journey” activities, darn it! 10,000 hours, Garripoli says, is what it takes to develop mastery. At my age, let’s see, that calculates to…never mind.

As I practiced spinning, I thought about my writing. I’ll get the obvious out of the way: while spinning yarn, I thought about spinning yarns. Buh dump bump. Cue groans from the audience.

Still, if you can deal with sucky drafts, writer’s block, and working in spite of life’s constant interruptions, then you are qualified to learn to spin. Having taken a few months off from writing, I just traded in messy drafts for messy yarn.

I could have just bought yarn in the store. Knitting should be enough, right? But no, I have to keep going down the rabbit hole. Maybe spinning a cleaned, carded fleece would be enough. But then…

I hadn’t planned to buy a wool fleece, but the bag of rich, deep brown fiber looked too delicious to pass up. It came with a photo of the sheep, for God’s sakes! I had gotten a glimpse of him lounging out in his field. I imagined turning his winter coat into one for me, and I salivated at the thought.

My teacher had given me instruction on fleece washing, but I decided to catch some YouTube videos to brush up. Turns out that there are many ways to wash a fleece, with plenty of adamant opinions about the right way to do it. I watched several and took the common denominators to heart. Namely, don’t turn the darn stuff to felt. This happens when we do “too much.” Too much agitation, too much temperature, too much handling.

Hey, it works, even when my teacher isn’t around!

I thought of an essay writing class that I took years ago in Houston. During my critique, people praised my work, my skill, my emotional connection…then asked me to revise it in such a way as to remove the circus tent poles that held the whole thing up. When I tried to rewrite it, it disintegrated into one long, boring mess. Too much handling. We writers have to find that balance, and we have to surround ourselves with people who won’t critique our work down to a pile of mush. Fortunately, while I can’t do anything about a felted fleece, I could reconstruct the original essay — which I then got published.

As I carded the fleece, it turned from globby matted fistfuls to smooth, soft hair, lighter in color than I expected, more of a golden tan. Each rolag, or rolled fiber taken from the cards, felt like fragile cotton candy. But would it spin?

I fed the fiber to the wheel, I felt something shift. I’d spun fiber that had already been prepared, but this was different. It was as though starting to read a novel from the beginning instead of jumping in at the middle. I knew it better. I had a relationship with the fleece. My work was still uneven and imperfect, but less so…and as I gently tugged on the fibers to lengthen them, I felt the rhythm of the treadle under my foot, the wheel turning at just the right speed, and the yarn filling the bobbin.

With each turn of the wheel, I felt my love of writing return as I longed to share the experience. I remembered each tender draft of a manuscript, messy and uneven. With yarn, it’s possible to add more or less twist where needed to create even strands. With novels, each draft brings improvements and new insights into the writing process. With time and patience, both the yarn and the writing smooth out.

Spinning is a form of meditation, and I see when my mindfulness disappears. All of a sudden my gorgeous strand of yarn has doubled in width, or the wheel turns in the wrong direction, causing my work to unravel from the bobbin. I stop, take a breath, fix what I can, and then go again, just as I do with my “regular” meditations. Our minds wander. That’s what minds do. All we can do is come back to the present moment.

The same is true for a manuscript. There are places where the writing sings, and then sentences where I say, “Huh?” Even after several drafts, I find places where my mind has checked out of the story and decided to explore other territories while I thought I was writing. The writer’s life requires patience and an ongoing return, return, return to the present.

Even in the end, the thread is never perfect. Yes, I can even it out and fix obvious mistakes, but in the end, homespun thread will never have the technical perfection of storebought. Mine won’t, at least!

Writing is never done and never exactly right. But at the same time, there is the time to let the book go out into the world, warts and all. A book is never perfect, never fully finished. The moment comes when the author must say, “Enough. Enough. This is the best I can do now.”

One day my fleece will be a sweater or a throw, something warm and soft and nurturing to the body. From sheep to sweater, I will know every aspect of this particular fiber. No other fiber will feel or act exactly like this one. It is my first, and it feels like a miracle. I feel the same way when I see one of my books for the first time. For all the imperfections, all the stumbles, all the struggles, there is a book in my hand, a miracle of cover and fonts and page numbers, with a story that only I can tell. From start to finish, it is mine, and perhaps it will fall into the hands of someone who will feel as though she has just donned a warm, soft, nurturing sweater to shield her from winter’s cold.

Under The Fig Tree, I Follow the Magic

July 11, 2012 by admin

This is the neighbor’s yard, but the furry visitors figure in to this story!

In my back yard, at the bottom of a slope, a fig tree stands, sprawling, with raw amputations of some of its branches, leaving rough, jagged stumps. Branches spill over the deer fence into the vegetable garden. Other branches crisscross each other in competitive fury. Unpruned, unguided, and unruly, the fig tree remained gnarled and bare as spring arrived. While flowers bloomed and cherry trees dazzled with vivid whites and soothing pinks, the fig tree showed no interest in joining the springtime fun.

I would ask local gardeners what they thought. “Do I have a dead tree?” or, “Is it normal to be dormant this late?” They would shrug their shoulders. “Wait and see,” they all said. I didn’t want to do that, of course. After decades of city and corporate life, I’m still sort of a Type-A girl. Still, when in Rome and all that. So I took a deep breath and waited, and tried not to worry about it.

Sure enough, at some point about the beginning of May, tiny shoots of green appeared, shy and tentative. I started picking off last year’s fruit, dried and withered from lack of interest. Unable to maneuver a lawn mower to that part of the yard, I worked the weed eater to cut the grass around the tree, thick with moisture from collecting run-off from the slope above it.

The more I get to know the tree, the more I find myself hanging out underneath it. It fascinates me. I find myself patting a branch here and there, running a hand along places where bark is stripped, and I caress the rough, crude cuts. It is deeply wounded, and yet resilient, determined, audacious.

As the leaves grow and multiply, new figs begin to form. A couple of raucous crows, uprooted from a damaged madrona tree that neighbors removed, have found a bare branch on which to perch and groom each other. “Welcome to your new home,” I tell them. “You’ll be safe here.” I am happy for the crows, and happy for myself.

The more I stand there, the more a vision arises. I see a Buddha in quiet repose under the tree. I see benches where I, and perhaps others, can sit in contemplation.

Inside the house, I visit my friend Google, which tells me that the bodhi tree, where the Buddha attained enlightenment, is a variety of fig. Of course, Adam and Eve made their first clothes from fig leaves, and fig trees show up in Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Islamic stories and legends. There is something far more interesting going on here than the fig newton cookies of my youth.

I order a cookbook, Under the Fig Leaf by Sherri P. Lee, that tells me when and how to harvest the figs. While I wait for them to ripen, I am learning how to freeze them and dry them, and how to prepare them with meat, with salads, with desserts. There are even fig martinis! I have eaten only a handful of fresh figs in my lifetime, so I explore the mysteries in the hopes of using them, and not letting them die on their branches.

First fruits, not ready to harvest just yet!

The deer who roam the city know this, too. A mama doe with her two fawns traverses the yard nearly every day. She has found a place to stand on a terrace wall, where she can reach a few of the branches. She has stripped one bare of all its leaves. On the other, she nibbles at leaves and bites at the not-yet-ripe fruit. These are for her, I decide. There is abundant fruit, with plenty to share with a hungry mama.

It would seem in a place like this, teeming with verdant fertility, one could spend a great deal of time. Perhaps it is a magic place, where one can let go of cares and worries and bring dreams into focus. The vision continues, and with it I hear the soft whisper of inspiration. “Add an entry,” it says, “and cover it with vines. Then circle the tree with a labyrinth…”

A labyrinth. Why not? I have already spent time here and know the power of this spot for meditation. I first walked a labyrinth years ago, when I, like the tree, was wounded and unruly. Since then I have walked labyrinths wherever possible, even at Chartres Cathedral in France, though my personal favorite to date is the outdoor labyrinth at the Kripalu Center in Western Massachusetts. Walking the labyrinth, we are told, shows us our life and ourselves. It is a powerful walking meditation.

I measure the area. Could it work? I see a narrow path lined with shade- and moisture-loving flowers and ground covers. I find statuary online: a Buddha, Quan Yin, and even the whimsical, like meditating frogs and cats. I weep with joy at the vision, even as I am bowled over by what it will take to create it. I start to calculate when to cover the grass in order to replace it; when to call an arborist to tend to the fig tree and begin to heal the abuse it has endured; how to create and build the labyrinth; what to plant; what to include.

Over the years I have learned to never question a vision. I consider it a requirement of my existence to bring a vision to the fore. It feels a little like “Field of Dreams” to me, except that I don’t have to risk losing the farm. It is that mystical pull to creation — the same thing that makes writing an absolute must, the same thing that somehow brought Henry and I here, to this town, to this home, to this new life. Under the fig tree, I follow the magic, the next spiraling steps, of my journey. Like a walk in the labyrinth, there is no goal, no end, no “there.” There is only the walk.

When Dreams Turn to Nightmares, Part II: How to Wake Up

September 7, 2011 by admin

Here I am, about to post a blog about handling disappointment, when people I know have had to leave their homes due to the wildfires in Texas. In this case it’s appropriate, because they are finding resilience and leaning on others near their area to get through. I dedicate this post with great honor to those who still struggle not knowing if their homes and businesses will survive this tragedy. My thoughts and prayers are with you during this devastating, painful time. I think that for today I will skip posting Switzerland photos. I’ll offer more tomorrow…but for today, out of respect to those caught in the fire, I will have a photo-free post. Please, if you’re reading this, take a moment of silence for those who are suffering. If you pray, please pray for them. Thank you!

***

Last week I wrote about the many ways that our dreams can turn into nightmares. We find ourselves struggling to get started or have unexpected obstacles block us. In some cases, we lose our dreams altogether. I am well aware, for example, that many people are unable to travel in the way that I can, either due to physical problems or financial losses. Many of our fellow American brothers an sisters are dealing with long-term unemployment and a disappearing job market. It may feel too painful even to dream at this point. So what do we do when that happens? How do we keep the faith in ourselves and in our personal callings? And who am I to think I might have a solution to offer? After all, I have a pretty cushy life.

Here, in brief, is the reality of my life: I have been married three times. My first marriage was brief and, at times, abusive. My second marriage, though much more pleasant, fell apart in large degree after we lost two babies and were unable to have more children. In the midst of all that, I had a long-term, chronic illness, and our finances went south. While in the worst of my illness, I lost my ability to concentrate, let alone write. I wondered if I had squandered my talent and if I would never be able to write again.

In the midst of this long, deep, dark night of the soul, I had a revelation. I realized that I could still be happy, no matter what had been given to me. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I undertook to find out.

Discouragement can hurt. We may be willing and able to go for our dreams, but we struggle to start or get stuck somewhere in the process. Either we don’t know enough about our craft, or we get scared. Here are some tips that may help:

Know that Self-Doubt and Discouragement are Normal – I used to think that if something was hard, it meant that I was doing the wrong thing. Now I know that’s not the case. Yes, we can learn to let go of struggle, but if you haven’t (I sure haven’t!), just know that your feelings are normal and natural. Some days fear and self-loathing just flat get in the way!
Let Your Efforts Be Lousy – Often we can’t get started because we want to be great right off the bat. Allow yourself time to experiment, to fail, to experience efforts that make you cringe. Do you get angry with a baby learning to walk because he falls down? Of course not. We understand that babies won’t get it right the first time. See yourself as a little baby just starting to learn, and treat yourself with the same kindness and love.
Find an Expert – Take a class or two or three. If you can’t afford that, buy a book on the subject. If you can’t afford that, go to your lending library. Become a student. Look for people who do well what you want to do, and soak up any information you can find.
Give Yourself Time – It sounds trite, but it’s true that the journey is the destination. Let yourself know the joy of learning and blossoming. Let go of self-judgment about how you’re too old, too ugly, or too broke. Let the process unfold, and savor every moment.
Learn to Listen to Your Heart – This may sound contradictory to #3, but it’s not. Sometimes even your teachers will say things that don’t ring true. Allow your own personal truth to emerge, and make your stand. There is power in having conviction about what you’re doing.
Find Friends Along the Way – This has been a tougher quest for me. I’ve tried and discarded several writers’ groups because they didn’t feel right. However, I have found a good mix of supportive women on She Writes, and it makes a huge difference! When I have a difficult day, I have people who understand and who will help me keep going.
Feel the Pain – Too often we think we have to be stoic and strong. If we give ourselves even a few minutes to feel and release our pain, we can get back to our dreams quickly.
Ask for Help – It’s okay to reach out and tell people what you need. Often if we are going through major difficulties, people are standing by not knowing what to do or say. Let people show their goodness. They will often surprise you with how generous they can be. When your crisis has ended, you can pay it forward by doing the same for someone else.

What if a dream has ended for good? Well, the first question is, is that absolutely true? I wanted to be a mother but couldn’t have children, and yet I ended up with two stepchildren that are two of the joys of my life. Had I children of my own, I may never have met them. Sometimes, as they say, “God’s delays are not God’s denials.” Of course, some days this can also come under the heading of, “Be careful what you wish for — you just might get it!” (Kidding, kiddos)

If it is true, is there some way you could have the essence of your dream? I always had the itchy feet to travel but never much money to do so. Back in those days, I learned to travel internally through meditation, breathwork, and writing. I learned to be fascinated with the world within. When I could, I traveled locally, making day trips to small towns accessible by car. I read books — again, the library is a great resource — and traveled to other worlds that authors made for me.

Health matters are tough, too. One night my doctor told my support group: “Part of your healing may be to accept that you may never be well.” That sentence shocked me at first. I had to think about it. She wasn’t saying that I would stop trying to heal my body. She was saying I could have a good life in spite of my health. She was right.

One of the symptoms of my illness was an inability to concentrate. I learned that if I drew a picture of what I was reading, it would stay in my head better. I discovered that I could do certain activities in 15-minute increments. It wasn’t much, but each little nugget of success cheered me. I worked hard on my health, filling my body with nutrition and self-care. I slowed my life down, and in the process I learned to listen better to what I needed for myself. That’s when I began to heal. Even now, years later, I have to be careful. I overdid it one day with a personal trainer and got knocked out with a “crash” for nearly two weeks. Most of the time, though, I judge well when I need to rest.

When you are struggling and have physical limits, it may be hard to look around at what you do have — but if you look hard enough, there’s real beauty all around you. Springtime flowers, summer warmth, a home that provides shelter, loved ones — even the beauty of your very breath. If you can find a way, even in the darkest moments, to find or create beauty, then your discouragement will lessen.

May you find the path through your discouragement! I hope all of you find some way to live your dreams.

Book Discovery Tuesday: Meditation Secrets for Women by Camille Maurine

September 6, 2011 by admin

***Please lend your thoughts and prayers to those dealing with Texas wildfires. The post that follows feels almost silly given what people are going through, but perhaps, while meditation cannot bring back a house or a loved one, it can help manage life’s stresses. If anyone reading this is or has been in the path of the fires, please know that I am sending you big hugs and hopes that your home, animals, and family are safe.***

Our Swiss adventure continues. Today we combined cable cars and a long hike (about five hours) to reach Corvatsch, which, at 3,300 meters, provides a breathtaking 360-degree view of mountains and glaciers. Or should I say breath-giving?

The hike was challenging but felt safe all the way, and we agreed that this was one of our best hikes to date — and that’s saying something! We toured several mountain lakes filled with quartz and malachite.

Once we had finished our climb, I felt euphoric. My mind felt soft and peaceful, and I found myself in a state of “alert rest.”

Camille Maurine might say that I was in a meditative state, a state that I entered into naturally — and that state is available to all of us, all the time. When I taught yoga, I can’t tell you how many people said, “I can’t meditate. My mind never gets quiet.” Maurine would suggest that we allow all of the thoughts, emotions, and noisiness to just be there. I’m excited about Meditation Secrets for Women because I believe it provides people with a nonjudgmental, loving, sweet approach to meditation.

I confess that like many of the women Maurine spoke with about meditation, I did things that some teachers considered “wrong.” I often keep a notepad and pen next to me, for example, in case I get a really interesting idea. I open my eyes, jot down my thoughts, then return to my concentration. I sometimes move around during meditation, and occasionally I have a really good cry. I love my meditation, but I have often kept my methods to myself.

Glacier at Corvatsch — If these views don't inspire meditation, there's no hope for me!

Why haven’t I — or these other women — shared our experiences of wanting more movement? Why do we not discuss the pleasure we feel or express our deepening passion for life?

Maurine shares some horror stories about how women’s psyches can be wounded with more authoritarian forms of meditation training. I’ve definitely run across teachers who say that their method is the ONLY method of true meditation — which makes me nervous. I also know that over the years, the more alive I felt in my body, the more certain teachers seemed to want me to “settle down.” I didn’t want to be calmer, or quieter, or anything other than my genuine self, which is sometimes loud, bawdy, and ludicrous, but which is me nonetheless. I got tired of disapproval and made the decision that I needed less self-improvement and more self-acceptance.

Still, where meditation was concerned, I always wondered: “Am I doing it right?”

For fourteen years, nearly every morning, I have written three pages longhand, a method I learned from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. She called them a form of meditation. That felt true to me, but still…

I found myself drawn to the Kripalu style of yoga, with its emphasis on “meditation in motion.” The idea is to free the body so it moves spontaneously into poses. But is that meditation?

Maurine would say yes. She provides twelve “secrets” to a woman’s meditation practice. Examples include Celebrate Your Senses, Claim Your Inner Authority, Be Tender With Yourself, Say Yes to Every Part of Yourself. She provides opportunities to explore, a variety of meditations to try, and opportunities to reflect on the meditations at the end of each section.

For a few weeks now I have written about September being a month of stillness and relaxation. Maurine would remind me that we are more flow than stillness, and I like that very much. For me, stillness is not about lack of movement, but about a sense of peace that pervades even when we feel in turmoil, a sense of knowing that we are always, in every moment, all right. So, I don’t think we disagree…but I think that from now on I will adopt the use of “flow.” I think it’s closer to the essence of what I hope to share this month.

Meditation Secrets for Women can benefit anyone, whether or not they are experienced meditators. In my opinion, even a man could benefit from the gentle approaches in this book. If you are a beginner, it’s a great instruction manual for getting started. If you’re experienced, you may find opportunities to explore different or new methods, or to just give yourself permission to enjoy what you’re already doing. For me, this book is an affirmation of what I have felt and experienced inside for years.

Wasserweg — Here's my sweetie in front of one of the many mountain lakes we viewed today.