What I see and what I don't - what I'm aware of and what I'm oblivious to - continues to fascinate me.
Today I was in the ground floor elevator lobby at work. There are 5 elevators there - 3 on one side and two on the other - and a glass fronted display case at one end. I usually walk over and push the "up" button on one side or the other and then wait for a car to come, but in that position some of the elevators are always behind me.
There's a signal sound when the car arrives - one ding if it's going down, and two if up - but one of the cars has been silent recently. I thought I'd step back out of the alcove to a place where I could see all the elevators at once.
I stood for a few seconds, looking at the elevators, the signal lights, and the other people waiting, and then saw my own reflection in the display panel at the far end.
A bit startled by my sudden awareness of my image, that had been there, unseen by me all that time, I then scanned the rest of the space. Now attuned to the possibility that I might see myself, I saw image after image reflected in the polished elevator doors and door frames. Eight clear, distinct Galens in all.
How could my mind ignore that information so completely? How amazing that once tuned into one image, my mind captured all the rest?
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Fainter and fainter and ....
Listening to a sound as it fades away is a powerful awareness experience. Following the sound into stillness takes the mind to a singularity.
As I sat in meditation this morning, I heard the roar of a jet. I listened as it swelled a bit, noticing how it moved in space, and then as it slowly began to fade. I set an intention to listen until it faded completely into the background sound.
As the sound diminished, I began to hear other sounds, and became more aware of the distinctness of timbre and pitch of the jet.
Several times as the sound grew fainter, I caught my mind wanting to disengage, to drop its attention, to skip away to other things. Instead, I focused a little more on the sound.
I heard the sound much longer than I expected, even beginning to wonder if I had somehow programmed a tiny loop in my head that continued to play the memory of the faintest sound even after it was gone. Perhaps I did - I can't be sure. But the sound eventually disappeared into the hum of a car passing on the road, and when the car was gone, so was the sound of the plane.
As I sat in meditation this morning, I heard the roar of a jet. I listened as it swelled a bit, noticing how it moved in space, and then as it slowly began to fade. I set an intention to listen until it faded completely into the background sound.
As the sound diminished, I began to hear other sounds, and became more aware of the distinctness of timbre and pitch of the jet.
Several times as the sound grew fainter, I caught my mind wanting to disengage, to drop its attention, to skip away to other things. Instead, I focused a little more on the sound.
I heard the sound much longer than I expected, even beginning to wonder if I had somehow programmed a tiny loop in my head that continued to play the memory of the faintest sound even after it was gone. Perhaps I did - I can't be sure. But the sound eventually disappeared into the hum of a car passing on the road, and when the car was gone, so was the sound of the plane.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Exercise, Errands, and Nature
One of the things I like the most about living here is that much of what we need is within walking distance.
Today is cool, gray, and wet, but without any of the snow or freezing rain that had been a possibility. We needed some things from the farmers market, and some light bulbs for the porch light, and I needed a couple of things I could get at the drug store.
Pam was taking the car to a yoga class in Takoma Park, so I decided to hoof it for the errands. I dressed for the weather, emptied my backpack of the usual work and yoga items, and set out.
The first part of the walk is through the neighborhood. Beads of water clung, glistening, to the bare twig ends. Walking through the damp, calm, grayness, the cawing of crows took my mind back in time and far away to the sound of ravens calling in the damp Southeast Alaska forest. I mused for a bit on how my present experience is shaped by past memories as well as the current reality.
I made a circuit of about 2 miles - first to the bank for some cash, then to the market, the drug and hardware stores, and then back home a different way.
At the market I saw one of my yoga students, and stopped to chat. She was headed for a class at the Maryland Youth Ballet. She said she had taken a stretching class there taught by a 93 year old (young) woman, and that was inspiration for her to keep going.
As I came back through the neighborhood, I heard a bit of commotion and stopped to watch three squirrels chasing around a utility pole. One seemed more aggressive than the others, one of which seemed to be the primary object of the chase. It became cornered out on the end of one support, but seemed able to fend off any further approach. Then the other two engaged in some back and forth - up and down and around the pole for a couple of minutes, until the cornered squirrel saw an opening and scooted down to a larger wire and scampered along it above the sidewalk. Quickly, the other two took off after it, chasing it down the street, across the street along another wire, and out of sight. When that last chase began, two more squirrels came into view from behind the tree and followed along a fence top.
When it is cold or stormy, the squirrels will be tucked away out of sight - sometimes for several days. Then it warms up and they come out. I seldom see this many in one place though. I'm unsure what was going on, but my guess is a territorial dispute.
The cardinals were out too, seeming brighter red than on some days, perhaps the color is accentuated by the flat, gray light.
Back home - feeling satisfied by a well spent hour and a half of exercise, errands, and nature.
Today is cool, gray, and wet, but without any of the snow or freezing rain that had been a possibility. We needed some things from the farmers market, and some light bulbs for the porch light, and I needed a couple of things I could get at the drug store.
Pam was taking the car to a yoga class in Takoma Park, so I decided to hoof it for the errands. I dressed for the weather, emptied my backpack of the usual work and yoga items, and set out.
The first part of the walk is through the neighborhood. Beads of water clung, glistening, to the bare twig ends. Walking through the damp, calm, grayness, the cawing of crows took my mind back in time and far away to the sound of ravens calling in the damp Southeast Alaska forest. I mused for a bit on how my present experience is shaped by past memories as well as the current reality.
I made a circuit of about 2 miles - first to the bank for some cash, then to the market, the drug and hardware stores, and then back home a different way.
At the market I saw one of my yoga students, and stopped to chat. She was headed for a class at the Maryland Youth Ballet. She said she had taken a stretching class there taught by a 93 year old (young) woman, and that was inspiration for her to keep going.
As I came back through the neighborhood, I heard a bit of commotion and stopped to watch three squirrels chasing around a utility pole. One seemed more aggressive than the others, one of which seemed to be the primary object of the chase. It became cornered out on the end of one support, but seemed able to fend off any further approach. Then the other two engaged in some back and forth - up and down and around the pole for a couple of minutes, until the cornered squirrel saw an opening and scooted down to a larger wire and scampered along it above the sidewalk. Quickly, the other two took off after it, chasing it down the street, across the street along another wire, and out of sight. When that last chase began, two more squirrels came into view from behind the tree and followed along a fence top.
When it is cold or stormy, the squirrels will be tucked away out of sight - sometimes for several days. Then it warms up and they come out. I seldom see this many in one place though. I'm unsure what was going on, but my guess is a territorial dispute.
The cardinals were out too, seeming brighter red than on some days, perhaps the color is accentuated by the flat, gray light.
Back home - feeling satisfied by a well spent hour and a half of exercise, errands, and nature.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Trails of Breath
I stepped out into the morning, feeling the bracing air on my skin and the coolness as it moved into my lungs.
Light from the unseen sun, lifting toward dawn, scattered through the atmosphere, painting the sky bright blue.
With each exhale, the warm, moist air billowed into a little cloud as it met the cold dry air around me, then quickly dispersed.
Overhead, the sky is striped with white contrails, the exhales from jets now far out of sight.
Light from the unseen sun, lifting toward dawn, scattered through the atmosphere, painting the sky bright blue.
With each exhale, the warm, moist air billowed into a little cloud as it met the cold dry air around me, then quickly dispersed.
Overhead, the sky is striped with white contrails, the exhales from jets now far out of sight.
Monday, January 19, 2015
A Day to Pause
The past two weeks I've been adjusting to my new schedule. I'm busy throughout the week, and some days I have classes before work and in the evening the same day.
Wednesdays and Thursdays I get up an hour earlier than the other days. For me, this causes some stress in my sleep cycle, and by Thursday night I'm pretty tired. Saturday is the least-scheduled day, though we shop at the farmers market in the morning.
This past Saturday, though, I had an all-day yoga workshop. I could have taken a bit more time off on Sunday, but chose to attend the mid-day class I'm co-teaching so that I could see Paula's approach to the class. Usually, I'll have every other week off.
So I'm glad that today is a holiday. I'm getting a rare day to do more reading and catch up on some things without the pressure of urgency. By late morning, I've spent some time sitting with a cat on my lap - furry-purry calmness - done some reading, practiced trumpet and improvised on the piano, and worked out some yoga sequences to teach this week.
Yesterday afternoon I experienced the 'work' of putting a class plan together - thinking about things, making notes, mind wandering, having to bring my attention back to the task. This morning, I wasn't even planning to work on a sequence. Something just came into my mind, I tried it out, made some notes, and followed where it went. Much more enjoyable.
I've also spent some time thinking about the state of our society - that we still struggle with issues of poverty and race that Martin Luther King lived, and gave his life, to improve. There's much work left to do.
Wednesdays and Thursdays I get up an hour earlier than the other days. For me, this causes some stress in my sleep cycle, and by Thursday night I'm pretty tired. Saturday is the least-scheduled day, though we shop at the farmers market in the morning.
This past Saturday, though, I had an all-day yoga workshop. I could have taken a bit more time off on Sunday, but chose to attend the mid-day class I'm co-teaching so that I could see Paula's approach to the class. Usually, I'll have every other week off.
So I'm glad that today is a holiday. I'm getting a rare day to do more reading and catch up on some things without the pressure of urgency. By late morning, I've spent some time sitting with a cat on my lap - furry-purry calmness - done some reading, practiced trumpet and improvised on the piano, and worked out some yoga sequences to teach this week.
Yesterday afternoon I experienced the 'work' of putting a class plan together - thinking about things, making notes, mind wandering, having to bring my attention back to the task. This morning, I wasn't even planning to work on a sequence. Something just came into my mind, I tried it out, made some notes, and followed where it went. Much more enjoyable.
I've also spent some time thinking about the state of our society - that we still struggle with issues of poverty and race that Martin Luther King lived, and gave his life, to improve. There's much work left to do.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Still Point
I've been enjoying two practices lately that bring my mind to a wonderful moment of stillness. In a sense, they're the same practice - placing attention on a sensation and following it until it fades away. The still point comes as the stimulus leaves the mind's grasp.
One practice involves the breath. I follow the breath - in and out - with my mind. Then I'll follow an exhale as the breath leaves, and when the exhale ends, as the mind releases from it - I pause, delaying the start of inhale, as the mind settles gently into the stillness.
The other practice uses sound. Two excellent sound sources are my grand piano and a Tibetan singing bowl. Holding the damper pedal down on the piano as a note or chord fades slowly away, or bringing sound out from the singing bowl and then letting it ring, I listen as the sound diminishes, my mind becoming increasingly focused as it listens for the faintest remnant of sound. Then, the sound is gone, the concentrated mind left in the empty, still point.
One practice involves the breath. I follow the breath - in and out - with my mind. Then I'll follow an exhale as the breath leaves, and when the exhale ends, as the mind releases from it - I pause, delaying the start of inhale, as the mind settles gently into the stillness.
The other practice uses sound. Two excellent sound sources are my grand piano and a Tibetan singing bowl. Holding the damper pedal down on the piano as a note or chord fades slowly away, or bringing sound out from the singing bowl and then letting it ring, I listen as the sound diminishes, my mind becoming increasingly focused as it listens for the faintest remnant of sound. Then, the sound is gone, the concentrated mind left in the empty, still point.
Monday, January 12, 2015
What a Raindrop Means
Rain fell lightly as I walked home tonight. Or perhaps it was light rain falling as it normally does. At any rate, the drops were scattered, plinking into the puddles, tapping my umbrella.
Each raindrop signifies the cycle of energy that brought life to Earth and sustains it. The raindrop falls because of the gravity that binds the stuff of Earth together. Only the inward drawing force of matter attracting matter gives Earth its form, and provides the grounding force that all else responds to. It's the reason we have skeletons, the reason birds have wings. The reason any of this can exist, and isn't just scattered atoms flying around through space.
The raindrop falls from somewhere, as rain has been falling for all the eons that water has been on Earth. It can only fall because some day earlier water was energized by heat from the sun and lifted as vapor into the atmosphere. It falls because of gravity - but it falls here in particular because of specific conditions of quantity and temperature - saturation and coolness that cause droplets to condense with enough mass to be pulled to Earth.
The spinning Earth, presenting a face to the Sun each day to heat, then turning away each night to cool, allows the cyclic tug of war to occur. The Sun lifting water into the air, where it travels with the atmosphere until, with cooler temperatures - less energy - it draws together and is drawn downward. Down, to the puddle before my feet, where it pools before running off into the gutter, then down the drain and into the creek, to the river, to the bay, to the sea.
The cycles are the key. If all we had was steady heat, water would rise into the atmosphere and stay there. If coolness prevailed, the water would stay in the sea, or freeze as ice, and there would be no rain to fall. The cycle of rain, and indeed all of life, is driven by the flow of energy rather than the amount of energy. Some places are hot while others are cold, and those places change. Some days it rains, and some days it doesn't. When it falls, the raindrop reminds that the functioning of the world depends on differences.
Each raindrop signifies the cycle of energy that brought life to Earth and sustains it. The raindrop falls because of the gravity that binds the stuff of Earth together. Only the inward drawing force of matter attracting matter gives Earth its form, and provides the grounding force that all else responds to. It's the reason we have skeletons, the reason birds have wings. The reason any of this can exist, and isn't just scattered atoms flying around through space.
The raindrop falls from somewhere, as rain has been falling for all the eons that water has been on Earth. It can only fall because some day earlier water was energized by heat from the sun and lifted as vapor into the atmosphere. It falls because of gravity - but it falls here in particular because of specific conditions of quantity and temperature - saturation and coolness that cause droplets to condense with enough mass to be pulled to Earth.
The spinning Earth, presenting a face to the Sun each day to heat, then turning away each night to cool, allows the cyclic tug of war to occur. The Sun lifting water into the air, where it travels with the atmosphere until, with cooler temperatures - less energy - it draws together and is drawn downward. Down, to the puddle before my feet, where it pools before running off into the gutter, then down the drain and into the creek, to the river, to the bay, to the sea.
The cycles are the key. If all we had was steady heat, water would rise into the atmosphere and stay there. If coolness prevailed, the water would stay in the sea, or freeze as ice, and there would be no rain to fall. The cycle of rain, and indeed all of life, is driven by the flow of energy rather than the amount of energy. Some places are hot while others are cold, and those places change. Some days it rains, and some days it doesn't. When it falls, the raindrop reminds that the functioning of the world depends on differences.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
The Clock
We have a clock in the front room - the room where the office and computers are. A battery powered analog clock, it ticks off each second. There are two slightly different sounds that oscillate - one a little higher pitched and a little louder than the other - giving the ticking a little rocking movement.
Sometimes I'm completely unaware of the clock. The sound it emits is the same, I assume, though I could argue that there are times when it ticks quite noisily and other times when it runs silently.
I seem to notice it more when I am tired. Sometimes then it seems so loud to me that I can't imagine how I don't hear it all the time. Does it come to the forefront of my mind when I am tired and not focusing my mind on another source of stimulation? That seems to be the case.
I can hear the clock well right now. I also hear the hum of the heating system fan, the white noise from the computer, and a different hum, carrying a more distinct pitch, that I'm not sure of the source. The part of me that reads and thinks is tired. With effort I can initiate some activity, but my mind quickly settles back into a denser, more restful place, and the sound of the clock comes to the center of my awareness.
Sometimes I'm completely unaware of the clock. The sound it emits is the same, I assume, though I could argue that there are times when it ticks quite noisily and other times when it runs silently.
I seem to notice it more when I am tired. Sometimes then it seems so loud to me that I can't imagine how I don't hear it all the time. Does it come to the forefront of my mind when I am tired and not focusing my mind on another source of stimulation? That seems to be the case.
I can hear the clock well right now. I also hear the hum of the heating system fan, the white noise from the computer, and a different hum, carrying a more distinct pitch, that I'm not sure of the source. The part of me that reads and thinks is tired. With effort I can initiate some activity, but my mind quickly settles back into a denser, more restful place, and the sound of the clock comes to the center of my awareness.
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Moving to Remember, Moving to Think
My mind works better when I am moving. If I'm having trouble remembering something or thinking through a problem, simply getting up and starting to walk often brings the answer.
I grew up identifying my body and my mind as two separate things. Something about us makes that easy to do, I think. After all, the judgements we make about them are consistent with separation. "Really smart, but clumsy as an ox." "Incredible athlete, incredibly stupid."
We tend to identify with one or the other -- at least I did. I wasn't physically inept, but was never the best at sports either. I was particularly smart, though, and went through most of my school years identifying, and identified by others, as having a quick and capable mind.
The result of this sense that we are a combination of independent parts can lead to the mind thinking that the body is just a container to carry the mind around.
The practice of yoga, including physical practice and meditation, bring an integration of the whole person. Increasingly, I understand the connection, and ultimate wholeness, of my person. Not a mind in a body, but a single, complex, physical presence with cognitive functions. And I'm sensitive to the way that the state of the body directly affects the functioning of the mind, and vice versa.
Physical activity can retrieve memories and activate creative thinking. Mind can monitor physical sensation and initiate changes in action to find a place of balanced effort, where I am working very hard in a yoga posture, but, due to the balance in both body and mind, feel light and effortless.
Sometimes I write out a sequence of yoga poses, and then practice them. Often, I find the movements to work well. Sometimes I need to make adjustments. Other times, I initiate from the body - starting from some point and then moving as my body and intuition lead, then writing the sequence down. On any given day, one of these approaches will seem more accessible to me, but both lead to the place in the middle - not a separate mind and body, or a mind controlling a body - but rather an integrated being with both cognitive and physical capabilities.
I grew up identifying my body and my mind as two separate things. Something about us makes that easy to do, I think. After all, the judgements we make about them are consistent with separation. "Really smart, but clumsy as an ox." "Incredible athlete, incredibly stupid."
We tend to identify with one or the other -- at least I did. I wasn't physically inept, but was never the best at sports either. I was particularly smart, though, and went through most of my school years identifying, and identified by others, as having a quick and capable mind.
The result of this sense that we are a combination of independent parts can lead to the mind thinking that the body is just a container to carry the mind around.
The practice of yoga, including physical practice and meditation, bring an integration of the whole person. Increasingly, I understand the connection, and ultimate wholeness, of my person. Not a mind in a body, but a single, complex, physical presence with cognitive functions. And I'm sensitive to the way that the state of the body directly affects the functioning of the mind, and vice versa.
Physical activity can retrieve memories and activate creative thinking. Mind can monitor physical sensation and initiate changes in action to find a place of balanced effort, where I am working very hard in a yoga posture, but, due to the balance in both body and mind, feel light and effortless.
Sometimes I write out a sequence of yoga poses, and then practice them. Often, I find the movements to work well. Sometimes I need to make adjustments. Other times, I initiate from the body - starting from some point and then moving as my body and intuition lead, then writing the sequence down. On any given day, one of these approaches will seem more accessible to me, but both lead to the place in the middle - not a separate mind and body, or a mind controlling a body - but rather an integrated being with both cognitive and physical capabilities.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Past, Present and Future Life
Today would have been mother's 85th birthday. She died 5 years ago at the end of January, at age 80. I spent some time today thinking of Mom. The older I get, the more of my memories of her are from when she was younger than I am now. Puts an interesting turn on the memories. Mostly I remember the smart, but humble and down to earth way she approached life, and how much she did, day to day, working, cooking, cleaning, looking after us, trying to bring us up to be successful, moral, kind people.
I also went to a retirement party for a colleague today. Jim retired last week with over 43 and a half years of service. I'm not going to compete with that - my planned date is 16 months ahead, when I'll have 30 years in. Every week that goes by brings that date noticeably closer, and that pace will only accelerate in the months ahead. I need to move into a new, more active phase of planning for the transition.
Meanwhile, my life happens day by day. My memories of the ever lengthening past need to inform and support my present experience - not weigh me down, but lift me to higher aspirations and better decisions. My anticipation of the future guides my way, in an adaptable and fluid way, as I know that life will present many opportunities and challenges, and some of them are bound to change the course of my life from what I can currently envision.
I also went to a retirement party for a colleague today. Jim retired last week with over 43 and a half years of service. I'm not going to compete with that - my planned date is 16 months ahead, when I'll have 30 years in. Every week that goes by brings that date noticeably closer, and that pace will only accelerate in the months ahead. I need to move into a new, more active phase of planning for the transition.
Meanwhile, my life happens day by day. My memories of the ever lengthening past need to inform and support my present experience - not weigh me down, but lift me to higher aspirations and better decisions. My anticipation of the future guides my way, in an adaptable and fluid way, as I know that life will present many opportunities and challenges, and some of them are bound to change the course of my life from what I can currently envision.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Cracklin' Cold
It was 9 degrees this morning for my walk to work, and 20 this evening when I walked home after yoga. I really didn't notice the difference - both felt very cold. The compacting snow, becoming icy in places, squeaked and crackled underfoot. Some trees still hung onto their dry leaves, and these rustled and rattled in the wind as I walked by.
I have a lot of cold weather clothing, left from my years in Alaska, and I know how to layer and bundle up. Still, being out when it is this cold feels tenuous and edgy to me. In spite of the gear, I arrived at my destinations with cold hands and feet.
I know, consciously and unconsciously, that it is too cold, and that if I weren't able to keep moving and didn't have a warm place to come in to, that I could be in a life threatening situation.
As I walked under a squirrel's nest, high up in the bare branches with the wind whistling past, I wondered about how it managed to keep warm enough to survive.
I have a lot of cold weather clothing, left from my years in Alaska, and I know how to layer and bundle up. Still, being out when it is this cold feels tenuous and edgy to me. In spite of the gear, I arrived at my destinations with cold hands and feet.
I know, consciously and unconsciously, that it is too cold, and that if I weren't able to keep moving and didn't have a warm place to come in to, that I could be in a life threatening situation.
As I walked under a squirrel's nest, high up in the bare branches with the wind whistling past, I wondered about how it managed to keep warm enough to survive.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Snow Sounds
The forecast was for a bit of snow to fall this morning. I was awake at 4:30, and got up to see if it was snowing. I thought I'd enjoy watching it fall for a bit. But it wasn't snowing.
I got up again at 5:30, and there was a half inch or so on the ground. It was cold - 23 degrees - and the snow was so fine that I couldn't see it falling in the pre-dawn, except directly in front of a streetlight.
I left to walk to work at 7:30, and there was at least an inch down. The flakes were still very fine - almost pellet-like, but very small. Still, they brought a slight stinging sensation to my exposed nose.
I walked up the street past the big sycamore. Something - perhaps the intense cold - had loosened the hold of some of the remaining leaves, and the fresh white snow had newly fallen brown sycamore leaves scattered about.
The snow fell, silently, and the whole landscape was quiet, even the normal levels of sound dampened by the layer of snow.
I walked past a small tree that still had its lifeless brown leaves hanging on, and heard a rustling sound. I stopped and edged closer, listening as the snow rattled off the brittle leaves, this quiet vibration, almost too faint to hear, standing out in contrast to the overall stillness.
A little farther on, some small oaks in the median also clung to their leaves, and I stopped again to listen to the gentle percussion of snow on leaves.
I got up again at 5:30, and there was a half inch or so on the ground. It was cold - 23 degrees - and the snow was so fine that I couldn't see it falling in the pre-dawn, except directly in front of a streetlight.
I left to walk to work at 7:30, and there was at least an inch down. The flakes were still very fine - almost pellet-like, but very small. Still, they brought a slight stinging sensation to my exposed nose.
I walked up the street past the big sycamore. Something - perhaps the intense cold - had loosened the hold of some of the remaining leaves, and the fresh white snow had newly fallen brown sycamore leaves scattered about.
The snow fell, silently, and the whole landscape was quiet, even the normal levels of sound dampened by the layer of snow.
I walked past a small tree that still had its lifeless brown leaves hanging on, and heard a rustling sound. I stopped and edged closer, listening as the snow rattled off the brittle leaves, this quiet vibration, almost too faint to hear, standing out in contrast to the overall stillness.
A little farther on, some small oaks in the median also clung to their leaves, and I stopped again to listen to the gentle percussion of snow on leaves.
Monday, January 5, 2015
Holiday Tree
Of the many symbols of the winter holidays, one favorite is a tree decked in colorful ornaments.
Yesterday was the culmination of a several day wet, warming trend. The light, intermittent rain continued, and the temperature climbed into the mid 60s.
This morning, in contrast, was clear and much cooler. The temperature was right at freezing, and there was a brisk, gusty wind, as I set out for the walk to work.
I headed up the path through the wild area where I sometimes see deer, and last week glimpsed a fox, and on into the block with the huge sycamore tree.
Ahead, I saw round, red shapes filling out the branches of a smaller tree - a flock of robins playing the role of ornaments. As I approached, a few of them twittered and flew from branch to branch. A much livelier display than colored glass balls.
I've noticed that, in the fall and winter, the robins congregate in large flocks and come and go with the weather fronts. This group had followed the warm weather into our neighborhood, and overnighted only to find the morning quite chilly. I'm sure they headed out during the day to avoid the even colder weather that is on the way.
Among the several new things I saw today, this holiday tree full of robins was my favorite.
Yesterday was the culmination of a several day wet, warming trend. The light, intermittent rain continued, and the temperature climbed into the mid 60s.
This morning, in contrast, was clear and much cooler. The temperature was right at freezing, and there was a brisk, gusty wind, as I set out for the walk to work.
I headed up the path through the wild area where I sometimes see deer, and last week glimpsed a fox, and on into the block with the huge sycamore tree.
Ahead, I saw round, red shapes filling out the branches of a smaller tree - a flock of robins playing the role of ornaments. As I approached, a few of them twittered and flew from branch to branch. A much livelier display than colored glass balls.
I've noticed that, in the fall and winter, the robins congregate in large flocks and come and go with the weather fronts. This group had followed the warm weather into our neighborhood, and overnighted only to find the morning quite chilly. I'm sure they headed out during the day to avoid the even colder weather that is on the way.
Among the several new things I saw today, this holiday tree full of robins was my favorite.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Writing the Present
I write. I see the pen move across the paper, leaving shapes that mean thoughts from my mind. Shapes that I recognize, and can use to recall the thoughts and reconnect with their meaning in a future present.
I see the shadow of my hand and the pen move across the paper - making shapes, but not leaving them. The shadow, writing, but leaving no traces to recall.
I see the shadow of my hand and the pen move across the paper - making shapes, but not leaving them. The shadow, writing, but leaving no traces to recall.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Occupy Your Mind
Life happens in the present. The wave of life curls up, inviting you to connect, to catch the wave and ride it. A continuous flow of becoming and possibility.
Where are you? Where is your attention, your awareness, your essence, your consciousness? Is it riding that wave of Now, or has it wandered off to play in the memories of the past or speculation about the future, the lands of useless rumination and anxiety cultivation.
Your senses are feeding you volumes of data about the present, right now. Your mind is ignoring most of it, and like the unridden wave, your chance to live that experience is forever lost. What good is your rehashing of the past, your anxiety about the future?
Occupy your mind. Bring it back to the present so that all of your consciousness is in the experience of life. In the present. On the leading edge of the wave.
Connect your mind with your senses, with intention. Breathe, and be aware of your breath. Name the colors around you. There are more than you think. Name the shapes you see - triangles, squares, circles. Don't judge, just observe. Notice light, and shadow. Listen to sounds near and far - not as good or bad - but as different variations of vibration. Touch things. Feel their temperature and texture, and think of how the object would describe the feel of you. Smell, and taste, too.
As you occupy your mind with non-judgmental awareness of the present, intending to notice everything as new, alert for that moment of distraction when another part of your mind wants to pull you back into the playgrounds of past or future, and choosing "no," to stay in the present, your experience becomes richer, fuller, deeper. You are more alive.
Where are you? Where is your attention, your awareness, your essence, your consciousness? Is it riding that wave of Now, or has it wandered off to play in the memories of the past or speculation about the future, the lands of useless rumination and anxiety cultivation.
Your senses are feeding you volumes of data about the present, right now. Your mind is ignoring most of it, and like the unridden wave, your chance to live that experience is forever lost. What good is your rehashing of the past, your anxiety about the future?
Occupy your mind. Bring it back to the present so that all of your consciousness is in the experience of life. In the present. On the leading edge of the wave.
Connect your mind with your senses, with intention. Breathe, and be aware of your breath. Name the colors around you. There are more than you think. Name the shapes you see - triangles, squares, circles. Don't judge, just observe. Notice light, and shadow. Listen to sounds near and far - not as good or bad - but as different variations of vibration. Touch things. Feel their temperature and texture, and think of how the object would describe the feel of you. Smell, and taste, too.
As you occupy your mind with non-judgmental awareness of the present, intending to notice everything as new, alert for that moment of distraction when another part of your mind wants to pull you back into the playgrounds of past or future, and choosing "no," to stay in the present, your experience becomes richer, fuller, deeper. You are more alive.
When Everything is New
It's the third New Day of 2015. After my January 1 post, I began to ponder what it would be like if I could see everything anew, as if I was seeing it for the first time.
The huge sycamore on the way to work would be a thing of wonder. What is that? It's huge. It's surface mottled gray and white. Rising from the earth, spreading tall, branching completely over the street. Similar to some other things I see - but the largest by far - and different in details of form and color. Seeing it today, I'd have no idea of the explosion of green that will adorn it in a few months.
Instead, most days, my mind dismisses it with a single glance - there's the huge sycamore tree. Next.
I doubt that I can ever peel myself completely back to a state of original awareness. Yesterday, though, I found that with intention and attention, I could see many things more freshly. I should say experiencing, rather than seeing, because all my senses play a part.
It made the day much more interesting. Made the day seem new, not just a replay - a Groundhog Day - of rising, eating, going to work 'til time to walk home, eating, going to bed.
A New Day is an opportunity to see things I've never seen before, or familiar things in a deeper, richer way. It's an opportunity to be more open to a future of possibilities that are different than the past. An opportunity to be more alive.
The huge sycamore on the way to work would be a thing of wonder. What is that? It's huge. It's surface mottled gray and white. Rising from the earth, spreading tall, branching completely over the street. Similar to some other things I see - but the largest by far - and different in details of form and color. Seeing it today, I'd have no idea of the explosion of green that will adorn it in a few months.
Instead, most days, my mind dismisses it with a single glance - there's the huge sycamore tree. Next.
I doubt that I can ever peel myself completely back to a state of original awareness. Yesterday, though, I found that with intention and attention, I could see many things more freshly. I should say experiencing, rather than seeing, because all my senses play a part.
It made the day much more interesting. Made the day seem new, not just a replay - a Groundhog Day - of rising, eating, going to work 'til time to walk home, eating, going to bed.
A New Day is an opportunity to see things I've never seen before, or familiar things in a deeper, richer way. It's an opportunity to be more open to a future of possibilities that are different than the past. An opportunity to be more alive.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
A New Year
January 1, 2015. Another day, near the beginning of winter. Of no special significance in the natural world, but a day given great significance by many of us since it is the first day of what we count as a new year.
It's natural that we would mark the periodicity of Earth's orbit of the sun, though it would make more sense to start our counting with a solstice or an equinox - four to choose from.
But for living life, it's better still to celebrate each day as a New Day - to not put off enjoyment of life until next week, or for another season - to not let any day slip away as if it didn't matter.
So here's to January 1. The first New Day of 2015!
It's natural that we would mark the periodicity of Earth's orbit of the sun, though it would make more sense to start our counting with a solstice or an equinox - four to choose from.
But for living life, it's better still to celebrate each day as a New Day - to not put off enjoyment of life until next week, or for another season - to not let any day slip away as if it didn't matter.
So here's to January 1. The first New Day of 2015!
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