Fire It Up

Wow. I’ve been away (but right here) for a long time. It’s winter here on the South Dakota prairie. It’s been an unusually (and blessedly) warm and snowless winter so far, but we’re having a little cold snap right now that takes temps down below zero. That means less time on the move, less time out soaking up that healing Vitamin D, and muscles that start twisting up into tense little pincurls.

This cold snap and housebound-ness make it a perfect time to fire up the wood stove. It’s also a perfect time to fire up my daily meditation practice…

I’ve just started doing some reading on the Tibetan lojong/tonglen mind training practice of taking/sending. I’ve barely scratched the surface, but the practice includes “taking in” the suffering of the world, and “sending out” bliss and joy. It also includes 59 slogans or aphorisms designed to help one train the mind. So Pema Chodron’s The Compassion Box—a  box set that includes a 59-card set of the aphorisms—is on its way, and my plan is to do a 59-day meditation cycle, 1 card each day. What can I say…I’m a college English teacher, and I LOVE structure.

I’ve also been reading lately The Joy of Living by Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, Eric Swanson and Daniel Goleman. It’s a wonderfully readable book on a sort of “meeting of the minds” between meditation & science, with some fascinating info on the neuroscience behind meditation practices and their benefits.

I’m also sending out a vision of myself at a meditation retreat somewhere in the U.S. (maybe somewhere warm, with a beach), so the Universe can start aligning things to make it happen soon. It really does help to have a community to practice with, and such communities are few & far between (or nonexistent?) here in South Dakota.

Anyway, on we go. Fire up the hearth & heart, and stay warm.

Wild Horse Mind

Maybe it’s autumn and the stirring of leaves, a warm wind blowing out of the south one day, a cool, damp wind blowing out of the north the next. Or maybe it’s living on the prairie, knowing winter will surely come to freeze us temporarily in place. Whatever the reason, my wild horse mind is restless—zigzagging, stomping at the ground, rearing up. My time on the cushion lately is an exercise in REINING IN. It feels like this:

The candles should be further back.

Come back…

The shadows on the crystal lotus make it look like an Area 51 alien.

Come back…

Trees. Druids. Did Druids meditate?

Come back…

I should think about not thinking.

Come back…

Venison roast and fingerling potatoes for dinner?

Come back…

The dog’s breathing is more settled than mine. He meditates. He doesn’t have to TRY to meditate.

Come back…

Shoes in the dryer. Tympani.

Come back…

Papers to grade. Laundry. Work on the literary project stuff. Dishes. Blogs for class. Where are my blue socks? Do I still have those blue socks?

Come back…

Stay…

This is it.

 

One of the fundamentals of mindfulness practice is non-judgment. The broader meaning is that when I meditate, I do not need to analyze, categorize, interpret or assess my experience. I just need to experience it, be aware of it. In another sense, however, it means that I won’t judge myself harshly because I’ve been away from the cushion for a while. I can simply acknowledge that this past semester at Little Town U (where I teach composition, literature, Honor’s English and Creative Writing) kicked me to the curb then stomped on me with its steel-toed boots. Would it have been better if I’d stuck with my daily practice throughout the pummeling? Doesn’t matter. That’s the past. What matters is what I do NOW.

I’ve been re-centering a bit by reading Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Wherever You Go, There You Are. It’s mostly common sense stuff, clearly written in small snippets (the average attention span of an adult is around 15 minutes…is it any wonder we have trouble with our practice?). The jewel I’ve discovered so far in the reading is this truth: “This is it.” To be fully present in the moment, to be awake in the moment, I need to remember that this moment is ALL – literally. The past is gone, the future hasn’t happened yet, and I mustn’t let these precious, present moments slip by unnoticed while I live in regret, nostalgia, apprehension or anticipation (no matter WHAT Carly Simon says).

The other gem is Kabat-Zinn’s reminder that mindfulness isn’t about going somewhere, attaining something, or altering anything. It’s a chance to STOP. It’s a breath. It’s making yourself mindful of the fact that you’ve stopped and are breathing.

So here we are. Again. This is it.

 

Insights, observations, discoveries...

• I look out the window and notice the trees—rooted, still, and breathing.
• Meditation isn’t really concentration; it’s concentrated noticing.
• In a single sitting meditation, I must still rein in the wild horse—my thoughts—a bazillion times.
• There’s a community of folks who gather for meditation, yoga, bellydancing and more, less than an hour away! It’s the Butterfly Rainbow Center in Sioux Falls, and occasionally, they bring in Buddhist monastics for a Buddhist Vihara Meditation & Dharma Discussion. I need to time my paper-grading around these…
• I've been invited into a community of folks who meditate once a week in Little Town. We draw to ourselves what we need (and, unfortunately sometimes, what we ask for).
• Fresh air enhances meditation.
• The combination of spring & fresh air (open windows) means one must deal with loud, distracting peacock mating calls.
• Let your shoulders gently fall.
• Meditation isn’t an interruption; it’s what sustains me through the countless interruptions to come.
• Stay right here. Stay…

The Color of Light

During one of my sitting meditations this week, I noticed the light. Maybe for the First. Time. Ever. I noticed that sunlight coming through the window wasn’t just “bright.” It was a zillion subtle shades of white, yellow, blue, rose pink, violet. I noticed it was veined with almost imperceptible gold, and in almost the same second, I understood the veins were light reflected through my translucent red eyelashes. 

The most wonderful thing about the experience, something that occurred to me much later that day, was that I simply noticed it…I was aware of it…I didn’t THINK about it. I felt warmth, appreciation, maybe even joy just to BE in the light. I let it wash over me. But I kept my focus on the breath. 

Yeah, these are little baby steps. But I’m a baby on this meditation journey, and what a gift it is—like a baby—to suddenly see the world for the first time...

A Million Beginnings

At a conference last fall where I was giving a poetry reading, I had my aura photographed by a conference exhibitor because, well, why not? When my picture finally came up on the screen, with seven charkas clearly visible in a background of gold, the woman stared for a few minutes, looked at me, looked at the screen, and said, “I have nothing to tell you. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” She went on for a while, telling me how balanced I am, how my aura suggests no signs of stress or upheaval. I smiled, thanked her, paid and left with my beautiful picture. But inside, I was dumbfounded. Inside, I was churning. Inside, my aura & charkas felt more like the other picture here—dim lights trying to shine through a field of clutter and electricity.

In the convergence of the end of last semester, the beginning of this one, Thanksgiving for 21 (plus 5 dogs), Christmas, and the onset of another South Dakota (mostly) sunless, blizzardy winter, I haven’t had time to meditate. Then last week, it finally hit me that the things I DO find time for—more coffee, Facebook, eating enough carbs to send a Grizzly into a hibernative coma, sulking, pouting, gnashing of teeth, etc.—were TAKING my time, energy, probably health but not GIVING me anything.

So I went back to the cushion. It’s taking some work, too, after my long, lazy absence: re-reading chapters in Turning the Mind into an Ally…rededicating my home space with clean linens, new candles, fresh incense…getting back to this blog (for myself and for other slackers who slink away from the cushion so long they think they can’t come back)…practicing intention & awareness throughout the day instead of barreling along, hurried & oblivious.

I’ve been back at it a few days now. I keep my aura picture on the fridge for inspiration. And finally, as I start to feel that glimmer of peacefulness, mindfulness, again I know: I don’t have time NOT to meditate.

Open Arms

I’ve been a total slacker about meditation lately. My daily practice turned into an every-other-day practice, then weekly, then every now & then. The semester got the better of me (literally), as I scrambled to teach three literature and composition classes, work on a couple of new poems, grade sky-high piles of essays, run off to conferences or poetry readings, and fall exhausted into a chair every evening. But I’ve had a brief, glorious breather the past few days, and this morning, I went to the cushion, lighthearted and grateful, after a long absence.

I won’t tell you how hard it was to rein in my toddler mind, or how twitchy my muscles were, or how distracted I was by the combines harvesting corn across the road, or how much it all felt like starting over. I WILL tell you that toward the end of the 20 minutes, for one fleeting moment, I had the impression (vision? imagination? memory? I dunno…) of open, outstretched arms. I FELT the arms—their warmth, their enfolding welcome, their unconditional love.

I accept the impression as a gift. From this split-second sensation, I know without doubt that it is perfectly fine to return to my daily practice and to completely let go of my recent non-practice—no guilt, no regret, no despair over losing ground. Just this:

Here I am.

Thank me/you.