Morning quiet in early June. It’s cool—-40 degrees-—but a welcome calm weights the air.
“The woods are quiet, dark, and deep ...” I look out on a world of green leaves and hazy, almost-drippy dimness. An overturned bowl of condensed soup covers the sky, thick white. It rained much of the night and will likely rain much of this day too.
A chorus of squirrels sings from a circle of trees by the south deck. This woodland choir pleases me and I’m reminded of my mother’s favorite wake-up call, “Rise and Shine.” She’d sing the words up the stairwell or through one-inch square holes in the living room ceiling, the heat source for the bedroom I shared with my younger sister. It was a lovely, hopeful, just-right promise for a new day, the “shine” trailing upward in an insistent soprano, then sliding downward to completion.
I can still hear my mother’s voice--and feel her intent--three years after her death. Of course, my sister, brother, and I groaned under the weight of such morning glee. We didn’t want to get out of bed to get ready for school and no song, performance, or enticement made the least bit of difference. It was downright aggravating.
Too late I regret my childish disregard and hopefully revisit this joyful refrain. I occasionally sing “Rise and Shine” to Ander and Lucy as I let them out of the barn. The geese seem unimpressed but I sing it anyway. Some days I sing it to myself, a silent voice bouncing around inside my head in search of a fertile spot in which to take root.
Even though today’s air is heavy with the possibility of rain I remind myself to “rise and shine.” I must create my own light today. What better way than to start, as the squirrels and the birds do, with a song?
Showing posts with label quiet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label quiet. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monkey Mind
Quiet … I often think about quiet, bask in it, wish for it. Still, Monkey Mind is ever-present. It interjects itself between me and my good intentions, throws me off-center, and causes me to doubt and second-guess myself.
The Buddhists call our restless, ever-active minds “Monkey Mind.” Just like a monkey swinging from limb to limb, our minds swing from one topic to the next, one self-centered idea to the next. When my first t’ai chi teacher emphasized daily practice, she cautioned: “Monkey Mind will always try to convince you that there is something else you have to do…. Don’t listen. Just do your practice.”
Twenty years later—-and now as a teacher of t’ai chi chih moving meditation—-I continue to wrestle with Monkey Mind though I find more moments of peace in the midst of my moving meditation practice. Recently I listened to the CD, “Zen Howl,” by writer Natalie Goldberg. Like my t’ai chi teacher, Natalie counseled me to ignore Monkey Mind; to just start to write and keep my hand moving. Then Natalie said: “Monkey Mind is a guardian whose job it is to protect your heart.... Can you face yourself and what it is to be a human being?” Monkey Mind suddenly became a compassionate ally instead of an ill-willed, self-destructive influence.
Which inspires me to ask: Can I honor my self, my talents, my weaknesses and insecurities, and not be overcome by them? Can I give myself the gift of unscheduled time to come face-to-face with my own true Self? Can I take time to be?
“Light Years,” a memoir by Le Anne Schreiber, describes the author’s move from Manhattan (at the age of forty) to a rural location in upstate New York. She was, she wrote, seeking light after so many years spent under the unsatisfactory glow of fluorescent bulbs. She longed for inner stillness. Neither was easy to find.
Writes Schreiber: “There is simple basking, which has a lot to be said for it, but most of us lack the sublime temperament for prolonged, purposeless delight. It’s the price we pay for not being lizards.” Eventually Schreiber found an ideal spot, “In my early searches for idyllic basking sites, I had discovered a fallen sycamore whose double trunk spanned the stream from bank to bank, offering itself first as a cradle for my early, failed attempts at basking, later as seat and footrest for my contemplation of that failure.”
Same Spirit’s May retreat, “Nature’s Quiet Miracles,” offers each of us the opportunity to slow down and become better acquainted with Monkey Mind. Nature provides a multitude of opportunities for quiet observation. What’s most important is to keep coming back, time after time, to the present moment. It is here that Monkey Mind loses its power over us. It is here that we experience the essence of life on the Earth.
The Buddhists call our restless, ever-active minds “Monkey Mind.” Just like a monkey swinging from limb to limb, our minds swing from one topic to the next, one self-centered idea to the next. When my first t’ai chi teacher emphasized daily practice, she cautioned: “Monkey Mind will always try to convince you that there is something else you have to do…. Don’t listen. Just do your practice.”
Twenty years later—-and now as a teacher of t’ai chi chih moving meditation—-I continue to wrestle with Monkey Mind though I find more moments of peace in the midst of my moving meditation practice. Recently I listened to the CD, “Zen Howl,” by writer Natalie Goldberg. Like my t’ai chi teacher, Natalie counseled me to ignore Monkey Mind; to just start to write and keep my hand moving. Then Natalie said: “Monkey Mind is a guardian whose job it is to protect your heart.... Can you face yourself and what it is to be a human being?” Monkey Mind suddenly became a compassionate ally instead of an ill-willed, self-destructive influence.
Which inspires me to ask: Can I honor my self, my talents, my weaknesses and insecurities, and not be overcome by them? Can I give myself the gift of unscheduled time to come face-to-face with my own true Self? Can I take time to be?
“Light Years,” a memoir by Le Anne Schreiber, describes the author’s move from Manhattan (at the age of forty) to a rural location in upstate New York. She was, she wrote, seeking light after so many years spent under the unsatisfactory glow of fluorescent bulbs. She longed for inner stillness. Neither was easy to find.
Writes Schreiber: “There is simple basking, which has a lot to be said for it, but most of us lack the sublime temperament for prolonged, purposeless delight. It’s the price we pay for not being lizards.” Eventually Schreiber found an ideal spot, “In my early searches for idyllic basking sites, I had discovered a fallen sycamore whose double trunk spanned the stream from bank to bank, offering itself first as a cradle for my early, failed attempts at basking, later as seat and footrest for my contemplation of that failure.”
Same Spirit’s May retreat, “Nature’s Quiet Miracles,” offers each of us the opportunity to slow down and become better acquainted with Monkey Mind. Nature provides a multitude of opportunities for quiet observation. What’s most important is to keep coming back, time after time, to the present moment. It is here that Monkey Mind loses its power over us. It is here that we experience the essence of life on the Earth.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Nature's Quiet Miracles
Even though the pulse of spring throbs through my veins … It’s still not here! Yesterday I sat out on the deck for several hours just noticing the sounds—and the quiet. It was 50 degrees in the sun (yes, I wrapped myself in a blanket). What a miracle to soak in the sun’s warmth while surrounded by acres and acres of snow!
Today clouds cover the sun and temps are back down to 20 degrees. Both earth and sky are white, the trunks of trees the only darkness in this wooded landscape. I can see a few flakes of snow—and now a growing abundance—drifting down-down-down.
The earth unveils herself a bit at a time … Now we have a large front yard of mud and we “walk the plank” (a 2x4 board we’ve placed over the worst of it) each day to get to the other side. The drive is so snowy-muddy that we parked our car at the bottom early this morning to avoid driving on it, wearing deep tracks into the slippery-slidey muck.
Frances and I (i.e., Same Spirit) are collaborating with Pinehurst Inn B&B on a spring retreat May 15-18, 2008 called “Nature’s Quiet Miracles.” We’re offering a beautiful location, healthful meals, bodywork sessions, daily T’ai Chi Chih moving meditation, meditative walks through the woods and on the beach, group writing and conversation sessions, ritual, and lots of time to nap-read-write-walk-observe-converse-listen-dream-r-e-l-a-x-BE. I’ve been contemplating quiet and wondering …
What is quiet? It’s space to breathe and listen and hear the sounds of nature all around me. It’s making a choice to sit instead of run, lie instead of stand, observe instead of do, and gently float on the tides of thought and senses instead of control what I experience.
Quiet is taking the time to be alone. It is taking the time to hear, see, feel, experience your Self without any need to don masks or personas.…
Quiet is watching the waving branches of a tree, listening to the shuddering flap of bird wings as they flutter away from the feeder, noticing the small brown leaf that has melted its way through the crusty snow all the way down to the earth.
Quiet is experienced in the cheep of a bird flying overhead, the gentle tapping of a squirrel’s paw nearby, the repetitive knock-knock-knock of a Downy Woodpecker’s beak.
When I quieten down, I don’t necessarily experience total silence. Rather, I enter into a state of being where speed, hurry and busyness are purposefully set aside in order to rest—truly rest—peacefully in the moment.
If this opportunity for quiet appeals to you, contact us through our website, www.same-spirit.com, contact Nancy or Steve at 877-499-7651, or go to www.pinehurstinn.com. Ahhh ….
Today clouds cover the sun and temps are back down to 20 degrees. Both earth and sky are white, the trunks of trees the only darkness in this wooded landscape. I can see a few flakes of snow—and now a growing abundance—drifting down-down-down.
The earth unveils herself a bit at a time … Now we have a large front yard of mud and we “walk the plank” (a 2x4 board we’ve placed over the worst of it) each day to get to the other side. The drive is so snowy-muddy that we parked our car at the bottom early this morning to avoid driving on it, wearing deep tracks into the slippery-slidey muck.
Frances and I (i.e., Same Spirit) are collaborating with Pinehurst Inn B&B on a spring retreat May 15-18, 2008 called “Nature’s Quiet Miracles.” We’re offering a beautiful location, healthful meals, bodywork sessions, daily T’ai Chi Chih moving meditation, meditative walks through the woods and on the beach, group writing and conversation sessions, ritual, and lots of time to nap-read-write-walk-observe-converse-listen-dream-r-e-l-a-x-BE. I’ve been contemplating quiet and wondering …
What is quiet? It’s space to breathe and listen and hear the sounds of nature all around me. It’s making a choice to sit instead of run, lie instead of stand, observe instead of do, and gently float on the tides of thought and senses instead of control what I experience.
Quiet is taking the time to be alone. It is taking the time to hear, see, feel, experience your Self without any need to don masks or personas.…
Quiet is watching the waving branches of a tree, listening to the shuddering flap of bird wings as they flutter away from the feeder, noticing the small brown leaf that has melted its way through the crusty snow all the way down to the earth.
Quiet is experienced in the cheep of a bird flying overhead, the gentle tapping of a squirrel’s paw nearby, the repetitive knock-knock-knock of a Downy Woodpecker’s beak.
When I quieten down, I don’t necessarily experience total silence. Rather, I enter into a state of being where speed, hurry and busyness are purposefully set aside in order to rest—truly rest—peacefully in the moment.
If this opportunity for quiet appeals to you, contact us through our website, www.same-spirit.com, contact Nancy or Steve at 877-499-7651, or go to www.pinehurstinn.com. Ahhh ….
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