Transitioning into the New Year

January 6th, 2021 | Click to Comment

I would love to be looking forward into the new year with energy and clarity. It would be great to be moving ahead, powered by a sense of direction and a spirit of taking charge. But what I’m feeling is that I’m behind already.

Over the holidays it felt wonderful to check out from the news and the routines and even the Zoom connections that carried me through the prior months. Resting from them makes clear the effort that they all require. Now the gears are creaking as I try to get going again.

Transitions are hard for toddlers, and maybe they don’t really get any easier. We simply learn to soldier on. With the new year underway, it’s time for plans and schedules. The unopened door into the work that I have yet to begin is daunting as always. I have to remind myself that the work most always ends up being do-able once I walk through that door. It’s just a matter of turning the knob and leaning in.

Like all of us, my particular circumstances are set against our larger societal challenges. Bearing up in the current climate requires some effort in itself. There’s a race out there between the vaccine distribution channels and the new, more contagious, strain of coronavirus. I had internalized what felt ok to do, the volume of traffic in a store that felt safe to enter. Not much felt ok. Now the level of contagion is worse and I no longer have that sense of what’s safe. The virus is moving faster and the vaccine seems to be rolling out in slow motion, getting no closer to me at all. It’s a terrible thing when trying to live with good, responsible judgment seems indistinguishable from living in fear. And now there’s the chaos in Washington, too.

For weeks I’ve held onto how Rabbi Ari Saks recently described the meaning of Hanukkah. It speaks directly to this time. He says that lighting the menorah celebrates a victory in the midst of a larger battle, the outcome of which is yet unknown. It’s an act of faith, a way of drawing strength and courage from the small sources of light along our path. It’s also an act of courage to name what we hope for, to tend it, and to work for it.

That’s where we are as this year begins. There is hope and good news, but the shot in the arm is not here yet. There’s a new vision and leadership, but the transfer hasn’t happened. We’re in between the promise and the manifestation, and we persevere.

Once a week I tune in for a guided meditation offered by a wise teacher named Marion Gilbert. During her Monday Meditations I experience my burdens being lifted. It shifts my perception in a way that lets me feel absolutely carried and supported, with a perspective that allows me to be completely at peace. It works on my psyche just like smoothing an animal’s fur.

My worrying mind wants to be in charge. It thinks it should be in charge, yet has no capacity to change much of anything. My strongest agency comes from where I place my attention and what I choose. The best choice is to find that solid place to stand where I can observe the mind doing what it does, and be aware all the while that reality is bigger than what the worrying mind is able to perceive. That’s when I can remember that I’m being carried into the new year, that it’s not all up to me, and that ultimately all will be well.

Peace be with you.

Comments (0) | Cultural Climate,Finding Courage,Soul Tending Tags: , , , ,

Lining the Shelves

July 27th, 2018 | Click to Comment

The timing of a move this summer gave me a few days to ready the space before I moved into my new home. It was a chance to get to know the house itself, uncluttered with furniture or boxes, seeing how the light filled the rooms and changed throughout the day. I played a radio that echoed through the empty spaces while I prepared for my things to arrive.

One task was to put down clean shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets and drawers. Even before the boxes were moved in I was eager to get them unpacked and organized into a working kitchen, so I wanted all of the shelves ready to hold the things I needed.

It took forever, or at least it seemed to. Cutting the liner to the right dimensions made me aware of every inch of storage behind cabinet doors and drawer fronts. I allocated an evening for the job, but at the end of the evening I was so far from finished that I questioned the value of the whole enterprise. What had seemed like a good idea turned out to be more of an investment than I realized. But the shelves I had lined were clean and inviting, and I wanted all of them to feel that way. So I kept going.

The payoff showed up when I was unpacking boxes and working to put things in order. With that basic, foundational work done, the shelves were ready to hold what was needed.

Foundational work of any kind takes longer than we think. We underestimate what’s required to do it properly because in daily life the foundations aren’t obvious. Once the dishes are put away the shelf paper is practically invisible—unless it’s done badly, in which case it’s a continual vexation.

In spiritual life, the foundation is laid by cultivating the ability to be fully present and fully aware. It’s not until we’re able to notice what’s happening inside ourselves—our mental habits, our emotional patterns, our places of physical tension—that we become able to see clearly what’s going on in the world around us.

That practice of being present, of being awake and aware, is how we become receptive to the divine force that holds and guides us through life. Being present is how we become more loving; we can only love when we actually show up in this moment.

It’s easy to convince myself that I’m truly here because my body is. But my mind and heart go off on their own, wandering the same old paths, and lose connection with the body. If I’m not settled enough to feel my feet on the floor and the breath expanding my chest and belly, then I’m probably running my habitual patterns inside instead of truly showing up here and now. Not being in the body is a good clue that I’m not receptive to what life is offering right now.

Cultivating this practice takes even longer than putting down shelf liner. Preparing ourselves to receive the contents of whatever new box the day unpacks is the work of a lifetime. Yet when we are prepared to receive what comes, we’re better able to respond in freedom instead of from reflex. We’re more able to act from a place of love. The practice of mindfulness and meditation is something like laying down a clean lining for the shelving in our minds and hearts, and being conscious of what we will store there.

Comments (0) | Inspiration in the Everyday,Soul Tending Tags: , , , , ,

Cynthia Bourgeault and Practicing Presence

April 25th, 2017 | Click to Comment

When Cynthia Bourgeault introduced the contemplative practice of centering prayer at the Festival of Faiths in Louisville last week, she spoke of different practices and traditions as being like colors of the rainbow. Each color is part of the one light, a unique and beautiful aspect that informs our understanding of the light.

I was eager to attend Bourgeault’s talks because her book, The Wisdom Jesus, has been so important in opening my reading of scripture. She is tiny, a package of concentrated energy. Calm and unassuming, with a delightful sense of humor, she bristles with life as she teaches.

Meditation is like putting a stick into the spokes of the monkey mind, she said. It’s all about noticing our thoughts, seeing our patterns of thinking, and letting them go.

Whether we call this practice meditation, centering prayer, or something else, it’s a practice of making ourselves available to a higher mind. It’s an intention to move beyond the machinations of our calculating ego.  As Bourgeault puts it, centering prayer is a practice of returning to God whenever we notice a thought arising. How does one let go of a thought? She demonstrated by standing onstage with her arms outstretched, holding a stick in one hand. She opened her hand and allowed the stick to fall to the floor. Just like that. Let go.

This inner action of letting go becomes the outer action of letting be, she told the audience. It’s hard to value this spiritual practice at first. What can it possibly accomplish? What’s the point when there are so many other things that need doing?

But in this practice of gently releasing the mind’s tyranny, we open ourselves to another way of perceiving. We practice another way of being. For a brief time we allow a higher wisdom to move through us, and slowly learn to permit that flow in more and more aspects of life. We get beyond how the ego thinks things should be, and learn to be present to what is.

Bourgeault describes this as putting the mind in the heart, yielding a new way of perceiving. She calls it the key to practicing compassion. This deep sense of compassion, beyond what she terms ego and activism and do-goodism, is putting on the mind of Christ. From this place true transformation happens.

As we practice this way of being, we place ourselves in the presence of God. As we get out of the way we allow God to flow through us. As we let go of our ego’s agenda we become available to the flow of our authentic life and experience our connection to others.

The energy in the room was palpable as Bourgeault led us in a silent session of centering prayer. I understood for the first time where the phrase “tugged at my heartstring” comes from as I experienced just such a tangible sensation.

Sitting in meditation it looks like nothing is happening. But there’s more to our lives than what meets the eye.

 

Comments (0) | Paying Attention,Soul Tending Tags: , , , , ,

Room for the Spirit

September 27th, 2014 | Click to Comment

Last week, workmen installed a new hardwood floor at our house. Preparing for that work looked a lot like moving—books packed away into boxes and furniture carried out. When the room was empty the old carpet looked even worse; this project was long overdue.

Two and a half days of noisy work followed: an electric saw wailing on the front walk, hammers pounding the planks into place, sporadic shots of a nail gun driven by a compressor that reverberated through the entire house. But in the midst of it all was the encouraging scent of fresh lumber and the satisfaction of seeing good work in progress.

Bare Wood Floor

After the oak was stained, the guys brushed the finishing coat over the wood, working their way toward the front door. They stepped backwards onto the porch, leaned in to close the door, and wished us well.

It was quiet. And beautiful.

An empty room with a glowing oak floor has a Zen-like tranquility. Waiting for the finish to dry meant it had to remain bare, and I enjoyed seeing this kind of space in the house. Later, even as I missed the comfort of the room’s furnishings, I was reluctant to move everything back in. The openness invites a sense of expansiveness, of possibility, that I didn’t want to give up.

Not allowing everything to return means making some decisions. It means sorting through shelves and baskets deciding on what’s worth keeping. And it means not letting things pile up once that paring down is done.

But I’ve been here before. And before that. It’s a cycle that continues. But in this case the change started at the foundation, and the decision is not what to carry out but what to bring in. Maybe that will make a difference. I keep having to learn over and over again that changing your space and changing your life seem to go together.

That expanse of uncluttered space, anchored by the warmth of natural wood, made me think of meditation. Maybe it seemed a perfect room for meditation because the open space, both restful and expansive, is like the mental and spiritual uncluttering that happens through meditation and prayer.

It’s also a physical embodiment of what the Sabbath is meant to be—an opening of time for what we value most, a space that allows some perspective on what’s most important. Sacred space and sacred time seem to be two sides of the same coin, and both help make room for the Spirit.

There’s a sense of renewal in transforming this room, just as meditation and prayer renew mind and spirit, as Sabbath renews the week. Creating it gives rise to the question of what is worth allowing into our space, and offers a reminder of how much choice we have in making that decision. It’s a practice worth repeating every week, or even every day.

 

Comments (0) | Inspiration in the Everyday,Soul Tending Tags: , , , , , ,