BEING PEACE

BEING PEACE

 My husband and I don’t celebrate Christmas, but the holiday spirit fills the air and it is infectious. I love the lights, the upbeat music, and the sense of community fostering generosity and goodwill.  We celebrate the solstice and the increase of daylight. We also light a candle for 8 nights to celebrate Hannukah. It’s a Jewish holiday and represents the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 AD and the miracle of oil for candles lasting not one day as expected but for eight. I find myself spontaneously practicing Muditā (Pāli and Sanskrit: मुदिता) it is a dharmic concept in Buddhism, especially sympathetic or vicarious joy—the pleasure that comes from delighting in other people's well-being. Others’ happiness becomes mine. It feels much better to receive joy and the sense of abundance it brings than to focus on what I lack. At the same time, I hold in my heart all those less fortunate than me and acknowledge that I miss having children of my own or family closer in proximity. I give thanks for Zoom. It allows me to observe my nieces and their children in California coming together to celebrate the holidays and open presents. The children’s wonder and joy are contagious, and I appreciate sharing in the festivities and being a part of their lives. I do not take it for granted. I feel the oneness of life and wish we could all cultivate a sense of community and interdependence every day. The human condition requires tending, I feel the tenderness and vulnerability of us humans. We need each other. You affect me and I affect you. I wish peace on earth and goodwill existed for everyone throughout the world.
 
My awareness of the gift of breath and life itself—and the importance of good medical care has been heightened recently. I’ve had pneumonia this month and it’s brought back memories of the time I was hospitalized for my stem cell transplant back in 1996 and I developed pneumonia and people worried whether I would live. I went to urgent care twice this month as I didn’t respond to my initial dose of antibiotics and spiked a high fever. Both times were on a Sunday, and the second was three days before Christmas. The waiting room was full, but everyone was patient and treated respectfully. It was medicine at its best. I was impressed with the quality of care and the compassion of the hard-working staff. They were efficient, cheerful and competent. I did not like the fact that the doctor very conscientiously listed all the reasons I was considered a high-risk patient, age being one of them, and recommended hospitalization. A friend of mine worked as a nurse in the hospital and had just mentioned how overcrowded it was and how beds were in stairwells. I felt my body could recover with outpatient treatment and agreed to go if this didn’t work. The doctor understood my fears and used all of the resources he had available at the Urgent Care Center, which was unusually well-equipped, including an IV infusion of antibiotics and a CT scan. I was impressed. 

As I write, I no longer have a fever and I feel my energy returning. I am VERY thankful. I take to heart the gatha (mindfulness verse) Thich Nhat Han created.
     “Breathing in I calm
      Breathing out I smile
       Dwelling in the present moment
       It is a precious moment.”
My breath is coming in and going out. I am alive. I am thankful. I’m able to think, write, eat, ambulate and go to the bathroom myself: Wonderful. It’s a gift to be out of bed and sitting in a comfortable chair in my living room writing this blog. There is cold and snow outside my window, but it is warm where I sit. I am upright and I have a caring husband. I am thankful I am not alone. I am thankful modern medicine has antibiotics that are available to fight infection—and they are working…whew!
At the same time, being 81 reminds me that illness comes to everyone, as does death. I am not special. My husband and I went over our health proxies and what to do should one of us become very ill or die. We also have cemetery plots, and David looked up where they are and who to contact. This is not a joyous activity, but it is practical and needed. Meditation is not only a way of thinking but an acknowledgment of what is—and life and death, health and illness, joy and sorrow are included. But…now I rejoice and give thanks.

Last night, I woke up thinking about this blog and realized we will be meeting after New Year’s Day and it will be 2025. Another year will have passed. This is often a time for reflection and a retrospective of the year. When I look back at 2024 the events take a back seat to a sense of deep gratitude for the people in my life and the work that I am fortunate enough to do. It is wonderful to lead meditation groups, teach mindfulness and savor the good in life so I can face the foibles of my own heart and mind and the tragedy of wars, greed and hatred and stay balanced and whole. I wouldn’t mind losing a pound or two and I can always be kinder and more generous. I believe this year calls for continued faith in humanity and my strength, resilience and wisdom to face the unwanted. I don’t find reality easy to accept. Like my Dad, I can be unrealistic and build castles in the air. That’s why I like the statement by Thoreau.
“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.”
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

May we trust our inner wisdom to see and do what is needed.
May we love ourselves and each other.
May we all live with ease and know peace and joy.
HAPPY NEW YEAR.

GIVING THANKS

I began writing this blog before Thanksgiving, and now we have returned to our daily routine and entered the holiday season. This time of year is about giving, but it can also heighten stress as giving may feel obligatory rather than a reciprocal exchange of appreciation and care. The commercialization of the holidays often dampens my spirit, prompting me to pause and reflect on the many gifts I have received.

 Every day, I do my best to remember and give thanks for the gift of life. I do not take my ability to walk for granted or the ability to have a mind that thinks and a meditation practice that cultivates awareness and kindness. I remember, again and again, it’s not all about ME, and as I groan, complaining I ate too much at the Thanksgiving meal, I am glad my body allows me to digest food and I have enough to eat and can share a meal with others.  I am also mindful of those who suffer from food insecurity, war, and famine. I give thanks for the plentitude in my life and the love I receive. I feel enriched by the people in my life and their values, even as I am disturbed by the news highlighting the fear, greed, and anger that creates division.  I worry about what the future may hold, but I commit myself to finding light in the darkness. I see the good in people but try not to blind myself to potential dangers.

Dr. Robert Eliot, a cardiologist who studied stress wrote, ““Rule No. 1 is, don't sweat the small stuff. Rule No. 2 is, it's all small stuff.”  

David and I had an early Thanksgiving with family and had no plans for the actual day. Our neighbors, a young couple with two children, invited us for the actual Thanksgiving dinner., They made us feel very welcome and made a spectacular meal. They kindly sent us home with a care package in a recyclable container. When we got home, feeling satiated and grateful, I placed the container in the refrigerator. David, wanting to be helpful, thought the container wouldn’t keep the food fresh, so he transferred the food into a plastic bag. I had watched Valerie, our hostess, carefully put the leftover stuffing, roasted vegetables, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and turkey in the container appreciating her generosity and how beautiful it all looked—and watched as David dumped it all out smushing it together! Ick! In the grand scheme, it’s small stuff. He acted quickly and there was nothing I could do about it. Did the warm feeling I was holding last? No. To my credit, I did not express my dismay with anger, but I could not let it go completely—I dreamed about it that night.  Now, I write about it…but I can smile. At lunch today I dumped the food out of its ziplock bag and managed to separate the different items. It still tasted good. Thank you.

Acknowledging what we may consider small and still appreciating the larger picture gives perspective and makes a big difference in how we meet the unwanted. My meditation practice has helped me acknowledge what I am feeling and have more choice in my responses.

 When I was a child in kindergarten, my teachers would have us recite a short prayer before we received our milk and cookies. It went like this

 Thank you, God, for the world so sweet.

 Thank you, God, for the food I eat. 

Thank you, God, for their birds that sing.

 Thank you, God, for everything.

For years I recited this prayer to bolster my spirits and comfort me when I was scared. I grew up in the era after World War II. I felt my parents cared for me, and I never wanted for food or shelter.  However, as a sensitive child, I absorbed some of their worries. My parents didn't have much money and lived in a one-bedroom apartment in my father’s parents' house. It was a duplex. They lived on one side and my aunt and cousins, who babysat for me, lived on the other side. Other relatives, who we’d visit, lived up the hill. 

 I liked school, had friends and felt safe, secure and happy. My mother, however, worried alot and did not like living with her in-laws. When her parents became ill and mentally unable to care for themselves, her brothers decided that it would be a good idea to move my grandparents, my Bubbie and Zaydie (Yiddish for grandma and grandpa) from their home in upstate New York to live with my parents in a house they helped my parents purchase.  So, at the age of ten I moved from a small apartment in a house with one set of grandparents, whom I liked, to a larger house on the other side of town, where I knew no one, to live with a set of grandparents I barely knew. This solved my uncle's problems and allowed my Mom to move away from her Mother-in-law, with whom she had a difficult relationship, into her own home with more room for my brother and me. This was supposed to be a good idea but from my 10-year-old perspective it was disastrous.  I didn’t know Bubbie and Zaydie well, they spoke only Yiddish which I didn’t understand, and they either had Alzheimers or dementia . It was heartbreaking for my Mother and scary for my little brother and me. 

Exhale: 

I didn’t know the words for Metta back then—“May I be safe and protected, May I be happy, May I be healthy, May I live with ease.”  However, I did remember the prayer I recited over milk and cookies. Whenever I got scared, I’d repeat it to myself, and I found it comforting. As an elder, I now understand how difficult the situation was for my parents to care for them as well as us and experience their demise. I wish I could have expressed more gratitude towards them and said thank you more often for caring for me and teaching me about loyalty, perseverance, and love.  They showed me it’s possible to find light in darkness. Thank you.


Let's reflect on gratitude and give thanks for the gifts we have received in our lives, past and present. Thank you for being part of my community. I hope you can join me

Thursday, December 5, 2024 at 11 AM, EST

You are welcome to invite friends, but please have them register 

Kindness

I don't usually consider myself elderly, but I fell twice last week. The first time, I tripped over the hem of my pajama bottoms and fell on the rug in the bathroom. The landing was soft, and only the pinky on my right-hand hurt, but I fell again the next day. After my art class, I got distracted by the logistics of putting my suitcase filled with art supplies into the car. I fell on the curb. Ouch. I know that falling is one of those nightmares that an older person does everything to prevent, but up until then, I didn't feel elderly. A woman nearby saw the fall and asked if I needed help. I said yes, and she kindly helped me up from the ground, put my suitcase in the car, and ensured I was OK. It was humbling, but I appreciated her help.

I have always prided myself on being able to fall gently and harmlessly. This is a skill I perfected back in the days when skis were metal, and there was no snowmaking, so slopes were often icy, and moguls were big and hard. I used speed to make my turns, and it was rare not to fall at least once or twice on my way down the mountain. I always picked myself up and continued on the run. I took my resilience for granted and never fully appreciated my hardiness. Now that I am older, I am aware of my vulnerability and the need to listen to my body. My balance can be off and my bones are more brittle. My days of feeling invincible are over. I use poles when I walk, and I don't go skiing. Yet, I like to think I am still young. My spirit says I am still alive and vibrant, but my body tells me to be careful.

I minimized my fall and drove to the physical therapy appointment that I had scheduled and didn't want to miss. I go to strengthen my hip and be more balanced when I walk. The therapist kindly checked me out, swabbed a bloody spot by my knee, felt my pinky finger and said," You know you could have canceled." He suggested having my hand checked out. Deciding to be prudent, I went to urgent care, and indeed, I did break my 5th metacarpal, the bone on the side of the hand by the pinky. A cast was created for me that went up to my elbow and didn't allow movement in my fingers. I maintained a state of calm during this procedure, but it's harder as time goes on. My equanimity is being tested. I miss being able to drive, and I need help doing some of the daily maintenance tasks required for self-care. I have always said that it's good to give and to receive, but I'm finding it hard to be dependent, and it seems like it could be a prelude to future needs. Boy, do I now appreciate having two hands and being able to take care of myself. It has also highlighted how much we need each other. I'm very thankful that I have a husband who cares for me and is willing to help me. I realize how hard it is to be alone and the importance of assisting another person with generosity and compassion. All of us are subject to aging, illness, loss, and death. It's part of the human condition. It's not only me that falls.  We are all vulnerable. Kindness makes a difference.

I did my best to maintain my routine and go for my morning walk, but zipping my jacket and buttoning my coat was hard to do with one hand. It's also tricky getting into one. I was happy I had some with wide sleeves that fit over my cast and thankful that I had a husband willing to help me, but he wasn't home. It was a beautiful day but cold. I found a jacket that snapped and zipped, and I could do the first few snaps, so I went out… and it was very cold. I needed my coat fully snapped. I saw a woman who regularly ran past our house. I didn't want to interrupt her run, but I was getting colder, so I stopped her and asked for assistance. She was delighted to help and did up the remaining snaps. It was a lovely connection.

I proceeded up the hill and bumped into another neighbor walking her dog, Poppy. She's a young woman with a small child who works as a speech therapist at a rehab center. She noticed my cast and was very empathetic, so much so that I felt free to confess that using only one hand was hard, and I didn't like it. She said, "It's OK not to like it." which prompted me to speak loudly and emphatically, "I don't like it." I said this with feeling more than one time, and we both laughed. It made my day.

I feel very fortunate that I live in a neighborhood where people say hello to each other. We are of different ages and experiences but are all subject to life's ups and downs. My experience emphasizes the importance of support, compassion, and generosity. I feel immense gratitude that I live in an area where people can express caring, and I hope I do the same. It also felt great to say I don't like this. Sometimes, we forget that equanimity doesn't mean that there is no struggle or dislike of something terrible that has happened. It is about facing what is true without getting lost in anger, hatred, or despair. We are a part of a larger whole. It's not just about me but all of us. We affect each other. I have immense gratitude that my break will heal, and I will continue to be mobile and have support. It's too easy to focus on what's wrong rather than appreciate what is correct and working. I still have trouble with accepting the break. The wish to have my hand fully functional again is vital—and that's ok. I still can laugh, and I've gotten good at feeding myself with my left hand.

When I listen to people in my classes tell me what happened to them, which causes pain and is difficult to manage, I always appreciate the strength, resilience, and courage it takes to maintain equanimity. We need each other. Coming together and sharing is powerful. I feel fortunate to be with you this Thursday, November 7 at 11 AM,EST. I hope you can join me as we discuss our vulnerabilities and strengths.

CHANGE OF SEASONS

I am always curious about the confluence of external conditions with internal ones. I notice how the weather affects my mood. It’s raining today, allowing me to sleep later, forgo my morning walk, and begin this blog. It was delicious to be in bed, let sleep overtake me, and feel snug and comfortable. I savored the luxury of non-doing and feel very fortunate to be safe and protected, have shelter and food, no current crisis, and have people in my life I love. There continues to be too much pain in the world and too many people with insufficient food or shelter and fear dominating their lives. Loss, illness, and death will always exist, but I wonder about the delusion that takes hold in the face of its enormity that prevents us from acknowledging it. Must suffering always be with us? What’s the balance between doing and non-doing? Rest versus action? 

I just heard that a good friend of mine has a serious illness. Pain in me arises as I listen to her. I know what it is to get bad news. I know the importance of maintaining a wise heart and mind and not drowning in sorrow or being overwhelmed by fear. It’s not easy. An ongoing meditation practice helps, but love and support are also needed. Knowing one’s limits is also helpful. I have to limit my exposure to the news. I want to turn away from the scenes of violence and horror arising from prejudice and fear, but I also need to be informed. I ask, who are we? Is fear and anger needed to maintain power and experience success? As meditators, what can we do to influence society? These are big questions and no simple answer, but I am committed to facing what is true rather than deluding myself of its existence.

I’m becoming more aware of what I don’t see or want to feel—not only the spaces between breaths but a person holding a sign at an intersection asking for help, or stopping and waiting for a person to cross the street rather than rushing through with my car. Everyday kindness can be very meaningful. Little things can be big. My husband inspires me. He does hospice work, writes postcards to get out the vote, and buys diapers to give out to impoverished families. I continue meditating and leading others in free meditation sessions and do some teaching, but I wonder if this is enough.

Research shows that mindful meditation enhances one’s quality of life and decreases stress, but at the same time, it heightens sensitivity. I find myself tearing up more easily—especially when I experience goodness. My neighbor offered to dog-sit our pup, Maya. His thoughtfulness moved me and motivated me to reach out more to people in need. I don’t like feeling pain, mine or others. People in an MBSR class would often question why they should meditate. They discover pain in the body they had ignored or a habit that wasn’t helpful, like judgment or self-criticism. Some drop out, but others hang in and soften, knowing we are all part of the human community, and we are not alone. 

Life can be hard. Bad things happen. The practice of mindfulness is practical and cultivates clarity, joy, and wisdom. This leads to knowledge and greater choice and understanding, but also limitations. Facing ourselves is humbling. I discover parts of me I don’t like, like greed, wanting more of the good and less of the bad, be it food or news. As I age, I am more aware of my vulnerability, what supports vitality and growth, and those that deplete it. I ask, can I hold them both and remain steady and calm inside and out?

Every year, as the weather cools and days grow shorter, the leaves where I live change color and fall from the trees, leaving them bare. The weather is colder and more bitter, but the sun is often bright and has clarity. Snow falls, and it is beautiful, but if it lasts for a long time, it freezes and becomes hazardous. I used to equate this time of year with death. My mother died in October, and I remember praying for her to suffer less and live longer. In the past, I felt sad as summer dwindled and fall began resisting the change of season. Now I realize the trees are not dead but hibernating so they can be replenished and renewed as the earth warms and the sun moves higher into the sky.

I no longer ask how my meditation is going or question my worthiness. I ask whether I embody my practice. Are my actions in harmony with my principles? Am I being generous? Kind? Do I respond with thoughtfulness or reactivity to something disturbing? My wish is that my practice be of service to others and I maintain a steadiness of presence and continue cultivating kindness and generosity that will spill out into the world.

May there be love and understanding.

May there be peace.

Let’s come together and support each other in facing our challenges and finding peace and joy.

PLEASE NOTE, WE ARE MEETING ON WEDNESDAY IN OCTOBER.

Here’s the date:
Wednesday, October 2, 2024 at 11 AM, EST

You are welcome to invite friends, but please have them register on my website.

HOME

I’ve always thought of home as a place where I resided. It was external. In meditation, home is an internal oasis of spaciousness and calm. My meditation teacher instructed me to return home when I noticed my mind wandering and I was lost in thought. Home could be the breath, a word or phrase or even feeling your feet touching the floor. It served to anchor the mind and foster equanimity—except when it didn’t. In my early days of meditating, home was problematic. I didn’t perceive it as a warm and welcoming place where I could rest. It evoked some painful memories. Sometimes I’d have an attack of the “if onlys”. If only it (me) was different then I could be happy. If only I was married…then I’d be content, If only, when I was married I didn’t live in Worcester…then I’d be happy. If only… I got restless if I spent too much time at home. I wanted to be busy and be doing something new and exciting. As I have aged, I get tired more easily and I am less enamored with doing and much more appreciative of simply being. Home is where I can rest and appreciate “just this”. I enjoy sitting in a chair and reading a book. I like going grocery shopping and examining the fruit and vegetables. I like that I am in remission from cancer and can walk, breathe, and use all my senses. I know I am in the latter years of my life and bad things happen as well as good ones. Nothing BIG happening feels like a miracle. Everything changes but I am here now, alive, awake, and present. It’s a gift. I do not take it for granted.

In the past when I returned from vacation, I was disappointed it had ended. Now I realize that vacation is a state of mind. Returning home helps me experience anew what I often take for granted. I freshly appreciate the comfort of my bed. The mattress is not too soft or hard and supports my back. I’m enjoying my bathroom. I don’t have to climb over the side of a tub to take a shower and the water pressure and temperature are just right. I even find doing the laundry satisfying. I didn’t rush to unpack but I listened to my body and rather than immediately put everything away I only did the essentials and went to sleep early. The house looked good. It was undisturbed, nothing major broken and the plants hadn’t died: Heaven. Of course, there are bumps in my equanimity. When I awoke the next day I went to my car to go to an exercise class and I couldn’t open the car door. As I looked down at the key I held in my hand I realized it was not the one for my car but David’s. We take his car for our vacation and leave mine behind. I searched all the places I thought it could be and couldn’t find it. This upset me. I was especially upset because this was the second time I did this. David reassured me that it wasn’t so bad. Since this happened before we now have a backup key. About two years ago I couldn’t find my car key and we were forced to have a new one made. About six months later I found the key hidden on a clip in my daypack. This year I did not take the daypack. I am hoping they are in another “safe” location and will be retrieved.

It’s good to be home but being at the beach in the summer is special. Our puppy, Maya, is now four months old and she became socialized by running with other dogs early in the morning along the beach. Dogs are permitted on the beach until 10 AM, and a group of regulars walk their dogs. We see many of the same people year after year. We remember their dogs and they remember ours. We received condolences for our loss of Zeke and admiration for our new pup. Maya was admired, and petted, and people noticed her growing bigger and more confident. “She’s found her voice”, one woman said. We felt like proud parents and cheered when she overcame fear and leaped across a creek on the beach that fed into the ocean.

Re-entry after a beach vacation is often difficult for me. Our first day back was hot and I missed walking with David and Maya along the shore and going for a quick swim. I loved walking along the path to the beach under a canopy of trees that opens to a vista of sand, sea, and sky. I feel one with nature and the rhythm of changing tides and seas. I sit in our yard behind our house. It too is beautiful but different. I am home here and there. Here are neighborhood dogs for Maya to play with. Maya is meeting them, and I feel appreciative of the tips their owners, our friends, are giving us. She is engaged with her toys, but we must open the door for her to go out into the yard to pee or poo. It takes time for her to reacclimate too. She has had a few accidents since we were back. We are training her to use the doggie door, and the yard will be fenced in like it was at our rental so she can go out on her own again. Nothing stays the same, dogs, people, the beach. How fortunate to have a home inside and out—just this: Enough.

I look forward to sharing our summer experiences and what they have taught us at the next Aging with Wisdom group via Zoom. I hope you can join me September 9th at 11AM , EDT

Finding Wonder

We’ve dared!  On Sunday, July 22, the day after we returned from Iceland, we drove to  New Hampshire to a breeder of Springer Spaniel puppies. I got the email announcing their availability while on vacation, and I responded in the euphoria of the trip, the land, and the people of Iceland. Zeke, who died in November, was a Springer, as was our very first dog, Chaya. Each was special. It’s a bit wild getting a puppy at our age. David worries about their care after we are gone (have died). I agree that this is relevant, but I am focusing on how she will enhance our lives now. We both have more time and enjoy observing her enthusiasm and excitement at discoveries. I have gotten some books on puppy training and am motivated to train her effectively and consistently. This requires David and I to work in tandem and use our mindfulness training to listen to each other honestly and not rush to judgment.  There is much to learn and a lot of not knowing. I’ve been realizing we are the ones who need the training. The dog will follow.

We’ve chosen a female dog, and we’ve named her Maya Hekla. Maya can mean a dream, and Hekla is the name of an active volcano in Iceland. We were on vacation surrounded by volcanoes when I got a notice of the availability of Springer puppies, and with the high of new sights and a joyful time away, it seemed appropriate. Puppies, like the volcano, can erupt anytime and surprise us.  They are dynamic,  bring change, and, being young and growing, are continually being formed. I find it both challenging and refreshing. Maya can also mean illusion. I hope that choosing a puppy rather than an older dog and being optimistic about our ability to care for her is not an illusion but a dream we can realize.

As I write, Maya is sitting on a pad in my office. We’ve walked her. She has pooped and peed and is calm. I know this will change. Then, we must decide whether she needs to go out again. We are learning to read her cues. The other day I saw her making circles on the top of our stairs; I rushed up and took her out, and she pooped. I was proud. Then later, I decided she could sit on a pad in my office, and she surprised me and pooped again on the floor. Exhale. I thought of the song I sometimes have people sing from Sesame Street, “It’s Ok to make mistakes,” and I ordered a portable crate for my office so this would not be repeated. It taught me to pay attention to her movements. As I write again today, our rhythm is more in harmony, and I recognize the signal to go. Satisfaction!

I appreciate writing about Maya rather than the effects of aging. I’ve been reflecting on  “just this.” “Just this”. One of my teachers used this phrase during meditation, and I’ve adopted it. I find it mind-blowing to be with experience without judging it, good or bad. It’s “just this”. If it feels good, how marvelous, or ugh, I don’t like it. I know whatever it is, it will change. Of course, some things are easier to bear than others, but I’m learning about perspective and wise action. Maya is learning about good/bad at this stage of her life. We give her treats when she poops and pees outside. We pet her when she is calm and are in the process of controlling nipping when she is excited. The learning is reciprocal. We’re teaching each other. I’m learning to be more observant and patient. She is learning what behavior leads to a treat. David and I are learning to value each other’s judgment without rushing to push our views onto the other. There is no right or wrong but “just this,” observing the effect of our actions and the thoughts and conditions that drive us.

David and I spent almost two weeks in Iceland and had a wonderful time. It is a land of fire and ice. The interior is not inhabitable, and most of the population lives along the coast. There are two intercontinental plates, the North American and Eurasian. The plates move apart about two inches a year. This gap is visible, reminding us that the earth is not as solid as we think and, like the mind, is constantly moving and changing. At a spot above this divide, the first Icelandic parliament met in 950 AD and was considered advanced for its time. The land itself influenced their laws. It influenced me. The hot springs, volcanoes, lava fields, and wind absorbed my attention. I felt one with the primal forces of nature. I loved that every town had a swimming pool and hot pools of different temperatures. David and I went with a friend to a pool in one of the towns to be with the locals. There was a giant water slide for kids and a smaller kiddy pool with a small slide. I stripped and scrubbed my body in the locker room with females of all ages and sizes and explored every pool and temperature.  I returned to the hotel refreshed and admired the community it fostered.  

I am home now. Worcester looks pretty, green, and settled. It, too, is beautiful. I appreciate “just this.” Summer is not yet over, so we won’t be meeting this August, but I look forward to seeing you in September for the Aging with Wisdom group via Zoom. We will gather again on Thursday, September 5, at 11 AM EDT. In the meantime, enjoy “just this.” May you find wonder in the ordinary and be refreshed.

Warmly, Elana

Hello & Happy Summer

I thought I’d say hello and send wishes for a lovely summer. Just a reminder, we won’t be meeting this July or August but I wanted to share a piece from Martin's The Sage's Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for the Second Half of Life  “The Truth of Getting Older”.

THE TRUTH OF GROWING OLDER

Life is always too short.

We will never be able to see everything we wanted to see, do all the things we wanted to do, or achieve all the successes we thought so important.

But to arrive at a quiet mind, and a serene spirit, is the supreme accomplishment.

If we do this, we have done all.

The truth of growing older cannot be described, only experienced.

We are unaware of becoming sages, we just know that we are at peace.

We are unaware of being wise, we just know that we are content.

We are unaware of being generous, we just enjoy giving ourselves away.

Do what you can each day.

Enjoy your goals and plans.

But the cultivation of your spirit is your greatest task.

What other reason could there be for the life you have been given?

I like the idea of cultivating a serene spirit and a quiet mind. Let’s be good to each other and do what we can to be generous and loving.  I can’t always be content but I can remember how important it is to stay awake to ALL of life and how fortunate I am to have goals and plans. I attended the retreat with Jon Kabat-Zinn and other mindfulness teachers last month and found it inspiring.  It was lovely to reunite with old friends and make new ones, all committed to bringing mindfulness into the world and doing what is possible to reduce suffering.  I left with a deep appreciation of the power of community and the importance of falling awake (opening with awareness) to what is. May you cultivate your spirit with compassion and generosity and discover wisdom and peace. 

I hope to see you at the Aging with Wisdom group (via Zoom) in September on the 5th.

Warmly, Elana

ZERO

Recently, I watched a video celebrating Joseph Goldstein's 80th birthday. Joseph was one of my first meditation teachers, and I continue to learn from him. He co-founded The Insight Meditation Society (IMS), which was established in the late 70s, and it's been a home for me for many years. I went there to sit in meditation when I was recovering from cancer and each year for ten days to three weeks for retreats. The video reviewed his life and teachings. It was sweet, and I became nostalgic. Joseph reported that he had a hard time wrapping his head around the number 80. I nodded my head in agreement. I'm turning 81 in a couple of weeks and find it hard to believe. When Joseph commented on his age, the video moderator smiled and put on immense eyeglasses studded with rhinestones in the shape of an 80. After the number was seen, she paused, tilted the eyeglass frame, and only the number zero appeared.

Meditation and mindfulness have been a core element of my life, and zero can represent emptiness in Buddhism. This is challenging to understand on a conceptual level. No self, no me or mine, nothing to hold onto or to do: Nothing. Nothing to achieve or obtain. Nothing permanent, "Just this." It's vast, empty, and full. It applies to everyone and everything. It's associated with liberation from suffering, and it brings perspective.

Five reflections in Buddhism are: we all are subject to aging, illness, loss, and death, and we are the repository of our actions and their fruit. There is nothing to hold onto as everything is impermanent. There are moments when I am very quiet, and nothing arises: zero. There is nothing I have to do or strive to be. I feel connected to so much more than me. It reminds me of summertime and floating in a beautiful crystal-clear pond surrounded by the greenery of trees and supported by the expanse of water and sky. There is a stillness…and it simply is…

For years, I have struggled with the concept of emptiness and the dissolution of a self. To not having a self? Of course, I have a self; we all do. My work has been to understand myself and how my mind and body work to create the world as I know it. As a psychotherapist, I have helped others feel better about themselves, and meditation has been a companion on this journey. As I write, I am headed out to spend a week at Omega Institute on a retreat led by Jon Kabat-Zinn, my friend, old boss, and teacher. I will be there with 200 other mindfulness teachers. Experiencing the synergy of this gathering of people dedicated to learning and the relief of suffering evokes excitement, curiosity…and a little bit of anxiety. How will it be? How will I be? Can I remain balanced and present amid memories of the past and concern over the future? Can I be with "just this" among the stimulation of the gathering?

It is challenging to wrap my head around turning 81. I am a senior teacher of mindfulness. Me? I find it almost unbelievable that I have spent over 40 years meditating, teaching, and learning about the relief of suffering. I still have much to learn.

Over the years, I have become more humble, grateful, and compassionate. I am thankful for being alive. I am fortunate to be able to do this work and be with wonderful people such as you. My past will be evoked among the trees, sky, and walkways of Omega Institute. I have been there as a teacher and a student. Much will arise. How fortunate. Learning continues.

In the beginning years of the stress reduction clinic at the University of Massachusetts Medical Center, Jon (Kabat-Zinn), the founder, created a workbook. It contained inspirational quotes, one of which was from Albert Einstein. He is quoted as saying,

"A human being is a part of the whole, called by us the "Universe" a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and his feelings as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty."

Life is an adventure. Let's practice kindness, compassion, and connection. I give thanks that we can be together and be curious about nothing and everything. May we all be free of suffering and find peace in "just this."

The Aging with Wisdom Group is open to all. We will meet on Zoom, June 6th at 11 EST, to examine ways we quiet, center, and find our place in these large and challenging conditions of life. Looking forward to seeing you soon.

ENDINGS

Birds Wings

The grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror

Up to where you’re bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look and instead,

Here’s the joyful face you’ve been waiting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes,

If it were always a fist or always stretched open,

you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting

and expanding.

The two as beautifully balanced and coordinated.

as birdwings.

~ Rumi

I sit in my living room appreciating its ambience and the comfort of familiarity. We have been living in our house now since 1996. That’s the longest I have ever lived in a place, and I still find it surprising that it continues to be a refuge. We moved here when I was going through chemotherapy, and I wanted a space that would be healing. The house is larger than we need but my husband and I fell in love with its yard. There’s a large lawn that is dotted with trees and it goes from the house down to a small pond. A brook feeds the pond and a small bridge goes over it into a mini forest of fir trees. It’s a bit of country in the city. We even have a woodchuck that we sometimes see scurrying across the ground. The holes it makes are annoying but it’s a wonder to experience an animal in our yard that is not a squirrel and feel a connection to nature. In the last few years, we had to take down some of the ash trees but the city had a tree planting initiative and we now have added a magnolia, a beech, a Japanese maple, and a pin oak that are taking root. We won’t be around to see them mature but others will see them and benefit from their shade. We buried our two dogs in the yard and marked the spot with a small grave. I surrounded the grave with white stones from the beach where we go in the summer. The house is in the city but its silence brings serenity and it has proven to be a sanctuary. I came to live here when I was undergoing chemotherapy and very ill, I was able to recover from a stem cell transplant here and be healed. Many life events have been celebrated in the house and yard including staff retreats for my colleagues at The Center for Mindfulness. We also held celebrations here, an anniversary for the CFM and my 50th and 70th birthday. It has always brought joy and solace. Now I wonder if is it time to leave.

I have turned 80 and will soon be 81 David is in his late 70’s and we have been thinking about the viability of remaining here. Caring for the grounds and maintaining the house is becoming more difficult. We consider aging in place but are concerned how it would be if we were incapacitated or one of us died. Our energy is diminishing and the constancy of effort it takes to keep things running properly has increased. I have never been good at saying goodbye or letting go. I breathe deeply when I think of leaving and moving to a smaller place and a new community. I look at the books I’ve collected through the years, the mementos from trips we’ve taken, our photographs, furniture, and more. I have some of my Mom’s flatware and my grandmother’s dishes. Using a particular spoon or knife brings a sense of warmth but my nieces and nephews live far away and are not interested in any of it. My mother collected cut glass and treasured each piece. They now reside unused in a breakfront that was my parents. I have a lot of “stuff” big and small. I am the oldest in my family now and I seem to be the repository for my parent’s treasures: Memories. I like to think an object is just an object and the memory remains. I know the love they represent is eternal. Still, it challenges me to say goodbye and let go.

My thoughts about leaving are heightened because I have decided to end my psychotherapy practice. This will give me more time to focus on meditation and mindfulness and free me up to explore other interests. I only have a few people I continue to treat but they have been with me for many years and the relationship is meaningful and runs deep. Saying goodbye is hard for them—and for me. I feel a bit like a mother might as her children grow up and leave the nest. It’s exciting and a little scary. Saying goodbye brings up all the other goodbyes we’ve had to make to move into another stage. I know that it’s fruitful to examine what arises but I feel it viscerally now that it is happening. The mind knows everything dies but saying goodbye is not conceptual. I feel it in the body. There is loss. Endings are real; Trust, faith, stamina, and love, are required to face what arises and move into the next stage; Trust in the rhythm of life itself and faith in love and connection. We are never alone but are part of a larger whole.

Years ago, after I recovered from a near-death experience during my stem cell transplant for lymphoma I wrote a book based on my experience with cancer “Here for Now: Living Well with Cancer Through Mindfulness”. Here’s a poem from it.

For Now

Dropping down

Lower and lower.

The quiet grows within.

Doing nothing

My wanting mind stills.

In the silence

In the space

What I have been seeking is found.

It is nothing less than everything

And more than anything.

Being here

For now

Now.

Please join me Thursday, May 2, 2024 at 11:00 AM EDT

We will discuss our goodbyes and what helps us say hello.

Here’s the link to register.

What is Important?

A question I carry with me daily is what's important. I ask it as I go through the day and choose where to place attention. It arises in little things, whether to have my usual egg for breakfast or perhaps just some toast or to choose to brush my teeth and floss when I feel tired and want to skip it. I remember the necessity of caring for my body and how often I've needed to see the dentist in recent years. I need to care for my health. That's important and requires effort. There are consequences if I do not. The same is true with meditation. I am fortunate to teach and lead meditation sessions. It's a gift to sit in silence with other like-minded people. It's a source of connection and reinforces my practice.

Relationships are important to me, and they, too, need tending. Sometimes, the people most important to us can be the most challenging. I like to get my way, and so does my husband, David. Recently, we spent time with my family in California. It was a beautiful day, and we had taken the train with my niece, San Francisco. She was going to work, and we were going to a museum. We planned to meet for dinner in an area near where she used to live but a distance from the museum, and then we returned to Sacramento, where we were staying. We were tired when we left the museum for the Bart station and needed guidance on how to get a ticket in this busy hub. There were many options, and we weren't sure how much a ticket to our destination cost. In our fatigue and anxiety, we differed on the amount and whether it was necessary to include the price of the pass to the transit system. I thought one thing and David another.

We could not agree on the information we received from the man in the information booth, and both of us stubbornly and heatedly defended our position. Each of us thought we were right. What was important? Being right or taking a breath, calming, and listening to each other? Essential was cooperation and goodwill. This needed to be improved. Finally, in frustration, I returned to the information booth and paused to take in the information again. I discovered my husband was correct. I do not like being wrong. I do like harmony and I did want to meet my niece and enjoy being with my husband and her. I paused, let go, and we got our tickets. 

When the train arrived, it was crowded. I found a seat, but David was moving slower and had to stand. A stranger sitting next to me noticed we were together. Seeing my husband's gray hair and tired face, he got up from his seat and gave it to him. David and I looked at each other. I smiled. He met my eyes. Peace? Not quite, but on its way. It was important. We both thanked the man and appreciated being able to rest. We were chagrined that we had argued, but angry feelings were dissipating. Our good Samaritan did not hesitate to give up his seat. He saw a need, put aside his self-interest, and generously acted. It was an excellent reminder to be kind, respect each other, and enjoy the privilege of being well enough to get on a train and have the energy to argue—and makeup. Then we could enjoy our dinner and our niece.

Understanding and kindness are important. My family is important. Recognizing vulnerability and the preciousness of love and connection is important to me. Being grateful that my husband and I are alive and together is a gift I cherish. Valuing the time we have to be together and using it wisely is important to me. I'm also committed to acknowledging what is true, even when I wish it was different. Values I hold dear are being honest and seeing things clearly and with kindness. I find it hard seeing the effects of aging on dear ones. My brother  is having medical issues. I see how busy and tired my nieces and nephews become working and caring for their children. The children grow up so quickly. What a wonder. All of us are subject to aging, illness, loss, and death. What's important? Living as wisely as possible, NOW!

JOIN US FOR THE AGING WITH WISDOM GROUP HELD VIA ZOOM.

We will be meeting this THURSDAY, APRIL 4th, at 11 AM EDT. Let's contemplate what we feel is important and hold dear. How do we actualize this in our lives?

Here’s the link to register:

I hope to see you there.

Warmly, Elana

Who Knows?

I’ve been teaching stress reduction and practicing mindfulness for about forty years. It isn’t easy to comprehend as it is growing old. I hesitate to even use the word “old,” but that is what my age, 80, is considered to be. My mother died at 70, and I thought that was old. From my current perspective, that is young. Dad died when he was 80. He lived a whole life and didn’t want to go, yet he had pasted this quote on his bedroom wall: “You can’t reach the other side without leaving the shore.” He knew he’d be leaving this shore and felt the next one might reunite him with my mother. He saw life—and death as an adventure. Everything changes, and that includes our view of things. Our attitude does make a difference. Acceptance is core. Experiencing life as it is, free of bias and reactivity, requires maturity. After all these years, I still find it hard to face what it is like to be old. I find it hard to believe that I am old.

I struggle with physical changes in the body and the mind. I visited the dentist today. My teeth are old, and I need an implant and more crowns. My eyes have changed. My cataract has ripened, so it will be removed. Hopefully, I’ll see better, but who knows? I know there is much I do not know. I do know I am not alone. I remind myself of the freedom that arises from letting go. Accept, I tell myself. Accept growing old. Accept change. Accept the workings of mind and body. Accept that I can’t always be in control, and the mind/body holds surprises. Accept that I struggle and the effect of struggling with what can not be changed changes how I relate to change itself.

          Breathe. 

Accept not liking struggle. Accept that the mind and body are not working the way they should. Accept what is and let it be. I hold on to things, and letting go is challenging. Accept that I am part of life, and it is constantly changing.

          Another breath. 

How fortunate I am to have a breath. I am grateful. It is a gift to be alive and have a mind that can remember how fortunate I am.

Some things are easy to accept, and I am calm. There is equanimity. I used to complain about the weather, but I’ve learned that the weather is constantly changing in New England. There are seasons. The winter brings cold and, with it, freezing rain and snow. There is also sunshine, and the air is fresh and crisp. I have a warm house and am fortunate enough to have the proper attire to be outside and withstand the cold. The trees are bare, but leaves will return, snow will melt, and spring will come, followed by summer and fall. How fortunate I am to be able to grow old, have teeth and crowns, and see with new eyes.

I am writing after teaching a mindfulness class that focuses on perception. In it, I showed a video of a selective attention test. The footage showed people dressed in white and black playing basketball. You are asked to count how many baskets are being made by the people dressed in white. Time is given for counting, the screen turns black, and the correct number is given. There is a pause, and the announcer asks, “But did you see the gorilla?” Most people shake their heads no. The video is then rewound; this time, expectations have altered, attention shifts, and is more inclusive. All see a person dressed in a gorilla suit enter the court between the players, pound its chest, and leave. In the first showing, many limit their focus to answering correctly and count only those in white. This limits awareness. 

I’ve seen the video before, so I now see the gorilla in the first showing, but I wonder what I do not know as I go through the day and my husband and I contemplate what makes sense as we age. What is wise? Where is my focus placed? I don’t want to be blind to beauty, love, or the joy of another day. I want to meet what will unfold with curiosity and wonder, even as I struggle with saying goodbyes and letting go. Who knows how long we’ll live, how well we will be? I do know where I place my attention makes a difference. I care for myself, exercise, eat right, appreciate my loved ones, and engage in what nourishes me. I do my best to practice kindness. I do know illness and death are part of life. Who knows when, what, or how? Right now, I am here…and I remember to be grateful.

Hope to see you at our next meeting. This month, I am teaching a mindfulness course that meets on Thursday morning, so we will gather later than usual but return to our usual time in April.   

Our next meeting is on March 7th at 1:00 PM EST

Please join me and explore this process of aging with wisdom. You can register by clicking here.

Warmly, Elana

Choices

Today, I decided not to do my early morning walk with my husband as there has been no dog to walk since Zeke, our dog, died. I enjoy being outside, feeling my body moving, and meeting our neighbors who walk their dogs. David carries dog treats, and the dogs come running to him. It’s fun to see their excitement and eases the absence of Zeke. I really appreciate the dog walkers who have become good friends and make me feel part of a community. I feel quite lucky to have their companionship. I usually walk regardless of the weather, but it’s been very cold and icy. I wear my boots and crampons, which bite into the ice, and use my walking poles for stability, but lately, I worry about falling. Going up the hill takes more effort, and I need to stop a few times to catch my breath and lower my heart rate. I take pride in being mobile and making the effort to work out and stay active, but today, the temperature was 10 degrees Fahrenheit. I was warmly dressed, had my boots and crampons ready by the door, was finishing my coffee; and David was waiting for me to go outside…and I said, “Go without me.”

This was a surprise. Normally, I push myself, but walking in this weather has been a strain, and today, I didn’t feel like it. I’m walking slower and lagging behind the pact of people and canines, and I wouldn’t say I like that. It’s less fun. I find it difficult to acknowledge my fear, but I have learned acknowledging limitations is necessary, and my fear is realistic. Or is it? I’m using my walking sticks. My arms are getting stronger, and I am going to physical therapy to strengthen my right hip. I hope to be less reliant on my poles and be able to feel secure walking without them, but progress is slow. I ask myself when to push and when to pause. What is wise? Do I feel loss, gain, or both? Do I give myself a choice? This morning, saying, “Go without me.” felt freeing. I used the time to meditate. It was delicious. 

There is a poem I sometimes read to my stress reduction classes on the value of being able to say no. Reading it always makes me smile. It’s “The Art of Disappearing” 

By Naomi Shihab Nye.

“…Walk around feeling like a leaf.

    Know you could tumble any second.

    Then decide what to do with your time.”

Sometimes, I forget that there are choices. I feel fortunate that I am to be able to walk. I also appreciate having the freedom to discern when I don’t have to. Do I need an excuse (it’s icy), or can I just say to myself, I don’t feel like it today—and not interpret it as bad or giving up.

My energy is more limited than it used to be. I wouldn’t say I like accepting this, but it is a fact, so I do my best to gauge what is important and plan my day around it. After the morning walk, I sometimes have to sit and rest, which decreases my time or mental clarity to meditate and write. Today, I had the energy for both. This afternoon, I will go to a memorial for my husband’s friend and be able to be truly present. I feel good that I’ll be able to celebrate his life and sad that he can’t be there to enjoy it with his dear ones.

How lucky we are to engage in life and have choices in living it.

Away & Back

It snowed today. I admired the beauty of the scene outside my window and breathed a sigh of relief that our electricity did not go out and our home was warm and cozy. As I write, the time I spent in Brazil over the holidays is a memory. David, my husband, and I rendezvoused in Sao Palo with our niece, who lives in Sacramento, and her husband Marcello, who is Brazilian, and Lucas, their 5-year-old. I celebrated Christmas Eve with Marcelo's uncle and aunt and their family and friends. This was a first for me, and watching the children go agog with wonder as a tall man with a white beard and a red suit entered the house was very special. There was no chimney, but Papa Noel came with holiday cheer, a microphone, speakers for music, and two helpers. Marcelo's cousin, who orchestrated the event, was as excited as the kids. He used to be Papa Noel, but his daughters started asking why, when Papa Noel arrived, he wasn't there to be a part of the festivities. Wanting to maintain their belief in Papa Noel, he hired an actor he greeted with as much excitement as his children. This was overwhelming for Lucas, who does not speak Portuguese. Still, one of Papa's helpers spoke English, knelt beside Lucas, gave him a present, and translated for him. 18-20 people were there, all having a good time and embracing us as family. Feeling so welcome was the actual gift.

Savoring family and seeing the children grow, my nieces mature, and getting to know their spouses is special to me, so when Bekka said, "Want to come to Brazil with us?" I didn't hesitate and said, "Yes". We began our trip in Rio de Janeiro, introducing us to the warmth of Brazilian hospitality. Our guide there told us how people liked to gather together and how bands and dancing were standard in the streets during this time. This joy in community set the stage for the vacation. On Christmas Day, our celebration with Marcelo's family and friends continued. After a barbecue of juicy Brazilian steak (a new experience), a driver met us at the Uncle's house and drove us from Sao Palo to the resort town of Ubatuba. It was late afternoon, and as we squeezed in the car together, Lucas squirming on his mother's lap, it became dark, and the roads windy and filled with ruts. We arrived at the Airbnb and breathed a sigh of relief that we were safe. The house was spacious, with a pool to entertain Lucas and keep us cool. We spent the rest of the week hanging out together, doing nothing special but lounging at the beach in chairs under an umbrella and occasionally cooling down in the water. The surf was powerful, but there was also a swimming lagoon by the beach, surrounded by mountains and jungle greenery. The beach was crowded, but we didn't mind. The weather was balmy.

The scenery was beautiful, and the servers brought food to our table from the restaurants dotting the shore, which was delicious. We contently drank fruit juice and beer, and I tried the Brazilian alcohol, Cachaça, which is like rum, quite potent, and gives a mellow high. It went well with the spicy shrimp dish I ordered and the fried yuca. Yum. No guilt. The people came in all shapes and sizes, and I was impressed with how comfortable the women seemed with their bodies. Stomachs hung over bikini bottoms, and breasts often sagged in bikini tops. I was so inspired that I got a bikini too—and wore it! Once anyway.

A highlight for me was hiking to a waterfall, going over a swaying suspension bridge, holding on tight to the wires along the sides, and getting some help from Marcelo, but making it. Bekka was impressed. "Pretty good for an 80-year-old," she said. I loved that, and with some help, I navigated the rocks by the waterfall and dropped into the pool at its bottom.

Home again. I'm glad we got here safely. It is cold, but I genuinely don't mind. I continue feeling so appreciative of my good fortune to be healthy enough to travel and have the means to do so, have people in my life that I love and who love me, and live in a place that is relatively secure where roads are paved. There is a working infrastructure that provides services that can be taken for granted. It snowed, and the road was plowed. I have food to eat, a roof over my head, and a flush toilet that allows me to put toilet paper in it and flush it down. Yes, pipes in Brazil often don't support toilet paper, and there is a receptacle by the toilet for their disposal. I am no longer on Brazilian time and wake up at 5 am, which is 7 am there. It snowed, and our road was plowed. I can drink the water from my sink. The little things count, and they are not so little.

As I end this blog, I ask myself, what can I appreciate that I have taken for granted? There is a long list. What comes to your mind?

Let's reflect on our good fortune and bring into awareness some of these "small" things that enhance our lives. We can discuss this when we meet again on Thursday, February 1, 2024, at 11 am.

Friends are always welcome. If you or your friends are new to the group, please register.

Holiday Time

We have entered the holiday season, and I have mixed feelings about it. It arrives as the weather here on the East Coast is becoming colder, and darkness comes earlier. I find the transition from the warmth and freedom of summer challenging. It may be cozy to sit with loved ones by the fire and sip hot chocolate, but I enjoy being outdoors, and I have never been a fan of heavy winter coats. I appreciate Thanksgiving, which reminds me of the blessings in my life and to hold them dear. I feel very fortunate to have a loving family, but also sad that we are far apart. My parents are no longer with us, and my brother and his family live 3000 miles away. I am thankful I am close to my cousins, and we celebrate life events and holidays together. I love seeing their children grow and mature, but sometimes I regret that my husband and I were not able to have children, and I fantasize what it would have been like if I had my own. At the same time, I appreciate that there are children in my life, and I can experience their maturation. We are all aging but I have not fully adjusted to the fact that I am now part of the elder generation. All my elders have died. Some friends have lost their partners, and I feel for them and others who are alone this time of year. I am aware that I will be attending more funerals and fewer weddings or bar mitzvahs.

As a psychotherapist as well as a meditation teacher, I know that everything changes, but sometimes, my expectations haven't adjusted to the altered reality that aging brings. I've learned to be judicious with my expectations. My energy level and how much I can do daily is no longer the same. Expectations can disappoint, and losses can be heavier to bear. My aunt used to say, "Life is a package deal," and she wasn't thinking of gift wrapping.  I am committed to living fully and authentically but accepting losses is challenging. As Rumi suggests in his poem The Guest House, can I welcome them all?

To balance darkness I am happy there is a festival of lights. Chanukah candles are lit, and Christmas decorations go up. Trees and houses sparkle with multi-colored lights. The New England Botanical Garden at Tower Hill has created an incredible show called Night Lights. Myriad lights are strung throughout the garden, with little gnomes dotted along the paths and there are fire pits for smores and hot cider, and hot cocoa to drink. I’m like one of the children agog at the display. Of course, being Jewish, I've always had some envy of Christian friends with Christmas trees they could decorate. I light a menorah, and we celebrate Chanukah. It is lovely but less splashy. One year, I put lights on the Ficus tree in our living room and got one of those outdoor laser light projectors. It was fun.

I am glad this time of year is inaugurated by Thanksgiving. This, too, is mixed. So many people in this world are now suffering and don't have a home or enough food to eat. Thanksgiving in this country does not adequately honor the indigenous people and tell how they suffered with colonization. The story told in schools must change, but the premise of giving thanks, helping each other, and sharing warms my heart and reminds me to be more generous. 

My awareness of the blessings in my life has expanded. I can't forget how sick I have been in the past and how lucky I am to be alive. I give thanks for this miracle. I give thanks to the fact that I can share my life with David, a loving husband, and my family and friends. People age, get sick and die. This includes me and those I love. I can't help worrying a bit about the length of time we have. But we are well now, and every day I say thank you for the support I have. Without David, I would not have driven over three hours in Thanksgiving traffic to celebrate the holiday.

It is  the third generation that is carrying on tradition. My mother was very close to her brother my cousins' father, and we kids would celebrate holidays with our parents. It was often a raucous time. This year, Justine, my cousin Sherry's daughter, and her husband Chris hosted us in their new house with their two small children, us elders, her parents, in-laws, an aunt and uncle, and one of their children and her spouse. We elders appreciated being there without responsibilities or running around and being hassled by the work involved but it felt strange to watch the "kids" scurrying around preparing the meal and doing very little. Even so, I missed my afternoon nap and  I wasn't accustomed to being asked if I needed help when we went for an after-dinner walk (or that it was necessary as the ground was uneven and rocky.) I am proud. and I didn’t like admitting that it was helpful. It was a taste of dependency to come.

David and I are not ready to leave our home, and we have yet to downsize, but we know changes will have to be made. We acknowledge our fears, but we are reluctant to move. Mindfulness is about facing what we fear and keeping steady. My Dad used to say, "Getting old isn't for sissies." He also said, "You can't get to the other side unless you leave the shore." And then there is Leonard Cohen who in Anthem sings,

"Ring ring ring ring ring.
Ring the bells that still can ring 
Forget your perfect offering 
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in 

So, I savor this moment, the cracks, losses, and gains. I trust, laugh, sing, and remember that there is a light in everything. 

Connect to what nourishes. Love the good, face the fear, and let the light get in. 

I look forward to honoring this holiday time and sharing what it means for us this Thursday, December 7 at 11AM EST. If you are new to the group, please register. Friends are welcome. 

Lost & Found

About 30 minutes before teaching my last class for UMassMemorial on Mindfulness called Mindfulness Tools I realized I couldn’t find my wallet. It was in my purse which I also couldn’t find. The equanimity and calm I do my best to cultivate, especially before I teach, disappeared. Instantly my pulse increased, my heart rate was up, my stomach contracted and my mind was fully absorbed in looking for the bag. I sometimes drop my purse on the floor next to the bed but it was not there. I looked under the bed and in the side table by the bed where I sometimes put it. It was not there. It was not in our car or the pockets of the vest I had been wearing or in my jacket. I don’t always carry a purse. I’ve been using hiking poles for walking to keep me balanced and steady. This means I must either carry a pack or put my wallet, glasses and phone in a pocket to keep my arms and hands free. Two days earlier I went to a performance in a small local theatre without the poles and I thought I might have carried my purse there and then left it. I called the theatre and there was no answer so my husband, also worried, offered to go there and see if he could have someone look for it. Class was to begin in five minutes. I thanked him and instantly felt stupid, guilty and disturbed. It was BAD to have lost my purse and with it my wallet. How could I have done this—again?

David, my husband, has been repeatedly telling me to leave my things in one place. I always nod in agreement and then forget to do so. Sadly I often misplace things, wallet, keys, eyeglasses. Just recently I had to replace my car key. I looked every where and they had vanished. After getting new ones I discovered the original fob a few months later. It was tucked away on the key ring in my day pack. I had looked in the pack before but it was hidden to keep it safe while we were on vacation and not using the car. Remembering this experience contributed to my distress. It confirmed my carelessness and how our memories and our perception of them influences our response to the present.

I felt shame and wondered whether I was developing dementia or am I just chronically absent minded? Either way it was upsetting and I didn’t like it. Now I had to let go, refocus and calm. Stop, Pause, Exhale…and begin class.

I opened the Zoom room for class, noted my heart was beating fast and my respiratory rate was accelerated. I repeatedly tell others that we need to be accepting of things just as they are. It was the last class and I wanted to be organized, cogent and calm and it was currently impossible. “Accept, there is no other choice,” I told myself.

“B r e a t h e…exhale…inhale. ..exhale again. Feel the touch points of my body with the chair. “I followed my own instructions, but my agitation and self-blame did not dissipate. This was too well conditioned to immediately go away.

I looked around the Zoom room at the participants present and saw caring, intelligent, people who, like me, were vulnerable and wanted to feel peace and contentment. ”Everything changes,” I tell people. “This too shall pass. It’s OK to make mistakes.” I remembered the meditation on equanimity that John Peacock, a teacher of mine translated as, “Life is filled with joy and sorrow. May you not be too disturbed by its rise and fall.”

I felt my connection with the class and our common humanity and my mind/body began to calm. This wasn’t about me. We are all vulnerable. We make mistakes and we need to acknowledge them, move on, and be loved and loving.

After I welcomed everyone and thanked them for being present I began class with Metta, a loving-kindness meditation.

“May the pain and sorrow of the world be healed.

May we be safe and protected.

May we be happy.

May we live with ease

May there be peace.”

Pain and sorrow continue to exist in the world but we don’t need to make it worse. As a formal practice ends it is often said, “May the merit of this practice be of benefit to all.” Together we can make a difference. I’d deal with my lost wallet and purse later. What is important is here now.

P.S. After class ended I went looking for the purse again. I made many calls to see if I had left it in places I had been. People were very helpful but it was not found. I took another look around the house, this time with less agitation and it was on the floor in the living room, blending in with our rug, leaning against a chair.

The Aging with Wisdom group meets via Zoom again this Thursday, November 2nd at 10:30 A.m. EST This is an earlier time than usual. We typically meet at 11 a.m. and will return to meeting at that time in December.

Let’s help each other be present so we can name some of the pain and sorrow that we may carry and be at peace. We will do a loving-kindness meditation.

Summer Reflections

As I write, the sound of falling rain predominates my awareness with a tapping sound that is dramatically percussive. Now, moments later, it has a softer patter. I sit on a sofa across from a large window which gives me a view of the sky, which is uniformly gray and heightens the vividness of the orange color of the trumpet flowers that live by the window. I sit here watching the flowers and the tops of the pine trees moving with the wind, and I get a comfy feeling. It invites me to close my eyes, take a snooze, and do nothing. Yet even here, on vacation, some "shoulds" emerge. There are books I brought to read, exercises I wrote down to stay in shape, art supplies waiting to be touched, and pictures to be painted or studios to visit. I let go. The thoughts pass. I am aware of the preciousness of time. A little over half our vacation is over. I read Mary Oliver's in Blackwater Woods this morning in the meditation group I lead every Monday and Friday morning.

...

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it

go,

to let it go.

The time has not yet come to let the vacation go, but I am aware of its ending. We walk the dog in the morning along a local beach and always stop and say hello and chat with the "regulars" like us. It's our social hour, and I hold it dear. It's not only a beautiful beach, but the people are interesting, and everyone is friendly. We meet people from far away and locals living on the island. Knowing our time on this beautiful beach is limited heightens how special it is to share the moments of exuberant dogs, water, sand and sky, and poop bags which we carry as we consciously monitor our pets to make sure everyone is safe, well behaved and the beach continues to be pristine. We've been taking a vacation here for many years; some children are now adults, and some of our adult friends are graying like us. Conversations have changed, but smiles and mutual pleasure connect us. This, too, shall pass—and we all know it.

I've been very aware of impermanence … and the wisdom of letting go while at the same time holding on to what is precious—the gift of time, a love of people, and especially the gift of having a partner to share the rhythm of the days. He's conscious of change too. Will we return next year? Can we still kayak, walk, swim, get groceries and go to the dump? Can we laugh when we get frustrated and appreciate each other? It is not to be taken for granted.

Every day as I walk the beach, I see changes in the shoreline and the creek's path as it runs off into the sea. I now walk the beach with my walking poles and go for shorter, less frequent swims. My husband carries our elderly dog in and out of the car and walks slowly down the path to the beach. These days we're both slower, and…we keep on going, but…just today, my husband David said that we should look into continuing care in our community. I am not ready to admit frailty. Some changes are easier to accept than others, but…so be it.

As you read this blog, I will be at home and beach days, and choosing freshly caught fish to cook for supper or dripping ice cream cones will not predominate my awareness. Still, I hope to continue loving what is here and, when it is time be able to let it go ...with gratitude for what has been and is now here.

Reflections on a Birthday

The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
Still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
For some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
Meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes, Because each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.
~ Rumi

 
It’s beautiful today. The sun is out and it's warm enough to wear my sandals and cotton shorts. The leaves are freshly green and in full growth. My tomato plants are in the ground, and the lettuce is ready for harvest. There are sprouts rising from the seeds that were planted and I’m excited to see their development. I hope the deer, rabbits, and groundhogs are well-fed enough to keep away. It’s easy to feel grateful today. Knowing this time of new growth will not last helps me savor each moment.  I am aware that conditions make a difference in how I view life and are not always as perfect as this day. When I’m cold or struggling with something I don’t like, like an illness or bad news it’s harder to be appreciative and remember that this too is part of life and that every moment has value and meaning. Meeting this moment with openness and acceptance takes effort.

As I approach my 80th birthday, time has a different feel to it. I don’t know how many more moments I will have, so each one counts. I do not dwell on illness or death, but knowing its inevitability, not only for me but loved ones, prompts me to pause, collect my thoughts, ground myself, and practice equanimity so I can meet each moment and maintain a steady heart and mind.  The Guest House by Rumi is a poem that speaks to this, It is a poem I have not always liked or appreciated, but its message is profound.
“This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
 Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
 
… meet them at the door laughing and invite them in”.
 
I used to think people read this poem too glibly. I felt it created expectations that were unrealistic and led to judgment and frustration. My mind resisted its message. How can you meet sorrow, fear, anxiety, anger, or disappointment and laugh?  Welcome them? Really? Only lately can I appreciate its practicality and wisdom. Wanting to live fully, moment by moment, until my demise is a goal of mine. This requires an acknowledgment in body and mind of change and all that it brings.  It is not helpful to struggle fruitlessly against what can not be changed but, laugh? That feels BIG!

I am fortunate. I get to lead meditations a few times a week. This reinforces my practice, and the participants who attend inspire me. Just the other day, I asked the group how mindfulness manifested in their daily life. One of the women responded, saying, “I have three young children, and sometimes I yell at them. I don’t like this, so when I’m about to yell, I laugh instead. It changes the whole environment.” Wow. How wonderful to be this wise and be able to laugh. This takes a willingness to step aside from what we want and truly see another and their needs, Acknowledging our anger and having the strength not to be blinded by it but be able to pause for a moment and do something new and radical instead-- laugh.
Laughing is letting go. As I age there are small and large things have changed and require a letting go. Some are simple and don’t affect our sense of identity. An example is the sofa I said goodbye to after 30 years of use and called the junk man to haul it away because, sadly, no one wanted it. It was soft, and my husband David and I couldn’t easily rise from it. I had trouble saying good-by to that sofa as it was the first piece of furniture we bought when we married. It was even harder to admit and accept the change in my body that necessitated this change and letting go of the image of my younger self as nimble and spry. This self had dark hair and was free of wrinkles. Not only could she spring up from the sofa easily, but she could also move it around to try different spots in the room where it might look better. No more! My perception of heavy and strength has also changed. I’ve been asking for help opening bottle tops. So it goes.
 
On a retreat, my teacher John Peacock, a Buddhist scholar and translator, talked about equanimity.  He read a text from an early part of Buddhism on Loving-Kindness that included equanimity. I have taken it to heart. It reads:
“This life is but a play of joy and sorrow.
May you remain undisturbed by life’s rise and fall.
I care deeply for you, but you are the owner of your actions and their fruit.
And I sadly can not keep you from distress.”
 
As a psychotherapist, my initial thought was a relief—you are responsible for your actions. I can’t fix you. Then I began to think about myself and the joys and sorrows I experience. It was telling me that life is full, and it inevitably has its ups and down.  How I live, and approach life has consequences. —being happy or not depends on me and how I act and be.

Equanimity is about balance, and it's the balance that is born of wisdom. Mindfulness means a capacity or quality of awareness where our perception of what's happening in the moment is not distorted by bias, old fears, projection into the future, anything that may arise, holding on, or pushing away.
Sep 14, 2021, Tricycle: The Buddhist Review

I aspire to having equanimity and learning from my experiences, and trusting the wisdom that has accrued from meeting life’s ups and downs. There is a story I sometimes tell that my brother told me.  In it a successful businessman is being interviewed by a reporter.
“Can you tell me the secret of your success?” The reporter asks.
“Yes, two words,” answers the businessman.
“What are those two words?” Asks the reporter.
“Good decisions.”
The reporter says, “How do you get to make good decisions?”
He answers, “One word.”
“What’s that one word?” The reporter asks.
“Experience.”
“How do you get experience?”
“Two words.”
“What are those two words?”
“Bad decisions.”        
Reading the above, I laughed. Yes, wisdom can be hard gained. We are human, and being human we’ll always make some mistakes. There are losses, some of which are heartbreaking…and there are gains, such as wisdom, along with compassion and gratitude.

A friend commented on aging and said, “ I used to run into friends, and we’d talk about what was happening with the kids. Now, he said, it’s about health. “How’s your hip? Did the knee replacement go well?  Sometimes it’s about a person we know who has died.” In meditation, there is a sense of timelessness. I’ve been having trouble watching the news, and my health can not be taken for granted, but that is life. I am still here. Sometimes when I guide a meditation, I say, “Just this.”  And in my mind, I add “Enough.” This moment is enough—and for the moment, it is

Let’s contemplate how we maintain our balance as we navigate the verities of life. Hope to see you at our last meeting until September. Here’s a link to join us in the Aging with Wisdom group.

Colors of the Leaf

It’s raining outside today and I’m sitting at my nephew’s kitchen table in Brooklyn debating whether to try out my new waterproof jacket and explore the neighborhood. I grew up in a suburb outside the city and spent my twenties in NYC but Brooklyn is like a foreign country to me. I love exploring new places and am curious about the wonders that this area offers, but the rain is coming down hard and I am less inclined to venture out into inclement weather. My mind has been active but my body is sending signals to rest. It was only a four hour car ride to get here but with all the excitement of travel and an unfamiliar bed I didn’t sleep well last night and I am tired. My mind has been contemplating what it means to embody mindfulness as I age. The emphasis is on this body of mine and acknowledging its changes and the need to be accepting and let go of what used to be. I sigh as I say this and write about it. I am mindful of thoughts and feelings but I am aware of my struggle with acceptance.

Vitality is important to me. I don’t want to be dead before my time and this is independent of wrinkles or sagging skin but it is related to changing capabilities. My body seems to need rest more than in the past and I parcel out energy more judiciously. I can’t go, go, go like I used to do. What I anticipate doing doesn’t always match what is wise and possible to do. My internal self hasn’t quite caught up with the external reality. My minds, says “yes, go or do” and my body indicates caution. I walk daily and exercise and appreciate the ability I have to do this—now--and it changes depending on my hip, the weather and the time of day. When I did finally go outside here in Brooklyn it was fascinating and I found myself noting rest stops. I look at myself in the mirror and what do I see? Who is this “me”? My looks have changed and my mind is not as retentive as it used to be. I now need to write down telephone numbers and passwords to make sure I will remember them. This I know is wise. I have always been absent minded often forgetting where I placed my glasses or my Iphone. Fortunately, this is habit and I always find these items but at my nephews I “lost” my sneakers. When I looked by the door where I had left them they were not there. I didn’t recognize any of the ones lined up neatly by the door. No one had moved them, they weren’t in my room or visible. It was a mystery. Kindly, everyone in the household went looking for them and they were not to be found. Just as Gregory, my nephew was going to run up the stairs-again- I examined the shoes by the door a second time. This time I saw my sneakers and yelled, “STOP!. My sneakers are here.” Only they were just not the ones I had described. They were my other sneakers, the ones that gave a spring to my walk. Last minute I had switched them and forgot I had done so. I sighed—only later could I laugh.

I am lucky. There are many things I am able to do and I do my best to appreciate this. I maintain a zest for life but…I am less nimble and more cautious. The tub at my nephews is very high and after my morning shower I had trouble lifting one of my legs over the side of the tub. My balance is precarious, and I had to hold the towel rack tightly to slowly maneuver the leg onto the floor. I feared falling. I abhor fear but fear of losing my balance is realistic. I am forced to embody mindfulness and recognize the truth of the situation and my imbalance in order to be balanced and to stay safe. I can forget which shoes I brought with me on my trip but I can’t forget to acknowledge the consequences of ignoring changes in body/mind. I don’t want to fall.

Recognizing the truth of change, seeing and feeling it clearly and letting this knowledge inform my actions is mindfulness in action NOW. I ask, can I acknowledge my physical and mental limitations with acceptance? What is wise to do and not to do? The rain doesn’t really present a problem but how I meet the moment can be. My energy level and fear of illness is present. I now find myself asking “Is it worth an expenditure of energy? How will it affect the rest of my day? I’m not worrying about catching a cold from walking in the rain but I do consider the big picture and ask myself how important it is and what would it’s effect be? I love going mask free now that Covid has abated but I continue to be judicious in wearing my mask and evaluating the number of people and their closeness of contact. I enjoy the freedom of going out to eat again and traveling. It’s a risk I am willing to take.

I am now home finishing this blog after the Monday meditation I lead through the Center for Mindfulness and Compassion. My computer is by the window and I gaze out at trees and sky. I note the changing color of the leaves to the group and mentioned how the leaves have changed from the chartreuse of a baby leaf to a deeper green of maturity and fullness. One of the members had mentioned that every leaf contained many colors and their true colors become evident when fall comes as the sunlight and warmth diminishes. “It’s a metaphor,” said a wise member of the group. Yes, thank you. How wonderful to remember, aging brings fullness and depth and let’s our true colors emerge. The cycle of life is rich. May our true colors continue to be known. This I will remember, and along with you my friends, it will help me mindfully embrace change and all that it entails.

You are invited to join me this Thursday, May 4th at 11 AM Eastern time for my Aging with Wisdom group. We meet via Zoom. This month we will explore some of the changes we are experiencing in our mind/body and acknowledge the colors of our life.