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.