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.

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

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.

The Last Chapter

At a recent meeting of mindfulness-based teachers that I attended one of the teachers asked for advice. The teacher had been talking to one of the people who had enrolled in an MBSR (Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction) course and asked whether her mother, now ill, could attend with her. My colleague wasn’t sure whether this was advisable or not because the daughter had implied that her Mom was in the last chapter of her life. We all agreed that this question required further inquiry. What was the mother’s condition? Did she have the energy to participate? Was she interested in mindfulness and in taking the course or was it primarily the daughter who wanted this for her? If you are very ill and on a lot of medicine that clouds your mind and makes it hard to be awake or concentrate it might not be wise to sign up for an eight-week, two-and-a-half hour class that requires daily 45 minutes of home practice. Taking the time to stop, do nothing but observe the workings of mind and body can be very challenging.

The teacher did speak to the Mother and decided it was appropriate for her to take the course. He reported in our next meeting that she had attended the class and he was delighted to have her there. She was in a rehab facility but was able to be attentive and fully participate in class. In fact, he said, “she was a rock star”.  I wasn’t surprised to hear this. In my experience the more we are challenged, whether in pain or living with a life-threatening illness the more motivated a person is to keep attention to the here and now and appreciate the concreteness of the present moment—whatever it is, like it or not because it signifies our aliveness. Who knows what will be in the future but this moment is ours. I learned this from my bouts with cancer and from my father who lived with me at the end of his life. He wrote on an index card that he tacked to the wall, “You can’t stop the bird of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent it from nesting in your hair.”

I am the oldest person attending the teacher meetings and I sometimes feel my age there. Hearing “the last chapter” named Is what really stopped me at the meeting.  “I’m in my last chapter.” I piped out, “What does that mean? I don’t usually think in terms of last chapter. As I approach eighty, I realize I have lived the majority of my life, but my story is still unfolding.  The ending is yet to be determined. When I’m reading a book there is a beginning and an ending, but the author has control and there is a planned order to it. The last chapter usually ties things up. There is a resolution. No more pages to turn. If it is a mystery or a thriller, the kind I’ve been enjoying lately, the villain is caught and the hero continues on miraculously whole, strong, and vital.

I recently spent a weekend with two very dear friends. We had not been physically together since Covid so it was a joy to share bread, laughter, and companionship. All three of us are now in “our last chapter” and we spent our time together adding to our stories and being fully alive and awake. We were filled with questions and the not knowing what was coming next but appreciating the joint exploration. What arose again and again, was gratitude. We also talked about endings, of people we love who have died and how it might be for us. For now, however, we had nourishing meals, thoughtful conversation, and shared love and community. It was what was called for now.

Winter Light

We are approaching the solstice and morning light arrives later and evening darkness sooner. Normally I dislike the increased darkness and cold but since I’ve joined my husband walking our dog I have a new perspective. I appreciate how the cold wakes me up, its crispness bringing clarity to the day. I zip up my new light down jacket, put on my hat and gloves and meet the day prepared... and appreciate that I have warm clothes and am mobile. When the wind blows I raise my hood, draw it tight around my hat and trundle along feeling warm and toasty. The cold engages all my senses, the feel of the body moving, eyes purveying changes in the landscape, the trees now bare showing off their shape and silhouetted against the sky, the ground, colors changing from green to brown, workmen blowing the last of the leaves away, our dog finding something interesting to sniff and the wreathes decorating some of the houses we pass. Our walk is more brisk but the friendliness of neighbors we meet continues to be warm.

It surprises me that I am welcoming winter. I experience it now as a time to go within, reflect and burrow down. Rather than see the trees as barren and dead, I now trust they are resting and saving their energy and will burst forth again when conditions favor growth. My body/mind/heart takes note of the trees and the cycle of life. My pace is slower but I like to think I am appreciating more. Moments of quiet are to savor. I take less for granted. I appreciate the gift of body that is still able to walk uphill and down, our 13 year old dog wagging his tail and begging for a treat –and able to eat it. I savor walking with my spouse and am more appreciative of his companionship. A close friend lost her partner, another has a husband with terminal cancer. All of us are subject to aging, illness, loss and death. Now that I am in my eighth decade there is a new immediacy to endings and beginnings and how to use the time that is here.

There are practical considerations. This means facing the truth of changing bodies and minds. How to prepare for the winter of our lives is a puzzle with many pieces big and small. Much is unknown and there are no guaranteed solutions but the questions must be recognized. I don’t run up and down the stairs like I used to. I make sure to hold on to the railing. Do we stay in our house that I love which has stairs and requires attention? Should we downsize, move to a continuing care facility? Do this now, later? What is this moment telling us? I am honoring the questions and the many different answers my mind produces none perfect or for sure. Most involve letting go and letting be—acceptance.

What do I know? This moment really is a precious one-the only one. Relationships are treasures. Health a gift. This Thursday, December 9 at 11 AM, EST we are meeting again to explore what it means to age with wisdom. Bring your questions. I promise no answers but a deep respect for our joint questioning—what gives meaning and is important to keep close - and to let go.

IN BLACKWATER WOODS by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees

Are turning

Their own bodies

Into pillars

Of light,

Are giving off the rich

Fragrance of cinnamon

And fulfillment,

The long tapers

Of cattails

Are bursting and floating away over

The blue shoulders

Of the ponds,

And every pond,

No matter what its

Name is

Nameless now.

Every year

Everything I have ever learned

In my lifetime

Leads back to this: the fires

And the black river of loss

Whose other side

Is salvation,

Whose meaning

None of us will ever know.

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.