The Fall

I was still feeling chilled when I began this blog. It was a cold wintry day and I was wearing three layers of clothes, long johns under my jeans, a thermal top, a flannel shirt, and a vest. I had just returned from my daily morning walk and I was impatient for the warmer weather to arrive. The next day promised spring and I walked outside with a vest and a lighter jacket. The following day I only needed a vest and the sun warmed me. I’ve become sensitive to the effect of weather on my mind and body. I am aware of likes and dislikes and trying not to have favorites but I do. It’s easier to walk up the hill in our neighborhood when the sidewalks are clear of ice. I adapt and find the mask I wear over my face is not only protective of germs but also the bite of frigid air. When I embrace the cold, rather than struggling against it, I find it invigorating. I make the effort to go uphill at a good steady pace. I do this whether I am bundled up or walking unburdened by heavy outer garments. Warm or cold I always find something new to experience and worthy of a pause to stop to take in the experience. Today I passed a few snowdrops and a few sprouts of green heralding daffodils and stopped to appreciate them. There is still some ice on the small pond in our back yard but two ducks have found a melted area and are swimming. I don’t always see them but I know they are present and my husband and I are wondering if we’ll be seeing some ducklings soon. The ducks caught my eye because I took the time to stop and explore the area behind our house now that it was free of snow. I wanted to feel the earth under my feet and say hello to its sogginess and savor its recovery from winter. Of course the holes, the brownness of the grass, and the irregularities of the ground were also visible, the evidence of winter winds and changing temperatures.

I wonder sometimes if aging helps me notice change and to take nothing for granted. It’s another day now as I write. The sun is out and it’s perfect weather-wise but I am nursing a bad sprain in my ankle. As I was nearing home yesterday in my afternoon walk with the dog I noticed a puddle and not wanting our dog to drink from it decided to go over the stanchion next to it. I reached its top and tripped and fell. Surprise. I landed hard on the pavement of the parking lot on the other side of the stanchion and could not get up. As I paused and took inventory of the state of my body memories of an earlier time came back to me. It was many years ago and I was teaching Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction full time. There was a conference and Jon Kabat-Zinn was speaking. I was also going to be a presenter and I was a bit late so I was running across the parking lot and suddenly tripped and fell. People rushed over to ask if I was all right and I said, yes, except I wasn’t. Instead of stopping, accepting help, and acknowledging I was injured I got up and proceeded to the conference. I did not know I had broken a bone in my foot and fearing I’d miss out on Jon’s talk or presenting at the conference I continued on—for two more days before going to the doctor. I used a wheelchair at the conference, elevated my foot but did not go for an x-ray deluding myself the pain would pass and I didn’t need to be examined.

I am older now and my priorities have shifted. My life is slower and more spacious. I work much less and am not rushing to establish myself as “special” or aspire to any particular role or position. It was late afternoon when I fell this week and I slowly got up, discovered I could put weight on my foot, hoped I did not break the ankle or some other bone, and limped home. I iced it and appreciated that I now had the time, wisdom, and ability to have it examined and there was NOTHING I really had to do except attend to what was needed—get my foot examined, which I did. It was a sprain and not a break.

We are hard-wired to have a negative bias. It’s necessary for survival but how spacious and uplifting to also acknowledge the positive. I realized that I could not wish away the swelling and pain in my foot and I was worried. To stop worrying I needed information. I did not want to go to urgent care. I anticipated a long wait and crowded unhealthy conditions. When I did go I found helpful people, safety, and good care. I feel fortunate, the fall could have resulted in serious injury and I was spared. As the next day dawned bright and beautiful and I woke up feeling the pain in my foot and looked outside at the glory of the day and felt the warm temperature, I almost immediately felt irritable. I wanted to walk. I realized I wouldn’t be walking around the neighborhood for at least two weeks. I couldn’t even navigate our house with ease. Going up or down our stairs was challenging. I needed to hold on to the railing and needed both hands to do it. There was no way I could safely carry my coffee from the kitchen to my upstairs office. Accidents happen I told myself. This will pass, I was being careful but miscalculated the height of a barrier that I was stepping over. I reminded myself I am not calling myself “stupid” or indulging in self-blame (most of the time) and considered blaming my new sneakers for causing me to lose my balance. I reminded myself this was a minor injury and even the dog waited for me after I dropped his leash and I got home safely: Gratitude. Still, my irritability continued and increased and I could not talk myself out of it.

Minor things went wrong on this day. I could not access my email because my password didn’t work. A repairman came to the house and discovered there was more work than we anticipated and we would need to call someone else. I timed a talk with a client during the time of a scheduled meeting. Sigh. I meditated, focused on breath, body, felt the effect of irritation, and still, it persisted.

I made the effort to be pleasant to my dear husband who was also upset. His day was disrupted too by my lack of mobility. It triggered his worries about my health as he remembered past illnesses and vulnerability. He wasn’t happy with the repair man’s news either.

It’s another day. Spring no longer feels like an anomaly and the weather continues to be good so I can sit outside. We took the covers off the patio furniture and I don’t need a winter coat. I saw snowdrops amid a strip of pachysandra and white and purple crocuses pushing through the earth. I feel a sense of spaciousness and a decrease in the urgency to go and to do. What made the change in mood and mind? I am not sure. There is no magic formula. I know everything passes given time and patience when I can let be (accept things as they are, even bad moods).

I am older today than yesterday and just as the earth circles the sun and creates seasons so does the mind and the aging process. Is that why I fell? I am more aware of how, like the earth, my body is changing. This brings a new appreciation of the fullness of life and my own aliveness. Do we have to lose something to appreciate what we have? Sometimes I need reminders that everything changes and that includes thoughts, feelings, and sensations. Then I can maintain perspective and REMEMBER to stop, smell the roses, feel the air on my face, and truly taste the sweet/bitter, tangy, fullness of life.

Embodying Mindfulness: Making Practice Practical

“Breathing in I calm, breathing out I smile. Dwelling in the present moment It is a precious moment.” ~Thich Nhat Hahn

I sometimes begin my meditation with the above Gatha, a verse to say internally in rhythm with the breath. I learned it from Thich Nhat Hahn when I was at Plum Village, his retreat center in the south of France. This was back in the early ’90s. The words seemed nice but I am not sure I truly connected to what I was reciting as I repeated the phrases to myself.

“Breathing in, I calm.” This was my intention. I wanted to be calm, know calm, act from a place that was settled and quiet.

“Breathing out, I smile.” This implied acceptance. Letting myself smile no matter what my mind was producing. That felt impossible. Smile at grief? Smile at restlessness or boredom? Smile at wanting something I didn’t have? Smile at impatience and my self-judgment?

“Dwelling in the present moment”. Did I? Was I? My body was present but I often forgot that it carried my head around and noted thoughts much more than sensations unless some pain would arrive. Only later did I appreciate the wisdom of being here. That here was where there could be a choice. Here is where I am.

“It is a precious moment.” Yes, being alive and present is indeed precious. More than ever with Covid-19 raging through the country I appreciate the gift of life and health. More than ever I see the practicality of practice. Moments go by so quickly and so easily taken for granted—until something happens.

Calming: I am not always calm; it is impossible. But, I am often calm. When I’m not it feels more like an aberration and I know I can and will calm down. I’ve learned it doesn’t pay to keep being agitated. It’s not practical. My mind closes down, my heart rate goes up and I’m caught in old stuff. Of course, old stuff, the habits that were established for self-protection, expediency, and approval that served a useful function in the past may no longer make sense. Mindfulness helps me recognize this and helps me respond rather than react automatically.

Recently I volunteered to give a talk for the Center for Mindfulness and Compassion. When asked what I wanted to do I said, “let’s keep it simple, how about making practice practical?” That’s what first came to mind and what sustains my practice. It makes sense. It’s also what I have been doing since 1984 when I began teaching Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction which brings mindfulness into daily life. I’m now preparing to lead a seven-day silent retreat with two good friends and skilled teachers. It’s important that I remember why I practice and to have it be practical in my daily life so I can convey this to others. That means living what I teach, losing self-consciousness, and being present wholly. Then I can respond authentically to what arises with greater kindness and wisdom.

Like everyone else I practice because there is suffering and I want to continue to be mindful of its causes and its release. This is not easy. It sounds simple to simply return to my direct experience as it is unfolding with as little reactivity as possible. I have a sign in my office that says, Clear mind, open heart, what’s to lose?” I also have a bumper sticker that says, “Maybe the hokey pokey is what it’s all about.” A student from one of my Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction classes sent it to me because in the section on stress, which is around the middle of the program, I’d sometimes have the group rise from our seats and we’d do the hokey pokey.

You take your whole self out (the me that has a particular view and wants what she wants)

You put your whole self in ( you are wholeheartedly present and engaged in mind and body)

And you shake it all about—fixed ideas and the way things should be get shaken up. You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what it’s all about.

Of course mindfulness is much more than the hokey pokey but my views and perception of how I thought the world should be and who I am in relationship to it have been altered. Life has shaken me and the views I’ve held that I thought were fixed have been shaken. How wonderful. Life is dynamic and I’ve learned to smile—eventually—as I meet aging, illness, and yes death when I meet the human condition and our shared humanity. I’ve learned I can stop, feel my feet on the ground, the air around me, and give thanks I am breathing. Then I can begin to calm, in-breath, and out, gain perspective, metaphorically smile, and take another step. This moment is precious. I get to say hello to you.

Vacation

It is the beginning of August and it’s been our tradition to go to the beach for vacation. Over the years we’ve extended the time to vacate and surrender to hedonism— for seniors. We have the good fortune to spend the entire month near surf, sand, ice cream stores and farmer’s markets. I supply up on good fiction and treat myself to fresh fish, lobster and clams, newly baked bread and delectable desserts. Calories be damned.  We rent a house that we have been inhabiting for about twenty-five years so it is familiar and stress free. As I write it’s morning and my husband has gone for our habitual grocery shopping. This year he is the shopper and I am sitting in the shade by the house in the back yard the dog resting nearby. My husband believes it is too high a risk for me to meander through the narrow isles looking for goodies.  I don’t like acknowledging that he is right, age and extended chemotherapy has probably compromised my immune system. I feel healthy so it is hard to admit that I have to be careful. So much of meditation is about balance and being with things as they are. What are the risk factors in going shopping or just doing what used to be normal like gathering with friends or going out to eat? What is worth the risk, what is not? Excellent contemplation...and ongoing. At the heart of mindfulness is impermanence. Nothing ever stays the same. Holding on to what used to be and craving it be different than it is causes suffering. Being human means there is both craving and suffering. It is also an opportunity to see how connected we all are. Your wearing a mask means I am less afraid to be in public. My wearing a mask means I care about your well being too. 

We almost cancelled our vacation. I’ve been appreciating the neighborhood where I live and taking walks in it. Our house has been cool and it’s been pleasant to be inside. My husband and I have gotten into a rhythm and we are getting along. Perhaps this was the year to stay at home. What’s the risk factor in leaving, what are the down sides to staying home? Am I being greedy to once more go away, feel my toes in the sand and swim in cold Atlantic waters?  I do love the beach and being more in nature than our neighborhood in Worcester, MA. After getting information from friends who live and visit Martha’s Vineyard where we were heading we decided it would be possible to stay safe and enjoy sea and sky there. Yesterday our first day we arrived at the ferry early and there were fewer cars than we were accustomed to seeing. We got onto an early ferry, everyone was masked and we were requested to stay in the car. Good.

When we drove off the ferry into town it was early so the streets were not crowded and everyone we saw, young and old, were wearing masks. Good. It was too early to go to our rental house so we had time to kill. Our car was overloaded with dog, dog items, suitcases of clothes, food and sports gear. There were bicycles in the back of the car and our two Kayaks on the roof and it was hot. Paradise was uncomfortable and we were not luxuriating in sea, surf or even land. What to do? 

I’ve been meditating on equanimity and I was feeling hungry, irritable and impatient to leave the car and get into vacation mode. I know that every moment is precious. I often quote Thich Nhat Hahn when I lead a meditation, 

 “Breathing in I calm.

Breathing out I smile. 

Dwelling in the present moment.

It is a precious moment.”

I exhaled. I reminded myself to keep my mouth shut and stop saying, “Let’s go to the house. Maybe the previous renter has left.” We did go, her car was there, we left. My mood did not. Ah, challenge. We went to the farmer’s market and people were in line and kept social distance and wore masks. Good. We got corn, bread, vegetables and cheese. Good. Back in the car, hot. Still not time to go back to the house. 

Every moment is a precious moment.

We drove around the island, saw the cliffs at Aquinnah, formerly called Gay Head, went back to the house and a neighbor I had previously met was there cleaning. We both looked at each other.

“You were supposed to call.” She said. “The house won’t be ready until 1:00 PM.” 

“Really?”    (It was about 11:15)

Both of us felt annoyed. I explained our circumstance.

"We got on the ferry earlier than we expected and arrived on the Island before 8 AM and have been driving around. I’m sorry, I’m hot, irritable.”

She softened, I came to my senses and calmed. Crisis over. We got permission to refrigerate perishables and calm surfaced.

Vacation has begun...and we even got to go to the beach late afternoon. Everything changes!

A Different Time

In Japanese the character for danger also represents opportunity. During this time period when relationships and connection are both vitally important and physical contact often dangerous many of us have had the opportunity to be at home. This can be both good and bad depending on time and circumstance but it does offer an opportunity to experience time in a different way. I have just gotten two emails from friends apologizing for missing a zoom get together. They didn’t miss it. It hadn’t happened yet but was set up for a day in the future. I understand how this happens. It is not easy to remember what day it is. I recognize a change in the weather and the leaves on the trees maturing but there is no clear demarcation between a weekend and a workday or one from another. I still have some obligations to meet but there are many less scheduled commitments or routines that automatically mark the day. My morning now begins by checking the weather and deciding whether I need a sweater or not as I go for my walk. I decide what pants are most comfortable to wear and what shirt matches not only my pants but my mood. I moan a bit as I look in the mirror at my hair which is getting longer and wilder each day. I still care how I look but it is sans makeup without a need to appear professional. To my surprise I am discovering the satisfaction that comes with baking and reading a good book. I am seeing the neighborhood with new eyes and enjoying walking the dog and giving him a treat when he walks beside me and actually comes when I call. My mind is still concerned about staying intellectually alive and challenged to stay awake and deepen my meditation practice. My commitment to myself is to be present and really open to the moment as it presents itself. The days are passing quickly and to my wonder I am not bored. There are almost too many possibilities of things to do and learn. Sometimes I wonder who is this person who is not primarily therapist or mindfulness teacher but then I smile at myself and remember my commitment to myself to live what I teach: be in the NOW.

May the horror and danger we are facing in the aftermath of the George Floyd killing be a wake up call to the history of racism in this country, the unfairness of our judiciary system and and the destructive power of hate, greed and delusion. I can only hope that the horrors I am witnessing can be followed by wise action and greater understanding of our common humanity. May our hearts break open to act wisely and compassionately in putting down suppression and hatred . May we listen to each other and come together to end the harm being done not only to blacks but all people and the earth itself. May danger now truly be an opportunity for change.

Sheltering in Place

My sense of time is being altered. Usually this happens when I am sitting on my cushion in meditation and depending on the state of my mind time is either non-existent or endless. Now that I have been sheltering in place time is also fluid. My awareness opens newly to the order of the day and how it will be filled.  I have to consciously remember the day of the week and populate my mind without relying on work or habit. This opens up new possibilities and allows me to examine my mind in a whole new way. Where should I place my attention, what is a should and what is a choice? It has always been important for me to maintain my relationships and connect with friends and family. I don’t physically engage with people like I used to do but there is time now to connect to people from my past and present. My brother and his family who live on the west coast, and I on the east coast, share virtual evening meals with twice a week. While they eat dinner my husband and I are reclining in bed almost ready for sleep. My grand nephew who is only a year in-a- half is beginning to recognize us and waved to the screen last week as we said good night. We appreciate seeing the leap in his development each week. His cousins are also present, 14 months and eight years old in their home. They are there a little less often for dinner but their mother sends updates which we treasure. We get to understand the pressures they face working with chiIdren at home. I am sequestered in the house but I do not feel alone. 

It seems the whole world is being altered by Covid-19 and reaching out to each other in different ways.  More than ever there is a consciousness of community and understanding that what we we do has consequences. My breath affects yours. As I walk in my neighborhood and pass someone we wave and move away from each other to avoid spreading or receiving droplets of this virulent virus. If we blind ourselves to interconnection and consider ourselves invulnerable to disease or death the virus is perpetuated. I care for me, I care for you. It is reciprocal. What we do makes a difference as does our attitude.

 I’ve been feeling very fortunate. I have my health, I am lucky enough to have a warm house to shelter in, enough food to eat and a husband who’s company I appreciate and is even cooking and preparing great meals.  I have a new routine. Each morning I exercise, have breakfast, meditate and my husband and I walk our dog.  Whether the day is beautiful with the sun shining or windy and cold it is always refreshing. Yesterday my husband nudged me back as I unconsciously moved closer to a neighbor when he took out his phone to show me a video of his dog playing with another neighbor’s puppy.  It definitely requires mindfulness to remember to take care, wash hands, don’t touch the face and stay away from individuals. My immune system is not robust and I am older so am in the high risk category. This means I have not been to a grocery store and have been dependent on a commercial shopper to bring groceries to us. I miss handling the fruit, examining the vegetables for freshness and being spontaneous in what I choose to cook so we are planning our meals in advance, checking recipes and being creative and trying new dishes. I am grateful that we can order our food and it is delivered to our door. Our cupboard is fuller than ever and  I am getting to actually bake bread, something I always wanted to do but never did before. Perhaps pie crusts are next. 

It is raining today as I write this blog. It actually feels good to be at home and have a change in my morning routine. I wonder how many more daffodils will be blooming tomorrow. It is a joy to see the blossoming of trees and watch the magnolias bud. Our trips have been cancelled, I no longer go out for dinner or meet a friend for lunch but there are now dance parties on zoom and I just participated in a virtual birthday party for a friend. Stay well, be safe, and let’s keep cherishing this challenging, wonderful life. May we all be good to each other.

FUNK

I’ve been in a funk lately. It is winter here in New England. We haven’t had much snow and the days have been warmer than usual, often in the 30’s rather than single digits but it’s been gray. I am a person who likes color, sunshine and beaches. Instead the trees are bare, the grass is brown and I step carefully on the sidewalk and watch out for black ice. I remind myself that every thing passes and remember every moment is precious including this one. I tell people, you must acknowledge what is true—even if you don’t like it—and I don’t like feeling the heavy stickiness of funk. I don’t like that I’ve had a cold and it is lingering. I am wearing three layers of clothing and have unearthed my sun lamp from the closet. I turn it on. It’s called a “happy light”. I am glad I remembered that I have it and it can be cheering. When my mood matches the weather I have to put extra effort into remembering how blessed I am and really take it in so the words are felt in my body. It’s too easy to ignore what is truly important: being healthy and having a warm house to live in, food to eat, and a loving husband and friends.

The word mindfulness is derived from a Pali word, “sati”, that connotes wisdom and includes remembering. Remembering perspective, remembering compassion, remembering all thoughts and feelings pass. Remembering that as I write the funk is changing and I can’t talk myself out of what I am feeling but I can be kind to myself and not perseverate about it. How wonderful when the mood passes. I remember mindfulness cultivates patience and a willingness to let be and let go. I can’t push the mood away but when my husband returned home and said, “Do you want to go out for some dinner or call it in?” I was interested and focused on where to go and what to eat. We are home now and it’s time for bed. My pajamas are comfortable. My bed is welcoming and my belly full. Funk dissipated. Ah.

A Gift

It snowed today. It began early and continued throughout the morning commute. Normally this doesn’t affect me but today was the last day of a three-day workshop that I was leading and I feared the roads would be impassable. The workshop was being streamed so people could click in and attend virtually but participation is an important element of the curriculum and there was no mechanism in place for interaction which is core to the material being presented, the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Program and its application to clinical care. The program is very relational and inquiry and discussion are central to learning. Mindfulness cultivates equanimity and the ability to be present to pleasant and unpleasant events alike. It also brings awareness to our default position. In my case, at this time, it was pessimistic believing only myself, the video person and one or two people who had stayed at the hotel would be present.

I entered the room and immediately saw three people.

"You made it,' I said, ‘Wonderful! This may be an intimate group today.”

“Oh I am sure most will come,” said one of the women.

“How many do you think will be here?” I asked.

“Oh, 20."

There were 28 in the group. I was dubious. “Maybe 8,” I said.

“Oh, I think more,” another participant chimed in. “The roads weren’t too bad.”

“Let’s see,” I said, still doubting and went to set up my PowerPoint.

People began dribbling in. Twenty arrived and I gave a high five to Gloria who had named that number. More arrived and all but three were present in person and the others had signed in electronically.

A wave of gratitude overtook me. No one had to come. They could have attended electronically and gotten their CEU’s. They wanted to be present. There was a feeling of community, warmth and caring. This touched my heart. It took an effort to be present and be mindful. Mindfulness is not easy. It means we have to face ourselves, who we are, what we are, and all the factors that impact our lives and how we meet them. Community and the support it gives is vital-and sadly often not there.

It is the holiday season as I write this. Decorations and holiday music and “cheer” abound. It is a time of giving and receiving. It can also be a time of sadness and isolation, expectations and disappointments.

I feel I was given a gift on this cold snowy day. A gift of love and intimacy among people who had not met before and now we're laughing together, sharing thoughts and feelings as they practiced opening hearts and minds in silence and speech. How fortunate I am I thought to be able to do the work of mindfulness and be able to experience the warmth of community and behold the human spirit.

Happy Holidays to you and yours. May we all appreciate each other and be able to give, to receive and enjoy this season.

A New Day

I always get a little nervous before a retreat begins and now it is over and I am on my way home. I am sitting at the airport happy that it went well. It was a five day one integrating MBSR (Mindfulness-based Stress Reduction) into clinical care. My colleague and co-facilitator Lucia McBee left the night before so I am alone. When I arrived a week ago I was exhausted. I was relieved to have arrived safely after driving on unfamiliar mountain roads in a rental car that didn’t hug the road like the one at home. The scenery was beautiful but I had to concentrate on navigating the narrow curving roads so I could not really take it in. Breath by breath I drove telling myself to be safe and careful. I slowed down and leaned into curves. I was tired, it had been a long day but I was awake. I was forced to be mindful. Now today I was relaxed and the drive had been easy. I did not have to strain to drive or force myself to be mindful. Having Lucia next to me made it more fun and I navigated the curves as we chatted about the retreat with ease.

Our group was diverse and some had never meditated before but were interested and open to learning. Lucia and I worked well together and complemented each other. The setting was new to us as was the food and the altitude, 4000 feet above sea level. We were at an Aruvedic Center, high in the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina. It was a large beautiful place but there was a-lot of uphill walking. We were not all accustomed to doing this but gamely walked until Lucia tripped over a door sill and my back began to hurt. Then we used the car and were thankful we had it and could also give a ride to any participant who needed a lift.

There is a lot of not knowing in leading a workshop/retreat as it is impossible to anticipate the nature of the group and what may arise. Lucia and I are both experienced and we had prepared a workbook and PowerPoint.This is a guide rather than a precise manual. Teaching for me is about embodiment of mindfulness and transmitting information from my heart and gut. This is based on what arises moment by moment. It requires concentration and being REALLY present. Shepherding people into a calmer more aware place is meaningful and reinforces my own practice.
Now that the retreat is over the challenge is maintaining my practice and forgiving myself when I lapse.

Last night I slept in a motel near the airport. It was very basic and my room was next to the parking lot and dingy. The air conditioner was loud and not working well. I had to remember not to complain, maintain perspective and appreciate that:
1. I found the hotel even though it took three tries. It was behind a restaurant and not visible from the road and I was able to ask a person who knew its location and gave me good directions
2. I had a place to stay.
3. It was clean.
4. I get to fly home on a new day refreshed rather than pushing on after teaching and driving.

This morning at the airport I needed to remember to breathe through my experience going through security. I was behind a family of five and the mom took a lot of time putting all the kids packs and miscellaneous in the bins. She finished and was told that she had to remove all the food in her pack. It took quite a while for the assortment of snacks to come out. Then I realized I had to remove the food in my pack as I did not have TSA, expedited security check at this airport and I had to remove my iPad and kindle. I did this mindfully and then forgot to take it with me after it was scanned and came off the belt. As I sat down by my gate in this small airport, two people came up to me to tell me I had left my electronics at security. “I wanted to take it to you,” each said, “but they wouldn’t let me.” How wonderful they cared. And when I returned to security the guard there handed it to me with a big smile: Gratitude!

........It’s a new moment. I am on the plane and it is landing. I will transfer at the large, bustling airport in Atlanta. I am glad I can walk and happy that I checked my bag. Traveling takes energy and attention. I instruct others to meet what arrives with awareness and kindness without resistance. I hope it is only my luggage and my husband greeting me in Boston—and this new day will be rich—and uneventful, my plane won’t be delayed or cancelled.and I have enough time to get to the gate where the plane to Boston departs. Again and again I am challenged to live what I teach. Lucky me.

Semi-Retirement: New Challenges

I’ve had time this week that isn’t filled with work-related projects. This is new to me. I am accustomed to having something to do, a presentation to prepare, a book to write, emails to answer or calls I need to make. This still exists but to a lesser degree and it raises questions of identity. Who am I? Is it OK to read a novel, take a nap, really do nothing? People yearn for retirement but I have always loved teaching and exchanging ideas or creating new programs. Work is an act of love and teaching mindfulness has always been fulfilling and brought me joy.

I have always appreciated the space between commitments but now there is a different feel to this space. Rather than it is in-between my “to do’s” it’s beckoning me to expand my interests and allow myself to not know what brings satisfaction. There are freedom and expansiveness to this lack of structure and there is also anxiety and grief. The Center for Mindfulness at the University of Massachusetts Medical School now has the next generation of teachers and the structure itself is changing. I can’t go there and drop in on a friend and talk “dharma” anymore. Instead, I need to schedule a lunch date. This is still meaningful but it needs planning and is different.

In the mornings now I take a walk with my husband and our dog. It is spring here in New England and each day greets me with a surprise. There are new blossoms on the trees and the leaves are moving from bud to leaf displaying different shades of green. The azaleas are bursting with bright hues of purple and pink. Each day there are surprises. Our backyard is an urban meadow the grass strewn with violets and hyacinths, dewdrops and dandelions. With the rain, we’ve been having there is a fresh scent to the air. Each day is different...and I can take it in and savor the ability to experience with all my senses and have it shared with my spouse. It is a wonder. I’ve been working with back pain, arthritis, and a narrowing spinal canal. I am learning to walk, “like a ballerina”, pelvis forward, shoulders back, gaze level and forward-looking. Even as I shrink a bit I feel taller. This too is different.

Home to my heart/mind is my meditation community. This continues and always goes with me but it is time now to expand beyond the meditation community. It surprises me to discover that older women are interesting and even fun—and I am an older woman. My goodness! How did that happen so quickly? I can’t do the strength training at the gym that was hardcore and tough anymore. I used to be so proud I could do push-ups like the younger folks and feel comfortable with “jocks” but working out rapidly with heavy weights (for me) is no longer wise. I was forced to stop because of pain and now I need to build muscle mass again. This is humbling and requires patience and persistence (like meditation). I can’t rush it. Darn.

As a result, I discovered exercise in water and the Burdenko method. Igor Burdenko works with people who have been injured and have disabilities. His approach includes land and water, diet and meditation. The local Y has a group of women who practice this technique in the Y’s pool for 45 minutes three times a week. It is called “beginners water exercise”. They are not beginners and the youngest person is in her early 60’s. I didn’t think I belonged because everyone looked so old. Then I discovered I was one of the older ones: surprise. Each person was so welcoming and helpful that my eyes teared up...and it is both challenging and fun. It has also helped me realize that I have been prejudiced and a victim of ageism making assumptions that are just not true. There are life, energy, and love. There is no competition, only cooperation. Hmm, is this a consequence of aging?

So, blog reader, let’s see what’s next. I no longer am humming to myself, “the old gray mare ain’t what she used to be...” Let’s see what song pops in next. Perhaps, “Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day.”

Maintaining Perspective

This Calvin and Hobbs cartoon by Sam Waterman has been speaking to me lately.

Being human means sometimes we make a mess of things—but we don’t need to make it worse by perseverating and catastrophizing the event. The body aging and a diagnosis of cancer offers challenges and forces us to come to a new balance. Doing so requires acceptance and not creating a narrative that may or may not be true (like, why me?). In the process balls get dropped, our “to do” list changes and sometimes there is a mess to clean up: the mind. My mantra was, “No Double Arrow, I will maintain perspective and not make things worse than they are.” With my back hurting and a diagnosis of breast cancer I had to juggle less balls and I did not like acknowledging my limitations and the sadness that came with it. Persistence was required to heal and maintain perspective.

Yes, the lump discovered in a mammogram was cancerous. Yes, I had a lumpectomy. Yes, it went well and only needed one day surgery. Yes, my surgeon was excellent. Yes, I do not need chemotherapy or radiation and yes, I still have two breasts and only a crescent shaped scar. I am lucky and grateful. Yes, this is not automatic and it is a reminder of my mortality and has me question how many balls I have in the air and note that I am not as quick and alert as I used to be. It takes persistence in being mindful and honesty in examining my priorities.

Relationships are a priority as is continuing to do service. My niece had a baby about a month ago. She lives 3000 miles away but I had no hesitation visiting her and her family and meeting my grand niece. Looking at the perfection of her little being, seeing her eyes open and begin taking in the world, observing my niece as a mom is a privilege. How wonderful. It is also wonderful to be able to go back to my place here in California where she lives and see the trees blooming. The snow is melting back east but covered the ground when I left. Tomorrow I and a colleague will conduct an eight day training for people who want to teach Mindfulness-based stress reduction. He is older too and we have a pact to remember self-care and pacing. We will have a longer lunch period to be able to rest. I believe everyone will benefit. Being of service, teaching and doing work I love is priority. Enjoying the time I have to not do is also priority. I find myself savoring walking the dog or looking out the window and seeing the trees swaying in the wind and noting how the light falls on the branches. I have begun painting and drawing trees that have deep roots and are multi-colored.

I am here. I am well. I am older. How lucky is that?

Traveling the Dark

To go into the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark

Go without sight

And know the dark too blooms and sings

And is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

~ Wendell Berry

Recently I had the privilege to facilitate a five day program for the Center for MIndfulness. It is an intense five days and some people are meditating for the first time and fear can arise. I read the poem above prefaced by a story I love, “The Monster in the Closet” by Mercer Mayer. In it a little boy says to himself, “enough”. He is tired of being scared of the monster in his closet and decides to eliminate it. He prepares himself to do so, puts on his pith helmet, takes out his toy gun and opens the closet door. His monster has big purple polka dots and is cowering in the closet crying. The little boy sees his distress and has compassion for him and takes him into his bed to comfort him. There is a drawing of them snuggled together each helping the other. The book, however, doesn’t end there. On the next and last page the little boy is looking at the closet again and another monster is peeking out. The boy says, “I think there’s another monster in the closet but, I’m not ready yet.”

I wonder, are we ever ready to face our monsters? Can we believe that doing so will have a positive effect and lead to a sense of confidence and freedom: peace? Visitor Frankl who survived a concentration camp wrote in Mans Search for Meaning that “the one thing that can not be taken from man is his ability to choose his attitude in any given set of circumstances.”

As I write a good friend of mine is dying. For over twenty years she has struggled with cancer. She entered the darkness of pain, treatments, and uncertainty but she travelled it courageously and with a zest for life. It did not stop her from raising her children, making delicious meals, being kind to friends, doing pottery and enjoying trips with people she loved and enjoyed. The darkness of cancer couldn’t be denied or even fully accepted but...it gave her a deeper appreciation of life.

What attitudes are helpful? What is our intention and our willingness to explore what we experience as heavy and hard; dark? I too live with cancer. I feel well and am active but just recently a new malignancy was discovered. It is small and I will take care of it but once again I find myself taking a breath and appreciating this moment and my mindfulness practice. I don’t want a biopsy or having to be a patient again and perhaps not feeling well but...I will and I feel peaceful. Mindfulness is not a matter of mind, it is bigger. All the years I have spent practicing and teaching mindfulness to help others has been helpful to me. Attitudes such as trust, patience, curiosity, effort, letting go and letting be, even what I don’t like but acknowledging it and facing my internal monsters helps me face the external ones. They are easier to access and have become a part of me. Kindness and love exist in darkness and light. I am traveling on feet and wings of both shades. Sadness co-existing with joy. New discoveries and deep gratitude for what is already

To be continued...

The Love Remains

Living in New England in the fall is a time of beauty and one that visibly marks change. Here in Worcester, MA where I live the trees have retained their greenery for longer than usual but today, on my morning walk I began to see gold, orange, and red leaves, some on the ground, others brightening the branches of trees. This brings back memories of my mother at the end of her life. She died in October after suffering a a stroke subsequent to chemotherapy and lung cancer. As she laid in bed in the hospital I remember my father bringing in some carefully chosen leaves of color to brighten up the room and post on the bulletin board facing her bed. I am not sure she could appreciate their color or identify what they were but I do think she could feel the love they represented from my Dad—as did I.

To comfort myself after she passed I took out my watercolors and gave expression to my emotions with color and form. The painting did not seem quite complete so I began examining the ground around my house to choose a few leaves to add to it. I then dipped the leaves in glycerin hoping to preserve their brightness and vivacity and pasted them on the painting. Hoping to keep my watercolor as a momento I had it framed. I must not have done the procedure quite right because before too long, the leaves, though dipped and covered, became brown. I could not alter the decay or prolong their color. Everything changes. I realize this too is life. My mother and father have both now died but the memory of their love continues. I know this, I feel this yet, the sadness of their death remains and each fall I miss them and remember this time. The leaf I chose is still on the watercolor I created. It is no longer alive but the memory still exists and like death and feelings can not be denied.

Duck vs. Rabbit

I’ve been very lucky. I don’t always get what I want…and this is liberating. It teaches me to examine my relationship to loss and gain and what I perceive as good or bad. I realize there are many ways to view a situation. The drawing above is an example of an optical illusion. Look at it one way and there is a bunny. Look at it another way and there is a duck. Shifting attention my perspective expands and I can see both.

When I was very ill I needed to see and feel more than my illness. A broad perspective allowed me to open to more than my illness. I’d look out the window, appreciate a smile and remember to acknowledge that I was not my illness.

Acceptance is a process. Sometimes I have to dig deep down and be willing to take in new information to make peace with my situation and observe its “truth”. There is ease within dis-ease, life and death. Meditation is about dis-illusion, seeing clearly and understanding the true essence of a moment and the conditioning which affects our perception of it. To do this we must see more than one thing and be able to hold diverse views. I ask myself, what’s important and where is my focus NOW? What is the effect of a thought or action? Does it lead to a sense of well-being or not? How open am I to change? How do I meet sorrow and loss, joy and happiness?

Often we think we are what we feel and it will never change. I began meditating in the early 80’s because I wanted to be happier. Back then I’d drive Larry Rosenberg, my meditation teacher, to Worcester once a week. He was teaching an MBSR class for the fledgling Stress Reduction Program and I was working down the road at a job I didn’t like. I’d complain, Larry would listen, smile and sing,

“You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes
you just might find
You get what you need.”
– The Rolling Stones

I did not like hearing this but it woke me up. It challenged me to examine how I perceived the world and where I placed my attention. Mindfulness brought me into the present moment and interrupted the “story” of what I thought I needed to be happy. I began shedding past conditioning and investigating the relationship between my thoughts, feelings and sensations and how they related to my sense of well-being.

Over the years I’ve learned that happiness floats. It is not dependent on any one thing but has many aspects. There are ducks and rabbits, your view and mine, feelings of happiness and sadness. Everything changes. The challenge is to acknowledge it all and realize we have what we need—it’s here now!

In the Stillness of Time

Somehow even though I am now well past my school years I still experience fall as the beginning of a new year. The air is crisp, the leaves have yet to fall but are transforming from the sweet green of the young buds to hues of yellow, orange, red and brown. As they dry and fall they mark the end of summer and signal shorter darker days. I note how my attitude has shifted towards this change. This year I do not feel a heaviness in my chest and a sadness as I contemplate the cold and darkness of a New England winter. My perspective has, like the sun, moved as I observe the beauty of my yard and the day here now before me. Spontaneously in the stillness of the moment I write:

The sun shines clear and bright
Leaves illuminated on slender saplings
broader than three months ago.
The sun is lower in the sky today
My blanket covered me this morning
Warm and snug I curled my toes uncramping them
Placing them on the ground
Meeting the day.

Everything has a life. A beginning. And an end. I have been contemplating my end. Today I feel healthy and strong. Gratitude fills me. As I write this moment has already ended and some cells have died as new neurons are being born. It is the cycle of life. My name means tree in Hebrew and like it I hope to meet each season, soak up the sunshine while it is here, celebrate the day, put forth leaves of different shapes and colors and be rooted and strong as wind and chill separate them from my branches as winter comes.

As sunlight dapples the leaves and wind moves the branches my eyes follow and my breath is even. My body remains in one spot and is cushioned by the pillow I sit upon. My laptop is near.

Knowing I can do nothing to stop time but hoping to capture it in my mind, I reach for it, raise its cover and turn it on. Moving my fingertips over the keys I use these words as mementos. Attention shifts but my intention, to savor the moment, and experience the infinite timeliness of time remains. Within there is stillness. There is peace. I don’t wonder how long it will last. It is here now.