Time & A New Year

“Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.

If all time is eternally present

All time is unredeemable…

- T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets 

I’ve always associated the changing of the calendar year as a time for celebration and when I was single I’d feel badly if I didn’t have a date or something special to do. After I was married my husband and I would meet friends or go out to dinner but I always thought there was a forced gaiety to the occasion. One year we had friends over and made a fire in the fireplace so it would be cozy. It was a good thought but we neglected to open the flu and the house was filled with smoke. Our dear friends were very polite and did not run out of the house as we urged them to do but waited until the new year arrived. Fortunately, this happened close to midnight and we did open the flu but the smoke lingered long after they left. It was a night to remember. I’m not sure that we’ve had a fire in the fireplace since then.

Time feels very subjective to me. When I am meditating each moment feels timeless and there is only the now. I am able to observe the arising and passing of breath, sensations, sound, feelings, mood and thoughts. There isn’t a sense of time unless something arises that I don’t like and then the sitting practice can feel endless as I struggle to “let be” and not fight what is happening. Letting go and acceptance is not automatic but when I can soften into and not fight what I can’t change relief comes and I don’t think about time anymore.

December and January is a time when I am teaching less and my time is more open and less scheduled. It can be an adjustment to not have something I have to do. My sense of time is altered, and I have to be careful not to fill it up with doing but appreciate the space I am given and savor the moments of quiet and peace that are present. I choose carefully my use of time.

My husband keeps telling me that now that we are older and living in a big house it is time to think about downsizing and decluttering the house. I do not think the house is cluttered and I resist getting rid of books and mementos that he thinks should go yet, when I look at all our photograph albums and boxes of old letters and diaries I have held onto over the years. I have to agree it is a lot. I was given a scanner and for a long time I have wanted to scan some of my photos so with the time I have, I decided to go through an album and scan the photos I wanted to keep (almost all of them). Unknowingly, the album I chose was one my father had put together. I hadn’t seen many of the photos and as I took them out and placed them on the scanner it brought me back to another time and place but it felt fresh. Viewing my younger self with my older one brought a different perspective to those times. This older me observed the younger me and marveled at how young she looked and much more attractive than I used to feel. It brought back memories of how annoyed we used to get at my father’s ever present camera. Now I could see it as sentimental and caring. It marked his love for family and perhaps his wish to keep us with him forever. He too had trouble letting go. The photos marked the last two years of my mother’s life and a time when they visited my brother and his young family in California, which was far from where they resided in New York. I found myself touched by the photos and how lovingly my father carefully put them in the album, wrote on some of them with a gold pen, and made real their presence in my heart.

I am now older than my mother when she died, she was 70. My Dad is now gone too. He died at 80, an age I am approaching which added a poignancy to my viewing. I could now appreciate their aliveness and warmth and understand their wish to be close to their children and grandchildren and their sadness at being so far away. I too live on an opposite coast from my brother and his family. We zoom and visit each other but I too would like to babysit my grand nieces and nephews and see them more often. Looking at the photos I could feel my mother’s warmth and her love and her worries. I could appreciate her and feel her vulnerabilities. There was no holding of old hurts or residue of resentments from time past.  I could smile at my father, appreciate his spirit, impracticality and creativity. I could understand his reluctance to let go.

A new year is approaching. I like to ask, what do you wish to leave behind and say goodbye too and what would you like to bring forward with you?

I can leave behind that younger self who never felt quite good enough but can appreciate the part of her that quested for meaning and understanding and desired to keep growing and learning. I bring with me a love of family, of people, of learning, and a sense of curiosity about what the next moment will bring.  I bring with me memories of people no longer here and adventures I enjoyed but will not be repeated but cherished.

I don’t have any new year's resolutions. I bring forward gratitude for being gifted with love and life. I don’t need to drink champagne but, I toast to you, dear friend and companion on this road of life. May we meet this moment, this day, this year, and this life with love, gratitude, and courage to not know what will come but to know we can meet it and wish each other a HAPPY NEW YEAR.

I hope to see you this Thursday, January 5, 2023 for my free, online Aging with Wisdom Group. Here’s a link to the registration page.

Giving Thanks

As I write I am sitting with a full heart and a full belly. Thanksgiving is over and I am still digesting the sweetness of being with family. I live three thousand miles away from my brother Bob, his wife, and my two nieces and their three children so it is very special to break bread with them in person rather than virtually. We don’t get to visit very often so it is always meaningful to see how the kids have grown and developmentally matured. Us elders also have changed as we have aged and don’t look or act like we did when we were the kids. I am all too aware of the passing of time and the passing of generations. I am now the oldest in this gathering and I’d love to host the event but my husband and I are visitors and it is my niece who cooked the turkey and made most of the holiday meal. She laid out the table, organized the food, and hosted the celebration with us elders helping, a reversal of roles. While we sat sedately the children, a four-year-old, a three-and-a-half-year-old and a ten-year-old ran around having a glorious time with each other. During dinner, they sat at the children’s table which brought back memories of Bob and me being kids and sitting with our cousins many years ago while the grownups ate. Bob and I kept saying how my mother would have loved being here and seeing us all together. Seeing how hard my nieces and their husbands work to manage a household, career, and child-rearing I had a fresh appreciation of my mother and all she did in raising my brother and myself. I wish I could have thanked her more. Not having children I continue to be impressed by the patience, energy, and the skill it takes in raising a family. It’s relentless. It’s wonderous, challenging, and a blessing…and it goes by very quickly, even when we are caught in a moment that feels interminable.

Ideally, each day is an opportunity to give thanks for what we have, and too often as we engage in modern living don’t take the time to stop and appreciate. 

Bob and I and our spouses are the elders now and new traditions are being formed. This year his daughter Anna brought to Thanksgiving a reading included in Braiding Sweetgrass that was written and said daily by first nation people, the Haudenosaunee‘s, and we went around the table reading it. It is called the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address Greetings to the Natural World and begins by thanking

The People 

Today we have gathered and we see that the cycles of life continue. We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things. So now, we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings and thanks to each other as people. 

Now our minds are one.

The Earth Mother 

We are all thankful to our Mother, the Earth, for she gives us all that we need for life. She supports our feet as we walk about upon her. It gives us joy that she continues to care for us as she has from the beginning of time. To our mother, we send greetings and thanks. 

Now our minds are one. 

The Waters 

We give thanks to all the waters of the world for quenching our thirst and providing us with strength. Water is life. We know its power in many forms- waterfalls and rain, mists and streams, rivers and oceans. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the spirit of Water. 

Now our minds are one. 

And continues with 

The Fish, The Plants and Food Plants, Medicine Herbs, Animals, Trees, Birds, The Four Winds, Thunderers, The Sun, Grandmother Moon, The Stars, Enlightened Teachers, and 

The Creator

Now we turn our thoughts to the Creator, or Great Spirit, and send greetings and thanks for all the gifts of Creation. Everything we need to live a good life is here on this Mother Earth. For all the love that is still around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our choicest words of greetings and thanks to the Creator. 

Now our minds are one. 

Closing Words 

We have now arrived at the place where we end our words. Of all the things we have named, it was not our intention to leave anything out. If something was forgotten, we leave it to each individual to send such greetings and thanks in their own way. 

Now our minds are one. 

This translation of the Mohawk version of the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address was developed, published in 1993, and provided, courtesy of: Six Nations Indian Museum and the Tracking Project All rights reserved. 

Thanksgiving Address: Greetings to the Natural World English version: John Stokes and Kanawahienton (David Benedict, Turtle Clan/Mohawk) Mohawk version: Rokwaho (Dan Thompson, Wolf Clan/Mohawk) Original inspiration: Tekaronianekon (Jake Swamp, Wolf Clan/Mohawk) 

I share this Thanksgiving greeting with you. As you read this I will be home again in Worcester but I hope to continue giving thanks each day beginning when my eyes open in the morning and I am alive for another day and when the day and my body sleeps. Let’s give thanks this Thursday when we meet for our monthly Wise Aging Group. Thanks to people who may no longer be with us but continue in our hearts and minds and thanks to all the mundane daily tasks required as we move through the day and take on the responsibility of living fully.

I thank you for reading this and joining me this Thursday, December 1 at 11 AM, EDT. 

Here is a link to the meeting information including the Zoom log-in.

Precious Moment

I walked into a wall the other day—literally. It capped a morning filled with frustration and empty of equanimity. The day began at 5:15 AM as I prepared to leave for Boston for my yearly mammogram and visit to my breast cancer oncologist. I had a lumpectomy in 2018 and I get a mammogram and check in with the doctor every year to make sure cancer has not returned. I left by 6 AM for my 8 AM appointment to give me some extra time before my visit to relax and almost immediately ran into heavy traffic on the turnpike. I turned on my GPS and it recommended an alternate route. I remember debating whether to take the exit it suggested but decided to follow it even though it was different that my usual one and was routed through town roads rather than the highway. These roads were also congested. They were also unfamiliar to me and I wasn’t confident that the directions were correct. The longer I drove the worse it seemed to get.

“Calm”, I told myself, “Smile, it’s ok to be late, but as I looked at the estimated arrival time on my phone and it got closer and closer to 8 AM I got more and more agitated. I did not want to miss this appointment which had been very hard to get. More than a year had passed since I had last seen the doctor.  Finally, very stressed I arrived at the hospital at 8:03, got valet parking, and was in such a rush that the valet had to come after me to get the key for the car. In my haste, I forgot to give it to him. When I arrived and my blood pressure was taken it was so high that the doctor took it a second time to ensure it had dropped. In-breath, out-breath: Agitation.

Appointment with the oncologist over I felt relief and walked through the building to go to my next appointment which was for a mammogram. The imaging center for the mammogram was in a different hospital that was a 10-15 minute walk to get there. I had to change floors as well as buildings and go over a few bridges.

I walked meditatively feeling my feet connecting with the floor. I arrived, filled out the paperwork, and when I was done a lovely receptionist sat down next to me and softly whispered that I was two weeks shy of a year to take this test and my insurance wouldn’t pay for it; I’d have to return for another visit. 

 I try to make one visit when I go to the cancer center. I now see two oncologists, one for lymphoma which I’ve been treated for since 1995, and one for breast cancer which was diagnosed and treated in 2018. Now I’d have to return not only to see my other oncologist but for a third time to get the mammogram.

My calm disappeared once again. This was TOO MUCH. We handled the situation, the receptionist and I, she very compassionately telling me she’d squeeze me in after the two-week period and I decided to see if I could change the appointment with my other oncologist so I could do both appointments on the same day. Success, but calm hadn’t yet returned.

I remembered the bridges I needed to cross to get back to my car but at a busy intersection of corridors, I became confused. I kept walking hoping to find my way—mistook the glass wall between corridors for a door and slammed into it nose first.

A person in a white coat behind me witnessed this, came up to me and asked, Are you alright?

Dazed, I said, “Yes, I just have to sit for a bit.” I was not alright.

The wall was very hard and thick. It did not shatter but my composure did. I found a comfortable chair by a window and sat and let myself tear up and not feel OK.

I found a comfortable chair by a window and sat and let myself tear up and not feel OK. “Let it be” I tell others. I am filled with gratitude that I am alive. I survived a stem cell transplant, two recurrences of lymphoma and breast cancer but… I have written two books about maintaining perspective Here for Now: Living Well with Cancer through Mindfulness and Being Well (even when you’re sick). I have been teaching Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction and talking about impermanence --how aging, sickness, loss, and death are part of the human condition—and we are responsible for our actions and their consequences but sometimes past experience is overwhelming and triggers a stress reaction. 

Being human means sometimes we hit a wall and…just need to stop and sit. What the mind knows and the body feels are not always in sync. The traffic, the fact that a colleague of mine suddenly died in the last week and being in the hospital again all accumulated and … it was too much. . .for a while. 

After I sat I continued to walk through the bridges I had previously come through, I stopped at the gift shop and treated myself to a bar of Lady Godiva chocolate, continued on and remembered the healing garden in the hospital, went in, and sat by the orchids until I felt calm enough to drive safely home.

No one likes to admit vulnerability and that includes me. We are all tender and sometimes things are just too much. I often quote Thich Nhat Hahn, a Vietnamese monk and wonderful teacher who contributed greatly to bringing everyday mindfulness into the world. He talks about every moment being a precious moment. In a recent class after I recited this, I was asked, “What happens if it isn’t precious?” 

“That’s a time for compassion and kindness,” I responded. Joan Halifax talks about “strong back, soft front” and it’s useful to remember that everything passes. So, dear friend, I write this blog—let’s give thanks for what we have and be loving to our soft tender spots—and thank each other for walking down the path of life together. Every moment is a precious moment…and it will change.

Join us for the Aging with Wisdom group where we will explore the questions: HOW DO I MEET THE UNWANTED? HOW DO I NURTURE MY VULNERABLE SELF?

Celebration

In New England, fall is a time of transition from the warmth of summer to the chill of winter and it’s reflected in the foliage of trees that turn from green to shades of red, yellow, and brown before they fall from their branches. On our morning walk, I wear a sweater and go up the hill a bit more briskly, carrying a tissue not to wipe sweat off my brow but to wipe my nose and survey the changing landscape. Normally, this evokes sadness but I find myself accepting the changes and I am savoring the emergence of new colors and the greenery that is still here. It is a reminder of impermanence. . . and for the first time, in the years since my mother died in October many years ago, I am not falling into sadness as I see the leaves dry up and fall from the trees or complaining as I add another layer to my clothes.

What is different? Could it be that I, along with five other adults of varying ages and backgrounds had a B’nai Mitzvah, a coming-of-age ceremony? This ceremony is traditionally given to boys when they reach the age of 13 and it marks their full entry to Judaism and participate in all its rituals and obligations. I came of age when girls were exempt from this ceremony and I resented this. My brother had a big party after his bar mitzva and his achievement was celebrated. I wanted to be celebrated too. At the time this was just the way it was, but now at the age of 79 I had the opportunity to partake in the ritual. It was too late for my parents to be there but still time to have my own ceremony and feel a sense of pride and accomplishment in my own achievements. I realized this is what I really wanted, and was most important.

It takes courage to acknowledge old hurts and regrets and risk a new identity that is stronger, fuller and takes effort to move into which is what the ceremony helped me feel. It can be scary to say, yes, I am good enough and try something new when failure is possible. It’s also very freeing and was worth the effort.

As I age, I’m finding myself gaining perspective and softening, soothing, and allowing myself to make peace inside myself so old wounds, injustice, and regrets no longer bleed into the present. How wonderful that I had the opportunity to be a part of this ancient tradition and share it with others.I feel grateful.

There are few poems I’ve memorized. One is “The Breeze at Dawn “by Rumi, a 16th-century Persian poet and mystic. It’s a short, succinct poem
easy to memorize.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

What do we really want? Really want!
We ask this in the first class of the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Program. The answer is usually peace or some version of “be happy” and we then discuss what is needed for this to come about..

I want to experience peace. I want to shake off old stories and examine their veracity with a fresh perspective. I want to be free to explore new opportunities, take chances and continue to be creative. I want to be able to deal with sorrow and not fall into despair. I want to be generous and kind, wise and understanding.

I want to be as John O’Donahue suggests, “live like a river flows carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.”

Who knows what will happen and what will be, but I don’t want to go back to sleep.

---

The Aging with Wisdom group meets this Thursday, October 6th at 11 AM, EDT.  I invite you to ask yourself the question raised in the blog "What do you really want?" more than one time and jot down what arises, which we will explore when we meet this Thursday. Here’s a link to register.

Take care, and may your adventure not be too wild but always interesting.

Warmly, Elana

EPIPHANY

I had an epiphany while I was on vacation that surprised me. It came to me while I was sitting peaceably under a tree in the Umbrian sun in a villa my cousin had rented near Orvieto, a town dating back to the 9th century B.C. that was inhabited by Etruscans. The Etruscans thrived there for about four hundred years but now only a few tombs and artifacts remain visible above ground. There is an extensive underground city that the Etruscans built for protection and sustenance. It provided water, safety, storage areas, and a dovecote to raise doves which were a major source of food. We ate no doves but did have a lot of pasta (all delicious). It was cool and dark going into the caves and hot and sunny in the streets above. History was all around, visible and invisible, above and below. I sat in the yard outside my room at the farmhouse where my husband and I were staying musing on history and the wonder of traveling again after such a long period of isolation appreciating what I could see and smell: morning light, grass, and a shed where chickens and one rooster lived and provided us with fresh eggs each morning.

The Etruscans thrived for almost four hundred years, living, dying, eating, and going about their business just like us—or did they? As wars continue and Covid is still a threat I wondered about the cycles of history and the lessons we have learned and the mistakes we keep repeating.

The Romans conquered Orvieto in the 3rd Century B.C. and left few reminders of their rich civilization. The Romans too were overcome by rebellion, political fights among nobles, and the plague. In the middle ages, the city became a papal favorite which ushered in a new age, and an impressive Church, the Duomo, was built and still stands as a monument to the Church. It is now a tourist attraction and sits in the midst of a piazza high on the hilltop surrounded by restaurants and shops. We reached it in the late afternoon and the heat of the day. The steepness of the roads we climbed to get to it dimmed my appreciation of the impressiveness of its architecture. While my husband and cousins found the ticket booth and went inside to view the interior, I decided to sit outside on a ledge in the piazza to rest. I sat next to some other tired tourists and took it in quietly admiring its construction. The Duomo was built of volcanic rock in horizontal layers of gray and white and reminded me of a giant wedding cake. I wondered how workers navigated the steepness of the land and transported the giant blocks of volcanic material. The gold illuminating its towers was beautiful but at what cost I wondered as I admired it. It was a gift to rest in the shade and take in its solidity and loftiness and meditate on its beauty and durability. It was also a gift to acknowledge my fatigue and listen to my body. I want to do it all but I have learned that this isn’t wise or possible. If I overrode the body’s message and forced myself to go inside my focus would have been on my body’s fatigue rather than the interior of the Duomo.

We didn’t push ourselves to see and do everything in the travel guides. It was lovely to simply sit and take in the scenery. Each day I sat on a chair outside my room and felt a stillness and space around my thoughts. I felt peaceful and fortunate appreciating being on vacation and having a body that still functioned. One of our group got Covid and I worried about contagion but I was being careful and felt well. I could see new sights, climb hills, savor good cooking and pause when I needed to rest. There was a rhythm to our days. We ate, we visited a site, ate some more, and let ourselves be filled with beauty, history, and companionship. There was nothing my husband and I really had to do. I did a little sketching, sipped a cappuccino, and appreciated the moment. Knowing that this idyll was temporary made it sweeter. As I sat appreciating my fortune a flicker of fear entered as I recognized impermanence and aging; loss and death entered my awareness. Then I wondered whether recognizing and really taking in impermanence would be freeing. With peace inside, outside, and all around me I could acknowledge illness, loss, and even death with equanimity. Orvieto was ancient and had survived volcanic forces and the rise and fall of different civilizations and with them destruction and construction. I realized that it’s inevitable that bad things will happen as well as good. Savoring the moment I still worried about getting Covid and the safety of driving a shift car up unfamiliar narrow cobblestone roads built for donkeys and horses (I let my husband do the driving and he was doing a great job). It felt like an epiphany to inhabit this knowing of impermanence and normalize it. There is peace and worry. Life contains good times and bad times--just this. There is no need to get lost in either one.

I write this blog today in Worcester, Massachusetts. Now remnants of the past and our trip are captured electronically on my iphone. I’m not sure what the next moment will bring.

Time is fluid and so is life.

I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.”

― John O'Donohue

You are invited to join me this Thursday, June 9th at 11 AM, EDT. for our Aging with Wisdom group. We will not be meeting in July or August so this will be our last meeting until September.

Here is the link.

A Smile

Every year my husband and I look forward to the blossoming of the magnolias. They are beautiful, lush, and delicate. A few years ago we planted a magnolia tree in our garden and it has recently begun to flower. To honor its emergence, savor it, and keep it fresh in my memory I took a photo of it and used it as a virtual background in my meditation session. One of the participants asked how I created the background. She had just returned from a trip with her daughters to the Amalfi Coast and wanted to use it as her background for Zoom. She was glowing with happiness as she spoke of the trip and the time with her daughters. I felt her joy radiating through my body. Warmth filled my chest and even teared me up a bit. How lovely it was to experience the generosity of her sharing. Her happiness was contagious. It was just there filling the moment with joy. This feeling of lightness and joy didn’t end when the formal sitting did. I carried it with me. As I saw my husband at the computer I bent down and spontaneously gave him a kiss. The world seemed brighter, the budding trees spectacular and the daffodils bright and cheery. The earth bursting with new growth was visible all around me, outside and inside.

It’s not always easy to take in another person’s joy but I find that it’s a gift to share and an act of generosity. Your joy is my joy. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we all could do this? It is expansive and it creates connection. Thich Nhat Hahn, the Vietnamese monk who helped bring mindfulness to the West had endured a great deal of suffering and he emphasized the need to smile. He talked about smiling, smiling when you greet a person, and smiling into pain. The smile helps maintain perspective. Pain is also contagious. I find myself very carefully choosing the material I read and what I watch on TV. There is so much violence and cynicism. My father was a paint salesman and was known as “smiling Jack Rosenbaum”. He loved people and his love expressed itself in his smile. He was genuinely happy to be with you. At the time we didn’t always appreciate his stopping to chat with a person on the street, a shopkeeper, waiter, or person we didn’t know. He found everyone interesting. We, my mother, brother, and I often grew impatient and wanted to move on. Yet, unconsciously I took in his ability to smile and see the best of people. It could be infuriating to wait for him and hard to understand his interest in a stranger or something in a store window or on the street but as we grew older, as did he, my appreciation for this ability to find joy in the mundane grew. I now recommend stopping and taking in the wonder all around us that is so easy to miss. “Smiling Jack” has influenced my ability to see the good in others and helped me bear the pain of disappointment and loss. I savor the boosts of joy that come from being with people who are generous and caring. I find meditation can bring out the best in us—as long as we can REALLY ride the waves of emotion, remember everything changes and be open to what is supportive. This can be effortless but does take remembering. A smile helps.

Mindfulness in Pali literally means to remember. I practice remembering. I remember to say thank you. I remember that change is a part of life. I remember everything passes and I don’t have to like everything or always say, “yes” to a demand. I remember that what I do, think, and feel has an effect and I have choices. I remember love supports me and hate drags me down. Physiologically we are wired to remember what is harmful. This is a protective mechanism and practical, but can we also remember to savor the experience that is neutral or positive? Can we recognize the ordinary as extraordinary or do we need to lose something to appreciate its wonder. Are the buds on the trees so spectacular because the trees were bare all winter? Must we get sick to appreciate being well or can we say, thank you now? As a little girl, I remember being in kindergarten and saying a prayer before our cartons of milk were placed on our desks to drink (Yes, this is politically incorrect and would not happen now in a public school). The prayer was:

"Thank you, God, for the food I eat.

Thank you, God, for the birds that sing.

Thank you, God, for everything.”

I will be away for the second Thursday in May so our next Aging with Wisdom group will be next Thursday, May 5th at 11 AM, Eastern Time. I invite you to join us and share the journey of awakening - and a smile.

Present Moment, Only Moment

Each moment is the only moment and when guiding a meditation I often add “precious moment, only moment” as a prompt to stay focused in the here and now. As I sit to write this monthly blog it is 3 PM and the sun is shining.  I am aware I am here at home in Worcester, Massachusetts which is on the east coast. I have just returned after 10 days of visiting family on the west coast in Sacramento, California and my body is still adjusting to the change in time and weather. My internal and external worlds are not fully in sync. At this moment my belly wants food, I register the sensation, look at my watch and note it’s not lunchtime in Worcester as it would be in California. My sleep pattern has been disrupted, I wake up early and fall asleep later. I’m discovering that my body/mind likes routine and predictability and my adaptability to change has decreased. I don’t like acknowledging this truth. A precious moment, yes. I am here but I am disoriented by the larger time frame and I find myself irritable.

I believe I am flexible, resilient, and enjoy change. It freshens my perspective and I welcome seeing things with new eyes. I’ve always loved experiencing different cultures, traveling, meeting new people, and experiencing new things.  I enjoyed walking in Sacramento and discovering front lawns with cacti and fruit trees. There was bougainvillea along the fence in my brother's backyard and a clump of redwood trees planted over a hundred years ago standing tall among the palms and orange and lemon trees in the neighborhood around our Airbnb.  It was a gift to be with my brother, celebrate his recent marriage, and deepen my relationship with Jeanne, my new sister-in-law.  She baked a crunchy moist apple cake just for us that I loved. It was fun to watch her make pasta on the pasta machine we had given her and enjoy laughter and mindfulness along with mushroom stroganoff. It was very special, loving, and caring to be with her and my brother.  But, now that I am home with 3000 miles separating us,  casual visits are impossible.  I miss being able to drop in and hang out together and share a meditation practice.  I pause and feel some sadness and wonder if this underlies my irritability. Recognizing the sadness I also feel a sense of gratitude that there is a loss because we care for each other and a sense of sweetness comes too.  I can appreciate the time we shared in person and know that our relationship endures wherever we are. 

My brother’s two daughters live in Sacramento and I got to spend time with each of them and their families as well. It is important to me to stay connected. I want my nieces’ young children to know me and to experience them.  They change so fast and grow so quickly. It is always a surprise to see their personalities develop along with their skills.  I feel the same way about my nieces, now mature young women managing careers and families. How amazing that these cute little girls who I held in my arms as babies now have their own children. Anna, the older one, has a 3-year-old girl who knows how cute she is and does belly dancing and a 9-year-old boy who presents his own challenges but is very sweet with his little sister. Bekka, three years younger than Anna, has a three-and-a-half-year-old boy who they describe as a “threeteen” as he runs around and happily asserts his little boy self as he points his finger at you to leave him alone. He loves fire trucks, cars, dumpsters, and big construction machines and idolizes his nine-year-old cousin who he loves to follow around. 

Seeing my nieces as parents mark the passage of time and remind me of my own aging and the value of the time we have to be together.  Each moment needs no reminding of its preciousness and how quickly time moves. I marvel at my niece’s maturity and their skill as parents. I am impressed by how patient they are with their kids and how demanding it is to have small children.

All is good yet I am more irritable than usual.  I have never been good at letting go. Wishing we all lived closer to each other, am I holding on?  Is it the New England weather that is still cold that is creating some dissatisfaction?  I walked this morning and I saw the promise of daffodils sprouting and some crocuses and snowdrops scattered in the softening earth but the forsythia is not yet blooming in central Massachusetts. It was spring in California where the air was warm during the day and cool at night. I could walk without heavy layers of clothes and go to the playground with the kids and see them in their t-shirts and light clothes and feel their joy and energy. The fruit trees were laden with lusciously colored flowers, cacti were putting out sprouts and the trees had leafed out and were the bright green of spring. 

…It is now another day. I saw more buds on the trees as I walked this morning and we visited friends in Boston. I saw forsythia blooming there. It’s still cold but it will change.

Breathing in I know I am breathing in

And give thanks.

Breathing out I know I am breathing out

And give thanks

Dwelling in the present moment.

I give thanks.

It is a precious moment.

It is the only moment. 

Next moment---only moment--I remember to greet it and appreciate being alive.

Enough

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly NOW. Love mercy NOW. Walk humbly NOW. You are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it.

From the Talmud Pirkei Avot (Ethics/Chapters of the Fathers) 2:16

There’s a song I’ve been singing to myself as I climb up the steep hill in the neighborhood where we walk. To encourage me to keep climbing and walk briskly I’ve been listening to “What do you do to a drunken sailor early in the morning?” Why this tune popped into my consciousness is a mystery to me. I am not a dancer of jigs, I don’t know sailors, I’m not Irish, and I very rarely drink but the rhythm of this jig is very upbeat and moves me along at a good pace up a hill and pushes my endurance providing some aerobic exercise that’s good for my heart. This is a time for strength, resilience and wisdom. Compassion means to suffer with and it is impossible not to watch the horrors unfold in a land far from here and know we are all connected. I can turn off my TV and limit my exposure to horror but I can’t shut off my feelings. The Tibetan practice of Tonglen feels fitting to do. I breath in the darkness, feel the heaviness of the pain in the region of my chest, experience my heart breaking open and send out light.

Leonard Cohen in his lyrics to Anthem wrote,

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

I’m writing this on a Saturday knowing that when this blog piece is read more people will be killed and there will be more scenes of destruction in the Ukraine—and it is very disturbing. I am currently teaching a Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction course and we are nearing its end. The curriculum revolves around mindfulness—developing an ability to be present to our direct experience as it is happening—and all the feelings that go with it—and maintain a steadiness of awareness requiring an open mind and a non-judging heart. This is BIG under any circumstance. It requires compassion, intention, and practice.

The Dalai Lama tells a story about the monk Lapon-La who was put in prison by the Chinese for eighteen years. He writes,

“When he finally free, he came to India. For twenty years, I did not see him. But he seemed the same. Of course, looked older. But physically OK. His mind is still sharp after so many years in prison. He was still the same gentle monk. He told me the Chinese forced him to denounce his religion. They tortured him many times in prison. I asked him whether he was ever afraid. Lopon-la then told me: "Yes there was one thing I was afraid of. I was afraid I might lose compassion for the Chinese."

I was very moved by this, and also very inspired. Forgiveness helped him in prison. Because of forgiveness, his bad experience with the Chinese not got worse. Mentally and emotionally, he didn't suffer too much. He knew he could not escape. So, better to accept reality than to be traumatized by it."

— His Holiness The Dalai Lama, The Wisdom of Forgiveness by Victor Chan

Each week, teachers of MBSR at UMassMemorial hospital meet to discuss our classes. This week we expressed our feelings about this world-wide crisis and how to skillfully acknowledge it. There are some participants in our classes who live in Europe, others have family there or in adjoining countries and others have personal histories of traumas. As we spoke I appreciated my colleagues and how honest we could be with each other. I was aware of how protected and fortunate I have been to have grown up with a feeling of security and no war on my land or planes with bombs flying over my head. I feel lucky to have electricity, a warm house, and the ability to go about the normal activities of day-to-day living. As I watch on TV people fighting, fleeing, and living among bombs and artillery I get triggered. I know how connected we are. They are also me. We are not separate.

Christina Feldman in her book Boundless Heart wrote,

“There is no equanimity more unshakeable than the profound poise of the liberated heart that can meet the world of ungraspable conditions and events without being shattered.”

In practicing meditation and in teaching it I don’t think about liberating the heart. I do my best to simply be “here” at “home” in the Now. That is enough. Sometimes in leading a meditation I say, as Thich Nhat Hahn did,

“Breathing in I know I am breathing in.

Breathing out, I know I am breathing out.

Dwelling in the present moment,

It is a precious moment.”

And I’ll add, “the only moment” which I sometimes follow with one word, “Enough”.

Enough. It’s enough. Enough to self-criticism, enough to greed, hatred, and delusion. We have enough. There is breath, body, and mind. It is enough to feel the ground, the sky above, and the space around me. I am a part of something much bigger than myself. How wonderful to appreciate each moment that is not a crisis, to give thanks for health, let old junk be recognized, met, and go when not helpful. That’s enough. Remember, Do justly NOW. Love mercy NOW. Walk humbly NOW.

May there be peace.

Practice in Perspective

I’m looking out my window as I begin this blog. To my left, I see an old rhododendron bush. Its leaves are drooping and brown stems, remnants from the flowers of summer, are intermixed with new buds. The baby buds are curled tightly for protection as it’s cold today. We look out the window and gauge the temperature of the day by the state of the leaves and buds. Today it’s quite cold and there is snow covering the ground but is no longer resting on the branches of the fir tree by the house. It too is an old tree and has withstood many winters. It stays green but the branches seem dryer and the row of trees next to it appear huddled together against the cold. It makes me think about the importance of community and how we need each other to survive and thrive.

I love the trees. My name Elana comes from the word elan which in Hebrew means tree and can also be defined as spirit. Years ago when I was living alone and feeling sad and worried about my future I painted trees on the walls of my bedroom. I’d come home at night and after work, I’d take out a bucket of white paint, pour some of it into a smaller bucket, open some tints of color I had gotten from my father, a paint salesman, take out a big brush and paint a tree on the wall. It was a very large tree and seemed to increase in width and depth as time went on. The root system also grew laterally as well as down and I used the various tints with the housepaint along with paints from the art store such as acrylics and craypas to give it depth and color. Colorful forms filled its branches changing as my moods changed and the tree grew larger, wider, and taller filling the wall from one end to the other. The colors and designs on the branches matched my mood and arose spontaneously from my imagination.

I’m no longer painting on walls but I am still drawing trees. Their ability to put down roots, stand tall and steady, and move through seasons and time, wind, rain, and sunlight continues to inspire and be steadying for me. When it snows I marvel at the beauty of the snow resting on the bough. When the snow is heavy and a bough breaks I take a moment to appreciate the life it has lived, the shade it has given, and how the rest of the tree has fared. We’ve lost several trees in the last five years and have planted others that are growing now.

I’m teaching mindfulness-based stress reduction and though I’ve been involved in this program for over forty years and neither it nor I are saplings it still feels fresh and new to me. Teaching helps me remember to stop, be present, keep my sense of humor and perspective: Everything changes, dies, and grows again. Leading a group of people who want to cope more effectively with life’s stresses helps me remember what is important. A willingness to embrace change, face fear and not deny that winter is NOT my favorite season or Covid is easy to bear but…it will pass. We are part of something larger than any of us. I get to write to you, look out the window, and practice maintaining perspective.

May our roots be strong, our branches flexible, our spirits resilient and our hearts warm and steady.

THE NEXT AGING WITH WISDOM MEETING IS THIS THURSDAY,

FEBRUARY 10th AT 11 AM, EST.

Please register here if you are planning to come.

Warmly, Elana

Quiet...Stillness

It’s now a new year, according to the calendar, but time is mysterious to me. I’ve been home so much due to Covid that I lose track of the days and carefully check my calendar to see what I have written that I have committed to doing—that’s if I’ve remembered to write it down. I have been in a non-doing mode and am surprised that I am content and appreciative of the quiet of our home and my slower pace.

I savor the peace that comes by sitting on the sofa and reading a good book and listening to the sound of water flowing in the small fountain that rests on the floor nearby. There are plants in the living room bringing inside a touch of nature and a large window and door across from the sofa that presents a view of the outside. We have some evergreens on the perimeter of the yard so there is green amidst the brown and grey of frozen earth and leafless trees. I feel fortunate that we have heat, indoor plumbing, and food to eat and…I can still go up and down our stairs. I hold onto the rail now and don’t run up and down like I used to but this slower pace lets me see and feel more.

The stillness, the quiet is precious. I know it won’t last so have decided to savor each moment. I sometimes talk about effortless effort and letting be. What a relief not to strive or push. It surprises me that I am not anxiously worrying about my use of time or having to be productive. In teaching Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction I sometimes read a poem. This is a tradition that began with Saki Santorelli that we teachers followed. I like poetry but never really appreciated it as a form of communication that can express meaning in a condensed way. Sometimes I’ll read a poem without fully taking in its message yet, over the years without my realizing it some of its words have taken root and become a part of me. Below is an excerpt from “Keeping Quiet” by Pablo Neruda which during this pandemic and aging has fresh meaning to me.

“What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth is teaching us
as when everything seems to be dead
and then everything is alive..”

How wonderful to remember that everything is alive. Feeling my breath, moving my body, smiling at a stranger, or opening my computer and being connected to others: a miracle. How easy it is to take for granted what is working—until it no longer works.

I began this blog last night and this morning as I continue writing it’s snowing. When you read this it will have stopped. Now I am comfortable and it is lovely to look out the window and see the snow, white and pristine, but we are subject to power outs and I wonder whether we’ll continue having heat and electricity and then I catch myself worrying, stop, smile and look out the window. I’ve always felt that meditation practice must be practical but sometimes I forget how important it is to wake up to life itself and STOP and appreciate the miracle of stillness and safety that I feel right now. I savor this moment of peace. It will pass, everything does. Busyness can help me forget the truth of impermanence and the uncertainty of the future but does it help? Perhaps. Sometimes. Life can be difficult and there are times when we can be overwhelmed, and we need to take a break and a breath. Wisdom tells us when to stop and take a break to rest, restore and recover. We can appreciate that too. Then we can be resilient and take care of what needs to be done. Now, however, the heat is on in the house and I can sit here and do nothing. The miracle of technology let me lead a morning meditation on Zoom. Attendees are far apart in miles but close in heart. How wonderful to be in community. Together we stop..we be..and treasure what is here now.

The Aging with Wisdom group meets this coming week and I'd love to have you join us. We will meet Thursday, January 13th at 11 AM Eastern time in the U.S. If you are newly joining the group, please register here.

I invite you to STOP and note one thing that is normally not acknowledged that can be appreciated. Do this as often as you like. Remember, we have a body, note what might not be seen or felt but is here. Let’s celebrate it.

Warmly, (Yes, the heat’s still working). I hope to see you soon.
Elana

P.S. Neruda’s poem ends with,
“Now I’ll count to twelve
And you keep quiet and I will go.

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.

Autumn Rhythms

I began this blog in early August shortly after the beginning of my vacation. I was adjusting to having free time and resisting the temptation to carry my iphone and check my email a few times an hour. My first blog entry was a description of disappointment. I love riding my bike and I was scared to use it since I am now wobbly on it and had fallen while making a sharp left turn. When I brought the bike in for service the bike store owner looked at me, looked at my racing bike and said, “Maybe the bike is no longer for you.” I had been thinking the same thought. Maybe I needed thicker tires, a more upright position or a tricycle? Oh no, I’m not ready for that, I thought. I passed through this crisis, my bike stem was moved which shortened my reach to brakes and gears making me feel safer. I rode less, letting go of my daily ride to the beach because the road to it had traffic and chose the bike trail near where we were staying. It wasn’t the same but no tricycle for me yet: Gratitude.

I adjusted to a slower rhythm. I got up early, took the dog to the beach and walked with my husband David and Zeke, our dog, along the beach. After walking we then went to the fish store and ogled the freshness of the fish and chose what to make for supper. Sometimes I’d go to a nearby farm and get fresh bread and eggs: heaven!!! Croissants were good too. We’d then go back to our rental house and have an early lunch. The afternoon was leisurely, we’d often read and go to another beach. I’d stare for hours at the water, so much so that I became inspired and began painting with the acrylic paints that I’d been carrying but had been too timid to use. I painted ocean and waves and beach. It was so absorbing that my writing this blog was suspended.

I’m home now and I look at my paintings as inspiration to continue to be spacious and creative—and continue painting. Soon I’ll be observing the trees and sky here in central Mass. As the leaves change color I’ll be painting blues and greens with the addition of some reds and yellows. Our home is peaceful and I still sit quietly and walk each day but I am busier. I’m continuing to guide meditations both for Brown’s Mindfulness Center and the Center for Mindfulness and Compassion. If interested check the events on my website for information on registering to attend (free). I’ve begun teaching another mindfulness-based stress reduction course which is always meaningful. I feel very fortunate that work and play enhance each other and are helpful in remembering to pause and know that every moment is precious and appreciate the changes that place, weather, and mind/body bring.

I’m continuing to guide meditations both for Brown’s Mindfulness Center and the Center for Mindfulness and Compassion. If interested visit my home page for information on registering to attend (free). I’ve begun teaching another mindfulness-based stress reduction course which is always meaningful. I feel very fortunate that work and play enhance each other and are helpful in remembering to pause and know that every moment is precious and appreciate the changes that place, weather, and mind/body bring.

Expectations & Opportunities

My birthday is approaching and with it awareness of the number that signifies my age, 78. and many thoughts and feelings. The first is gratitude—and wonder that in a few weeks I will have actually been on this earth for 78 years. To celebrate I splurged and bought a hot tub. My body welcomes it. My husband and I ordered it at the end of last summer with hopes that we’d have it for wintertime and could soak and warm the body and refresh the mind. This did not happen. Covid created delays in supplies and manufacturing so it arrived only a few days ago…and it brought up many thoughts and feelings.

As I waited I had time to reconsider my expectations and questioned my need to get it. My arthritis was still present but my back hurt less. Do I really need it? Do I deserve it (yes), will I like it (yes), will I take care of it, clean filters, check the PH, tend to its needs like I promised my husband who didn’t really want it? (maybe). Would I enjoy it as much as the one we had previously for many years? It eventually had to go because it needed too many repairs. This was at least five years ago. It sat outside my husband’s office on the second floor. open to sky and stars. My husband had to shovel the path to the tub each time we used it every winter as the snow from the roof fell directly onto its cover. and filled the deck with snow becoming like a mountain. The pathway through was cold and icy and slippery. but I never worried I couldn’t traverse the path or enter the tub. Our new one is on the ground floor and we can enter it through a covered patio BUT the hot tub man looked at me, looked at the tub, and suggested a railing to help me get into it safely. I never considered that I’m short and it might not be easy to enter. There never used to be a problem. Looking at the tub it did seem high and entering it I’d have to lift my leg up and over and then down again.I was reminded of my age and changed body. Yes, it was a good idea—and I wish it was not. Everything changes, mind, and body. Humbling.

This Wednesday I’m giving a talk for the Center for Mindfulness and Compassion that’s titled “The Latter Stage of Life: Crisis, Opportunity or Both". Of course, both are true. Of course, much depends on circumstances and the way we approach them. Of course, I am delighted I still have mind and body—and now hot tub too. I can’t invite you to join me in the tub but I can invite you to come this Wednesday, to the presentation through the Center for Mindfulness & Compassion. In addition, if you haven’t already, I invite you to join us for my drop-in group called Aging with Wisdom. Here's a link to learn more about the drop-in group. Our next meeting, via Zoom, is May 27th at 10 AM Eastern time to reflect on the latter stages of our life. Hope to see you there.

Warmly,
Elana

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.