Reflections on a Birthday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colors of the Leaf

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

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

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

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

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

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

Change

Many times, as I sit down to write this blog I wonder what to write about. Fortunately, there is nothing BIG happening in my life. Each day I continue to feel grateful—and a little nervous about what could happen. As a psychotherapist and mindfulness teacher, I’ve spent time helping worriers worry less and focus on what is present rather than an imagined future or a past that is no longer here. I am not accustomed to the anxiety that sometimes pops into my awareness that centers on change. I like the fact winter is now becoming spring and I see the crocuses popping up in the neighborhood. I can accept changes in the weather but--me? I forget I am older but then I feel an ache in the body or notice the wrinkles on my face or the fact I have to reach up on my toes to take a dish down from the cupboard because I’ve shrunk a bit. I find it heavenly to go to bed early or have a nap. I appreciate my ability to ambulate and take care of myself even though it takes longer to put on my socks. So why the anxiety? Is it my way of recognizing impermanence and how difficult I find it to contemplate the inevitability of loss?

Change can keep things interesting. It tests assumptions (that what is here now will be around tomorrow). I find I worry, not about myself, but about loved ones. I’ve been recognizing how much my husband means to me and how many things he does for me and the degree to which I depend on him. We’ll have been married 37 years but it still feels fresh, like yesterday, when we took our vows. I remember moving from a small apartment in Cambridge MA to a house in Worcester, MA, and how strange it felt. I remember looking at the other houses on the block and feeling I didn’t belong there. Teaching mindfulness has been continuous but even that has changed. It was beyond my imagination to know that I’d be teaching virtually rather than in person. I even remember the first computer I got, a desktop, and my colleague and I didn’t know how to turn it on. It has always been satisfying to teach mindfulness and combine it with psychotherapy and see how a person’s view of life could change in only eight weeks. But me? I had no idea how mindfulness would infiltrate my view of the world. That I could and would actually be happier and more satisfied with my lot in life—even when illness and death appeared. That meditation and its principles were practical rather than conceptual. Yes, we are ALL subject to aging, illness, loss, death, and the consequences of our actions…and you don’t have to suffer—even me. That is an ongoing challenge, thank goodness. It means I am alive. Staying awake and aware keeps me on my toes and connects me to others, people, trees, sky, earth, and our dog. Daffodils are now popping up and each day I see how they are growing among leaves and snow.

Worry and anxiety remind me of the need to let go, be accepting, SURRENDER to aging, and remember what is important. So last week we ordered a new sofa that’s firmer than our old one and easier to get up from. I wonder how long we’ll be using it and able to stay in our home but I truly enjoy living here. I love our yard and it continues to need care. We trimmed some branches off trees this week. This provides more air and space for the tree to expand and for new branches to grow. I have always wanted a vegetable garden and I’m planning on creating a bed for one and planting some lettuce, kale, tomatoes, and flowers. I’ve never done this before, and I’m excited.

Thank goodness for laughter. Thank goodness for love. Thank goodness everything changes-mind, body, thoughts, and feelings. I see my worry when it arises, do my best to let it be and it does pass. I realize it also serves a purpose and ask myself, what is needed now? What is wise to do to ease these later years? Should we put a handrail in the shower so we won’t fall? Plan a trip while we still can walk? Learn about the resources in our community to age in place? Write this blog and enjoy the reflection it brings and share some of my thoughts and questions with you?

What is changing in your life? Can you acknowledge anxiety and worry and listen to its message but not be submerged by it? Can you experience your aliveness whether you are in a slow-moving line at the grocery store and you are in a rush or you are observing the blooming of a daffodil? What helps you stay afloat and savor the moment as it is, whatever it is, and be all right?

NEXT SESSION: THURSDAY APRIL 6th at 11 AM EST Please register (if you have not already) to receive the Zoom link.

We will continue to meet on the first Thursday of the month at 11 AM EDT on May 4th and June 1st then we will break for summer. There will be no meetings in July and August.

Don't Know Mind

I’m writing today from my brother’s home in Sacramento. His daughter’s birthday is today, and her daughter’s birthday party is tomorrow. We live 3000 miles away but want the children to know us and celebrate with them. More and more, I realize the importance of acknowledging connection and sharing love. Appreciating time together and sharing joy and love is precious. It is a great gift. It was a spontaneous decision to come for this celebration and we weren’t sure we’d get there. Travel has been hazardous and blizzards were moving throughout the country canceling flights and closing airports.

We debated, should we or should we not go. We planned only a long weekend and didn’t have the luxury of rescheduling for a later date. The decision to come was made on a beautiful day in Worcester and spring-like weather in Sacramento. I am all too familiar with impermanence — we are born, we die, and a lot happens in between, not only to us but to the world around us. My mother used to say, “Man plans and God laughs.” I say, expect the unexpected, and …who knows what will be…there is much to discover.

Thursday afternoon when the plane was slated to leave it was sleeting and the roads to Logan airport were icy but the airport was open and the flight hadn’t been canceled. We checked weather reports for later in the day, decided it was worth a try, told the dog sitter we were going and left for the airport. Our flight was supposed to leave on time but, who knew, would it leave or not, and if so when. With a credit card that gave airline lounge access handy and a lot of reading material, we notified my brother and family that we were going for it. When we arrived at the airport the parking lot was full but the attendants asked when we’d be back, gave us a placard to put on the car, and directed us to a spot reserved for overflow. Almost immediately, a second car came and parked behind us, blocking our exit. With assurances from the attendant that the cars blocking us would be gone by evening and hoping for the best we took out our suitcase, rolled it through the airport, through security, and to the Delta Club lounge. The club was crowded but we found a spot, had lunch there and boarded the plane on time. Whew. Then we waited…and waited. The plane was de-iced, then went towards the runway and stopped. The pilot then announced we had used too much fuel waiting to take off so we had to go back to the gate to refuel and get de-iced again. With apologies from the captain three hours later the plane took off. Who knows? Would we land safely? Would we make our connection or miss it? The plane was slated to arrive about 10 minutes after our connecting flight was slated to leave. David and I began looking at other options but then settled in. I watched two movies. The stewards brought snacks and gave instructions for those of us who would miss connections but also suggested that our connecting flight might be delayed too. We wouldn’t know for sure until we landed.

We landed safely, de-planed, and discovered that our connecting flight was still on the ground. We walked to its gate, found a lounge nearby, settled in, and again waited. I read more and looked at the flight board to see if there were any changes in the schedule. I called my brother to update him and tell him that we were slated to arrive in Sacramento after midnight and he didn’t have to pick us up as we could take an Uber. “No,” he said, just text us when you get here.

Two and a half hours later the flight left. We landed safely and I texted my brother and his wife we had arrived. It was sleeting and hail had fallen during the day in Sacramento but they had followed the flight on their app and were waiting for us by the curb outside the airport. With gratitude and relief, we entered their car. My brother said that he hadn’t been up past midnight in years. My sister-in-law asked if I had worried. I was almost too tired to answer but I replied, “No. I just got through it”. Don’t know mind: No problem. How wonderful we are safe and here.

When we meet this Thursday, March 2nd let’s examine Don’t Know Mind.

Hope to see you on zoom, wherever we are.

The Last Chapter

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

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

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

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

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