Tag: Mindfulness

Places to Be

I entered quickly, through sliding doors that parted like a shining sea. The aisles were well-stocked with food, aggressively proclaiming freshness and appeal. For a moment I was stranded, adrift among the stands, which formed a maze winding to the end of the store.

But it was only a moment.

Some shoppers were consulting lists or studying competing brands intently. Others darted from row to row, accumulating piles of produce; others still were probing vegetables and fruits, in pursuit of that elusive unblemished product.

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Of Pens and Pages

I always carry my notebook with me and I always bring my pen. There is something terrifying about the thought of leaving home without a pen. To venture into the unknown without this essential piece of self seems unwise and unsafe.

My pen is silver and cool; it has a nice weight to it as my hand glides across the page. We have been together for so long, my pen and I. I wrote my last two novels with it and other things since. I have many different pens, and yet I always write with this one when I want to access something real and true. I keep buying ink refills and when they run out, I feel slightly despairing until there is a new pack in my hand.

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Noise and the Illusion of Control

I often find myself preoccupied by noise. This can be a problem, because our world is saturated with noise in many ways. We rarely can achieve that pure and perfect silence, whether we seek it, or strive to avoid its searching depths. There is almost always something going on in the background. Sometimes they are deliberate sounds, like music, and sometimes they are incidental, intertwined with everyday life. Cars whiz by on nearby roads; drilling slices through the air from the interminable construction work always going on somewhere in the neighbourhood…

There is always noise: people talking, people walking, even the noises that nature imposes on a sterile silence, like birds chattering and wind rustling through trees and rain pricking softly against the slicked black pavement. Here, the words of the Grinch spring to mind (if you’ll pardon the not-yet-seasonal reference): “Noise, noise, noise!”

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Openness

 We often become so consumed with the things we do not have, that we do not recognize or appreciate the things that are ours. We become so consumed with the person we think we should or would like to be, that we fail to see or accept the person that we are. We become so consumed with the places we are not (and that we might have been), that we neglect to notice the places in which we are. These gifts we spurn because we do not see them as gifts, are gifts nonetheless, gifts regardless of where they fall on our scale of a “good life.”

A good life is not one in which the requisite boxes are all checked, but one that is good for you and you only. The absolute determination of this good is beyond our capacity. Thus there is no definition or model of a good life. To live a good life you must be open to the fluidity of the moment, an openness that encompasses and embraces deviations from your own plans, the plans of others and the plans you feel you should have followed but did not. It is the far-spreading sickness of regret and the fruitlessness of fear that prevent such openness. We are not open and so we are unable to receive the gifts that come to us moment by moment. We cannot receive them, because our lack of mindfulness blocks us from recognizing their beauty. We see them but do not see them as they really are, and this is all the difference.

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Presence

Give someone the gift of your full presence. So often we pour out words of well meaning. We wish there was some way to help, some advice we could give, something to do or offer up. We desire to please, to love, to give, and yet we hold back. We are only half there.

What better gift is there than being? I think there is nothing more superlative than this. Words are often empty, hollowed out; actions are swollen with appearance; promises build and then crumble. There is an easier way, but somehow we still think too much of ourselves when we are trying to think of others.

The Light in the Window

The light is beginning to slip from the sky. I wait at a pause in this winding road for the bus to approach. The bus is late and I am very aware of its absence. Five, ten, fifteen minutes. Impatience courses through me: there are people standing on either side of myself, chattering merrily. I hear only snatches of what they say.At last it comes barrelling along, headlights now streaming through darkness. I sit in the middle near the door so I hear it slide open and closed with a loud burst of air. There is something about riding the bus at night, in equal part comforting and disconcerting.The girl in front of me is talking with great eagerness to her companion. He reaches his arm around her shoulder. Her blonde ponytail wags as she speaks, words rising and falling to my consciousness in their high, earnest tone. Now their heads are close together. And I am behind them and alone.

There is laughter and lively conversation. Is it always this loud on the bus? The sound expands inside me and yet I am so far away. I hear everything from a distance. The voices have melded together to reach a pitch, a frequency that runs through my veins, meaning nothing but lingering there.

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Waiting

Happy Christmas Eve!

This time of year is so filled with hustle and bustle and duties and distractions that many may feel surprised that Christmas is already upon us. And yet Advent, the season preceding Christmas, is not about business or endless lists of tasks and various stresses. It’s about waiting.

Waiting. I feel like today this is a word that we don’t like all that much. It may even be a word that we aren’t very familiar with. The world encourages us to expect what we want when we want it. Why should we have to wait? There are things that we need and we need them now. Besides, waiting seems to suggest silence, and who has time for silence when there are so many things to be done?

 Advent is about waiting.

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Happy Endings

Why is it so hard to live in the moment? It is a commonly spewed piece of advice we all generally acknowledge. No, it’s not healthy to dwell on the past, nor is it beneficial to hover over our expectations for the future. Yes, living in the moment is what we are supposed to do. It’s what we tell others, what we tell ourselves. But sometimes I wonder how much time any of us really spend there. In the present, that is.

I often feel like it’s easier for my mind to flit away in the midst of happiness. It seems backwards somehow. Joyful days should consume those fearful thoughts and dissipate them. But whenever life is good, I feel more terror at the prospect of it getting worse later.

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One Little Thing

One little thing…

One little strand that goes astray; a tiny fragment of life that’s out of order. The other pieces seem unimportant in light of the one that has fallen, the one that is out of place.

Narrowed focus has become my burden. I pay too much attention. I dwell. If only I could widen my gaze. If only I could shift my eyes from the shadows and look into the light.

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Moments

Life is a series of moments.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. For some reason, this simple line slipped into my mind like a gentle whisper, and it feels as though it has been tugging at my heart. Moments. What are moments? I would describe them as fleeting points in time, pieces of life that flash only briefly before your eyes and then fade into the distance. Moments don’t last very long.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that life isn’t just one dusty, winding road with no end in sight. It is simply a single step, that leads to another step as soon as we attempt the first one. The steps are all connected but we must mount the ones at the bottom before we can move on to the top. All too often I try to skip steps. I view my future as a daunting journey and when I dwell on all that lies ahead, the mere prospect is far too overwhelming.

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