Another day in paradise. This morning I made it to the porch. I am surrounded by beautiful tropical plants. The air smells rich and ... green?
A gentle thunderstorm is bringing soft rain and distant rumblings. Occasionally a raindrop finds its way onto the porch and splashes my bare legs with its soft, warm, wetness. A summer rain is a gift on an island that depends on rain for much of its water.
Another day in paradise. But it's not paradise because I am in Key West enjoying a lovely summer rain. Every day, every where is a day in paradise if we let ourselves reach out and feel it. If we remember to find the time throughout the day to reach out - to reach in - and find the peaceful paradise of stillness that is there.
Each time I meditate I resolve that I will do that. Every day that passes I forget. Why does my mind resist what is so pleasant, what brings such joy to me? Minutes after I walk away from my peace I find myself embroiled in the every day world. Rushing to this, planning that, unable it seems to stop for even a moment to reconnect. I think I understand why the monks go to their mountains.
But I don’t want to retreat from life. On the contrary, I want to live life. I want to be surrounded by people and places and activity. I just wish I could do that from the center of stillness and peace inside of me, sensing at the same time the stillness and peace which is within everything. That is the challenge.
It would be easier to sit in a cave away from all distraction than it is to create a cave, a haven of peace, around myself in the "real" world.
There are times when I can. Times at the stable. Times with my book club. One on one times with special friends and family. Precious moments when everyone around seems in sync with the need to breath slowly and seize the day. Very precious moments.
However, I don’t think the idea is to do only the things and go only to places where it’s easy to find the stillness, the peace. A greater challenge is to find it everywhere. Sigh. I will try. I will continue to try. No, that’s not right. The stillness is here now. I am in it. I don't have to try, I just have see.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Early Morning in Key West
It is early morning in Key West. This is my time for meditation and quiet contemplation. For a variety of reasons, I am inside with the windows shut and the air conditioning running.
The area around me is well-decorated and physically very comfortable. But it feels sterile and artificial in contrast to my sunrise mornings on the porch at home. Tomorrow I must make sure to get outside so I can feel the sun rise and listen to the waking sounds of the morning. Including, of course, the raucous crowing of the local Key West roosters.
It is sad that there are people who rarely or never connect with the outside, not even the little microcosm of a natural world that can be found just outside their doorway. Whether their retreat from the outside is by choice or by conditions imposed on them, this sterile indoor environment where everything is controlled is what is natural to them.
I wonder if we have a need to control and manage everything around us. Is that what drives us to destroy so much of the natural world, the world that God created, so that we can build manmade habitats that we think are more suitable? Habitats like the sterile indoor one I am currently sitting in.
Even our "natural" areas are often carefully groomed , fogged, trailed and made as comfortable for us as possible. I am like everyone else. I like trails. I like grass that is easy to walk on. I appreciate a bench under a shady tree or the comfort of a level place in the park where I can spread my blanket and lie in the sun.
But I also cherish the beauty and joy found in the rare – increasingly rare – wild places that have escaped being touched by us. The places that are growing the way they choose to grow rather than the way we planted or placed them. Parfrey’s Glen in Wisconsin is one of those places.
In spite of the boardwalk and the trail along the stream, Parfrey's Glen has a presence that is created by itself - an aliveness, an energy, a sense of consciousness that grows out of the existence of the glen. It is a presence that can’t be traced to the plants, or to the stream, or to the rock walls. It is all of them and more. It is the fabric that holds them all together. You can feel it in your being. You feel it and you know that you are in the presence of something more majestic, more magical, more mystical than anything you could ever have imagined.
You feel it when you take a deep breath in and you realize that it is inside of you as well. You feel it when you listen to your heartbeat and you realize that it is resonating with the essence of that same presence. You feel it when you quiet your mind and sense that energy, that presence flowing through you. You recognize, for a moment, that what you feel is you, is everything.
We need places like Parfrey's Glen.
The area around me is well-decorated and physically very comfortable. But it feels sterile and artificial in contrast to my sunrise mornings on the porch at home. Tomorrow I must make sure to get outside so I can feel the sun rise and listen to the waking sounds of the morning. Including, of course, the raucous crowing of the local Key West roosters.
It is sad that there are people who rarely or never connect with the outside, not even the little microcosm of a natural world that can be found just outside their doorway. Whether their retreat from the outside is by choice or by conditions imposed on them, this sterile indoor environment where everything is controlled is what is natural to them.
I wonder if we have a need to control and manage everything around us. Is that what drives us to destroy so much of the natural world, the world that God created, so that we can build manmade habitats that we think are more suitable? Habitats like the sterile indoor one I am currently sitting in.
Even our "natural" areas are often carefully groomed , fogged, trailed and made as comfortable for us as possible. I am like everyone else. I like trails. I like grass that is easy to walk on. I appreciate a bench under a shady tree or the comfort of a level place in the park where I can spread my blanket and lie in the sun.
But I also cherish the beauty and joy found in the rare – increasingly rare – wild places that have escaped being touched by us. The places that are growing the way they choose to grow rather than the way we planted or placed them. Parfrey’s Glen in Wisconsin is one of those places.
In spite of the boardwalk and the trail along the stream, Parfrey's Glen has a presence that is created by itself - an aliveness, an energy, a sense of consciousness that grows out of the existence of the glen. It is a presence that can’t be traced to the plants, or to the stream, or to the rock walls. It is all of them and more. It is the fabric that holds them all together. You can feel it in your being. You feel it and you know that you are in the presence of something more majestic, more magical, more mystical than anything you could ever have imagined.
You feel it when you take a deep breath in and you realize that it is inside of you as well. You feel it when you listen to your heartbeat and you realize that it is resonating with the essence of that same presence. You feel it when you quiet your mind and sense that energy, that presence flowing through you. You recognize, for a moment, that what you feel is you, is everything.
We need places like Parfrey's Glen.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Thoughts from a Hotel Room
Good morning, Thought Buddy. This morning as I meditated in a hotel room in Fort Lauderdale surrounded by my sleeping family, I realized that this is what this blog is. A thought buddy. A place to dialogue with my inner self, to explore who I am and what I am thinking.
Meditation is so peaceful, the energy so pleasant. It is like floating in the ocean. You don't always know where the currents will take you. The movement is subtle. When you finally look at the shore you can be surprised to see how far you have travelled.
In my meditations, images often come to mind. Like the play of light on water they are there but then they are gone before I can grasp them with my conscious mind. They seem as real as life but at the same time as illusive as dream fragments.
Often faces appear to me. Sometimes the faces are old. Sometimes they are young - this morning a fleeting glimpse of a baby. Sometimes the faces are stylized like ghosts or old tin type photos. Other times they are like live images but always they pass quickly through my mind. So fleetingly that they feel like faintly recalled memories. But these are not images of people I know – at least not anyone I know in this physical life.
I noticed today that while I can meditate without minding cold or noise or many other distractions it is hard for me to ignore touch. Meditating here on the bed in our Florida hotel room (there really is no other place to be - even the floor is crowded) it was distracting to have my husband role up against me.
When I meditate outdoors in the mornings at home, the many sounds of the neighborhood waking up, animals scurrying around the lawn, even the very noisy sounds of weekly collection of garbage never bother me. Is touch distracting because it brings me in physical contact with another person's energy field, one that is "different" than my own?
Perhaps. But later in my meditation I began to feel the energy outside of my body. I could feel "my" energy flow and merge with all the life energy in the room. I felt that I was sharing the peace and stillness I was experiencing with my loved ones and that I was connecting with the inner stillness inside each of them. There was a different quality to this meditation. Not as deep (yet?) but wider (?) perhaps. It is difficult to describe.
All of this brings me back to the connectedness of everything. We are one conciousness, one fabric of life. If we could grasp and feel and know that we are part of that one fabric, could we lose our sense of "others"? Could we lose our irritation at “them”? Could we set aside our many fears of being found wanting or not good enough if we realized that we are all one?
At the same time, could we rejoice in experiencing the unique human incarnations that we have become in order to live for a time in a material universe? If “we” could do this than I could realize that I don’t really need a thought buddy – I have already created a universe full of them.
Meditation is so peaceful, the energy so pleasant. It is like floating in the ocean. You don't always know where the currents will take you. The movement is subtle. When you finally look at the shore you can be surprised to see how far you have travelled.
In my meditations, images often come to mind. Like the play of light on water they are there but then they are gone before I can grasp them with my conscious mind. They seem as real as life but at the same time as illusive as dream fragments.
Often faces appear to me. Sometimes the faces are old. Sometimes they are young - this morning a fleeting glimpse of a baby. Sometimes the faces are stylized like ghosts or old tin type photos. Other times they are like live images but always they pass quickly through my mind. So fleetingly that they feel like faintly recalled memories. But these are not images of people I know – at least not anyone I know in this physical life.
I noticed today that while I can meditate without minding cold or noise or many other distractions it is hard for me to ignore touch. Meditating here on the bed in our Florida hotel room (there really is no other place to be - even the floor is crowded) it was distracting to have my husband role up against me.
When I meditate outdoors in the mornings at home, the many sounds of the neighborhood waking up, animals scurrying around the lawn, even the very noisy sounds of weekly collection of garbage never bother me. Is touch distracting because it brings me in physical contact with another person's energy field, one that is "different" than my own?
Perhaps. But later in my meditation I began to feel the energy outside of my body. I could feel "my" energy flow and merge with all the life energy in the room. I felt that I was sharing the peace and stillness I was experiencing with my loved ones and that I was connecting with the inner stillness inside each of them. There was a different quality to this meditation. Not as deep (yet?) but wider (?) perhaps. It is difficult to describe.
All of this brings me back to the connectedness of everything. We are one conciousness, one fabric of life. If we could grasp and feel and know that we are part of that one fabric, could we lose our sense of "others"? Could we lose our irritation at “them”? Could we set aside our many fears of being found wanting or not good enough if we realized that we are all one?
At the same time, could we rejoice in experiencing the unique human incarnations that we have become in order to live for a time in a material universe? If “we” could do this than I could realize that I don’t really need a thought buddy – I have already created a universe full of them.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Prelude to Key West
I am finding it difficult to get excited about leaving home to go to Key West. I think it is because I love home so much. I love my plants – each one of them like a friend. I love watching the gardens grow. I love the things I have placed around my house. Most of them generate memories of special times and special friends.
I love, of course, my animals. It is so hard to say good-bye to Milo, Buddy, Sammy, and the Tiger cats. I love my rituals. Getting up early. Doing yoga, meditating, having a “picnic” with the kits.
I know I will enjoy Key West but I don’t seem to have that driving desire to go somewhere else that many other people do. Maybe I did when I was younger.
I’m not sure if I feel this way because of apathy or because of happiness! Am I absolutely content or am I in a rut? It sort of depends on your perspective. To an adventurous person I must look like I am stuck in a rut. To someone who lives in a frenzy of stress and activity I may look like I have found peace and serenity. I think, often, that I have. Other times I feel like a little something is missing – a thought buddy perhaps. So how do I know?
I guess the secret is always being content with what is. Or, said another way, accepting what is. What is at the moment. I still struggle with understanding how – if I accept what is – I will ever want to change anything. Even my location.
I love, of course, my animals. It is so hard to say good-bye to Milo, Buddy, Sammy, and the Tiger cats. I love my rituals. Getting up early. Doing yoga, meditating, having a “picnic” with the kits.
I know I will enjoy Key West but I don’t seem to have that driving desire to go somewhere else that many other people do. Maybe I did when I was younger.
I’m not sure if I feel this way because of apathy or because of happiness! Am I absolutely content or am I in a rut? It sort of depends on your perspective. To an adventurous person I must look like I am stuck in a rut. To someone who lives in a frenzy of stress and activity I may look like I have found peace and serenity. I think, often, that I have. Other times I feel like a little something is missing – a thought buddy perhaps. So how do I know?
I guess the secret is always being content with what is. Or, said another way, accepting what is. What is at the moment. I still struggle with understanding how – if I accept what is – I will ever want to change anything. Even my location.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Cats, Souls, and Dog Poop
This morning my husband asked me to lock our cat, Milo, outside the bedroom. Milo's soft, but persistent, meowing was keeping him awake. This was hard for me to do. Milo finds such joy in coming into our room in the morning and snuggling with us. He is always very happy to see us when the sun rises and the world begins to wake up. To Milo our "going away into sleep" is very much the same as when we have been away
(about 45 minutes later)
away on vacation is what I was about to write. That was before Milo asked me to open the window blinds so he could look at the birds at the feeder. Before I stepped in dog poop on my way back from the window. Before I spent 30 minutes cleaning the floor, the rug, my shoe. Before I spent 10 minutes reassuring our old dog Sammy that I still love her. Before I spent another five minutes giving all the other now equally distressed pets their usual and customary morning treats to reassure them that "all is well" and my upset was only temporary.
Companion animals are like small children in the way that our every mood, our every action, our very existence, means so much to them. They take note of everything we do. Skeptics would say we only matter to them because we are their food source. That’s true of course. But that's true for our children as well! I do think even the most cynical skeptics would agree that human children love their parents. It seems equally obvious to me that animals can love their human companions.
These days I think most people recognize that animals feel love and other emotions, that they have intelligence, are social beings, and that they may even have senses and skills that we have long lost. Accepting that animals have souls is a much bigger leap.
Why is it so hard to accept that an animal - that any non-human living being - could have a soul?
Are we afraid that if we acknowledge other children of God it will make us somehow less close to him? Less special? Are we so insecure in our own relationships with God that it is only by convincing ourselves that we are better than all other living things that we feel worthy to be loved?
Yes, God made us in his own image. He breathed his life into us. But he also made the animals and the life breath that fills them.
I think all living things are part of that one breath of life; that we are all threads in the fabric that was woven from the consciousness that is God. What then are souls? And why would only humans have them?
(about 45 minutes later)
away on vacation is what I was about to write. That was before Milo asked me to open the window blinds so he could look at the birds at the feeder. Before I stepped in dog poop on my way back from the window. Before I spent 30 minutes cleaning the floor, the rug, my shoe. Before I spent 10 minutes reassuring our old dog Sammy that I still love her. Before I spent another five minutes giving all the other now equally distressed pets their usual and customary morning treats to reassure them that "all is well" and my upset was only temporary.
Companion animals are like small children in the way that our every mood, our every action, our very existence, means so much to them. They take note of everything we do. Skeptics would say we only matter to them because we are their food source. That’s true of course. But that's true for our children as well! I do think even the most cynical skeptics would agree that human children love their parents. It seems equally obvious to me that animals can love their human companions.
These days I think most people recognize that animals feel love and other emotions, that they have intelligence, are social beings, and that they may even have senses and skills that we have long lost. Accepting that animals have souls is a much bigger leap.
Why is it so hard to accept that an animal - that any non-human living being - could have a soul?
Are we afraid that if we acknowledge other children of God it will make us somehow less close to him? Less special? Are we so insecure in our own relationships with God that it is only by convincing ourselves that we are better than all other living things that we feel worthy to be loved?
Yes, God made us in his own image. He breathed his life into us. But he also made the animals and the life breath that fills them.
I think all living things are part of that one breath of life; that we are all threads in the fabric that was woven from the consciousness that is God. What then are souls? And why would only humans have them?
Saturday, August 9, 2008
There is Corn in My Garden
There is corn growing in my meditation garden. There is also corn growing in my yard, in my day lilies, and probably in many other places as yet unknown. I didn’t plant corn. I didn’t even know that it was corn at first. I just pulled up the unusual "weeds" that were popping up all over the place.
It was only after a long stretch of good growing weather - combined with an absence of garden care - that one of the plants grew large enough that even I could see what it was. As I reached to pull out another tall "weed", I finally recognized that it was corn.
But what was corn doing in my carefully designed meditation garden? I think, perhaps, it was a tiny reminder to me that when left alone nature can take care of itself just fine thank you!
I feed corn and peanuts to my wild four leggeds all year round. But deep inside I know they would survive just as well without me. In the summer when food is plentiful they eat only enough seeds and nuts to fuel their bodies. The excess seeds are buried in the ground.
Some of the buried seeds will be dug up later when food is not as plentiful. Other seeds, like the corn that is sprouting all over my yard, will germinate, grow to maturity, and provide even more food.
Of course, all the plants won't make it to maturity. Some die from drought or other natural factors. Others are eaten by grazing animals. Some are mistaken for weeds and pulled out by humans like me!
The seeds that are never dug up, the weeds that are pulled, the plants that die before maturity, the droppings from the grazing animals all eventually decay. In the process they give food and sustenance to millions of tiny microorganisms who turn their "waste" into fertile soil. Soil that will nurture new seeds and start the cycle all over again.
What an astonishing, incredible, beautiful miracle! It is almost impossible to imagine the loving munificence that created such a breathtaking design. Almost impossible but undeniably real. How can you help but see the loving hand of God in these beautiful details of nature?
There is corn in my garden. I think I will leave it there.
It was only after a long stretch of good growing weather - combined with an absence of garden care - that one of the plants grew large enough that even I could see what it was. As I reached to pull out another tall "weed", I finally recognized that it was corn.
But what was corn doing in my carefully designed meditation garden? I think, perhaps, it was a tiny reminder to me that when left alone nature can take care of itself just fine thank you!
I feed corn and peanuts to my wild four leggeds all year round. But deep inside I know they would survive just as well without me. In the summer when food is plentiful they eat only enough seeds and nuts to fuel their bodies. The excess seeds are buried in the ground.
Some of the buried seeds will be dug up later when food is not as plentiful. Other seeds, like the corn that is sprouting all over my yard, will germinate, grow to maturity, and provide even more food.
Of course, all the plants won't make it to maturity. Some die from drought or other natural factors. Others are eaten by grazing animals. Some are mistaken for weeds and pulled out by humans like me!
The seeds that are never dug up, the weeds that are pulled, the plants that die before maturity, the droppings from the grazing animals all eventually decay. In the process they give food and sustenance to millions of tiny microorganisms who turn their "waste" into fertile soil. Soil that will nurture new seeds and start the cycle all over again.
What an astonishing, incredible, beautiful miracle! It is almost impossible to imagine the loving munificence that created such a breathtaking design. Almost impossible but undeniably real. How can you help but see the loving hand of God in these beautiful details of nature?
There is corn in my garden. I think I will leave it there.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The End of the Small World
The end of the small world. I had a dream the other night. It was just a snippet of a dream. A scene. Some words. And a lasting impression.
The scene was a meeting room. Several people in business attire seated around a table. One was standing over some documents that were lying on the table pointing out various aspects of whatever it was. It appeared they were going over or developing a plan. The words associated with this dream were “the end of the small world”.
This wasn’t a disturbing dream. It was all very matter of fact. I awoke feeling that I should remember this and do... something? Contemplate it? Share it? Or simply remember?
The end of the small world. That could mean a lot of things. In our doom and gloom society with all the valid concerns we have over the changing climate, the rise of extremism, the ever growing population, those words could be describing an inevitable disaster - the end result of the stress on all our systems both natural and societal. The dream might be a warning from my under consciousness that the world is coming to an end. That is one thing those words could mean.
They could also mean quite literally “the end of the small world”. The small world is where we live when we believe that what we see and sense with our physical bodies is all that exists. The small world is where we live when we lose our faith in something bigger, something grander, something infinitely more divine than we could ever imagine or conceive.
A dream about the end of the small world may acknowledge that there is a dawning awareness, a beginning of a new consciousness, a recognition of a new infinitely larger world in which we know that we are more than just human beings.
A new larger world where we know ourselves as spirit as well as physical beings. A world where we recognize ourselves as part of God, but also as beings who have chosen to experience life in material form. A world where we can experience all the joys and beauty of being alive while still remembering what we really are.
The scene was a meeting room. Several people in business attire seated around a table. One was standing over some documents that were lying on the table pointing out various aspects of whatever it was. It appeared they were going over or developing a plan. The words associated with this dream were “the end of the small world”.
This wasn’t a disturbing dream. It was all very matter of fact. I awoke feeling that I should remember this and do... something? Contemplate it? Share it? Or simply remember?
The end of the small world. That could mean a lot of things. In our doom and gloom society with all the valid concerns we have over the changing climate, the rise of extremism, the ever growing population, those words could be describing an inevitable disaster - the end result of the stress on all our systems both natural and societal. The dream might be a warning from my under consciousness that the world is coming to an end. That is one thing those words could mean.
They could also mean quite literally “the end of the small world”. The small world is where we live when we believe that what we see and sense with our physical bodies is all that exists. The small world is where we live when we lose our faith in something bigger, something grander, something infinitely more divine than we could ever imagine or conceive.
A dream about the end of the small world may acknowledge that there is a dawning awareness, a beginning of a new consciousness, a recognition of a new infinitely larger world in which we know that we are more than just human beings.
A new larger world where we know ourselves as spirit as well as physical beings. A world where we recognize ourselves as part of God, but also as beings who have chosen to experience life in material form. A world where we can experience all the joys and beauty of being alive while still remembering what we really are.
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