Finding the Present Moment

Let’s try a mindfulness practice right now, as you read this column. Take a breath and arrive fully in this moment. One way to do this is just to start with something small, like your hands. If you put your hands on your legs, you can feel the air across the back of your hands. You can feel the warmth of your legs under your hands. You can feel the reality of your hands, right now in this unique moment. Notice whatever arises with a non-judgmental compassionate awareness… When your mind wanders off, just notice and gently bring it back… back here to this moment…Back here to the lived reality of the moment we are sharing together.

Notice if you have any expectations of yourself or of the moment, and notice how those differ from your actual experience…

Here are a few things I’ve noticed from my own experience of this practice:

First of all, I spend very little time in the present moment. Apparently I focus most of my attention planning for and anticipating the future.

Second, trying harder doesn’t seem to help. If I’m “trying” I’ve created a story about what “should” happen, a goal to strive for. If I’m captured by my expectations, it divides my attention from what is really happening. Instead I can notice what I’m thinking, notice what I’m feeling, and gently allow my attention to come back to this present moment whenever that is available to me. The present moment can seem like a shy kitten who will go hide if it feels pursued, but might come sit near you if you just wait quietly and patiently.

Third, it helps if I start with the premise that I can’t do it wrong. If I notice I have expectations that I SHOULD be able to be in the present moment, and I begin evaluating and judging and analyzing myself, now I’m even further from the present moment than when I started, that kitten is hiding in the attic by now. But if I notice my expectations and feelings and thoughts non-judgmentally, without expectation, without trying to decide if they are right or wrong, if I just notice them with compassion and curiosity, I increase my availability to reality. Because even the thought “this is lame and difficult, this shouldn’t be so hard” is a real thought, if that is indeed what is arising, so noticing it non-judgmentally allows us to stay on the path of reality.

Fourth, reality is pretty interesting. I like to practice paying attention to reality when I’m bored, because I’m always saying I don’t have enough time for my spiritual practice, so why not use some scrap of time I’ve already labeled as boring? Moreover, I’ve found that I sometimes I feel bored because I EXPECT to be bored. I assume waiting in line at the grocery store is boring, that being stuck in traffic will be boring, but if I get curious about this moment, there’s often a lot going on in my body, my mind, my feelings, or in the world around me. That boredom might be a barrier between me and a really interesting moment I might miss. Or it might be a barrier I put up because underneath I was starting to feel something challenging -- a restlessness, a sadness, a frustration. I will leap out of my own experience of lived reality as an escape from feeling something that might be difficult.

As you move through your day today, I invite you to notice, with a non-judgmental compassionate awareness, when expectations and reality diverge. Hold your expectations loosely where you are able, and look for opportunities to be present with reality as it is unfolding, because that is where life is, in this very moment.

Unhooking

It starts out as a regular conversation, friendly or useful, then without even noticing, our conversation is now an argument. What happened? And more importantly, how do we turn the argument back into a conversation?

Right now, many of us are experiencing COVID-19 fatigue, or the many stressors of our times, which can make arguments more likely. To compound the already heightened emotions, we don’t have the ordinary reassurance of speaking face to face in a room with those we are communicating with. A one sentence email, or Facebook post can hook us, and now we are either in an argument on our screens, or we are arguing with the person silently in our minds, maybe for days. I’ll be honest with you I’ve spent a lot of time arguing in my head with my meditation teacher, and that family member who posted something that hooked me on Facebook. So today I’d like to take some time to notice what is happening, I’m going to call it “getting hooked” and to give us some tools for “unhooking.”

A hook is a very simple tool. I have them all over my house, they hold hanging plants mugs, curtain ties, bracelets, clothing. I’d encourage you to grab a hook and play with it. Why? Because symbols and metaphors are also helpful tools in understanding ourselves and our world. Getting the body involved, like holding a hook in your hand provides a kinesthetic, embodied style of learning.

Look around your space, what can you hook with your hook? Not everything will hook. Not everything will hook easily...

Our psyches are like this too. We can have many conversations, we can read many social media posts, and they slide off us. Then, something will hook us, hook our attention, our thoughts, our emotions. That can be good or bad.

But sometimes what hooks has emotional charge, some tender spot that touches our history, or a complex of unresolved issues. I’ll tell you one that hooked me recently. In the Enneagram tradition of personality typing, my type is the 9 or “peacemaker” Recently on a Facebook group, someone posted that 9s have trouble making decisions because they “don’t know themselves.” This really hooked me. I spent about a week arguing with that guy in my head. I’m sure many other people read that quote and didn’t get hooked, but it sure got me. That sentence was just the right size for my own personal hook. 

Step 1- I notice that I am hooked. Like if you were walking by a pricker bush and got hooked by a branch, you would need to just stop, look and notice “oh, I’m hooked on that pricker bush.” Often we notice this as an emotional charge- I feel wound up, stuck, agitated, worried, frustrated, angry, and I notice that it is sticking to me, that I am carrying it around with me into my day. For me, noticing and being able to articulate that I am hooked is already a bit of a relief. By noticing there is much better chance we can avoid damage to our favorite shirt, or to the pricker bush.

Step 2 is to stop tugging at it. You can see with this hook, that tugging is not going to help. [show] It’s easy to unhook if it’s still sitting on my desk, but once I pick it up, I am not going to be able to unhook until I set it down. A hook like this is wide open on one side, and only works because of the force of the object. You can put a heavy object on it, and gravity will make it work. I feel trapped, but actually, there is still plenty of space for me to unhook. So before we lash back to that Facebook post, we just pause, unclench our muscles and give ourselves a little compassion that we are now hooked, and that doesn’t feel good.

Step 3 is to investigate with kindness. Just as you would if a bramble had hooked your favorite shirt, and you bent over- very carefully so you don’t rip it- to inspect the hook and where it is snagged on your shirt. We look inside and ask- what feeling am I having, what are those feelings connected to? To me, the important thing here is not to figure out who did what to whom, who is right and who is wrong, but where does the shirt end and the hook begin. What is mine to notice and change, and what belongs to the bramble.

I look at the argument and literally notice where I end and the other person begins. This is called individuation, and it is a really important goal for psychological health. This might take some discernment. It’s one thing to say “that author hurt my feelings” and to be mad at the author, which I did. But another way to look at is “the author said this thing” and “I feel hurt” – those are 2 separate things. I can’t change what the author said, but I do need to take care of myself, and the feelings I have, and what I want to do about them. In my case I carried this Enneagram argument around for a week, looking for a way to set it down, but finally I sat down and wrote in my journal what I DO know about myself- that I love peace. I love it more than I care whether we have sushi or burritos for dinner. Once I remembered what I know about myself, and grounded myself in that self-knowledge, it was easy for me to unhook. That author didn’t even know me. I claimed my own wisdom about myself, and slid right out of that hook.

As I was writing today’s reflection, I realized that it owes a lot to a Buddhist practice called “RAIN” that I’ve been practicing. (Buddhist psychology is a rich tradition that reaches back thousands of years and has some very practical tools and wisdom.) I’ll put some links into the chat and the blog for work by Tara Branch, who is a wonderful teacher, and has a series of meditations about this.

What I am calling “sliding the hook out” she calls this 4th step “non-identification” Once I’ve figured out where I am hooked, which part is me, what I am hooked on, and where there may be space to let go, I can free my hook from whatever has hooked it.

Brach says there’s an important last step which is resting in that place. How lovely to have achieved that state of being unhooked, of knowing that I am not that argument, I am not my feelings, to just enjoy that for a moment and rest into it.

A few months ago, I got an email from an acquaintance who sends out political rants to all his friends and acquaintances. This particular rant was about some terrible thing that liberals do, or had done. I felt a surge of adrenaline as I read it, and immediately began composing a response in my mind. But I had promised myself I wouldn’t respond, because I didn’t want to get into an argument with him, but that email kept writing itself in my mind. I finally turned to my husband Eric and said “Why would he say that when it’s verifiably false?” Eric replied, “that’s called liberal baiting, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” Wow, it sure worked, I thought. But suddenly I saw that I was hooked, and I was able to let go.

Now this is a bit harder when you are in an argument with a person you do know, and they are hooked too. People in your household, people in your family or workplace. So if you are sitting near a friend now, you can try that together. If, like me, you don’t’ have a buddy, you can use one hand for each person. You can see that if you are both pulling, you are never going to get unhooked, and you might even hurt each other.

If you are both committed to healthy communication, you could ask, “hey can we talk about this? I feel some intense feelings and I’d like to talk this through because I care about this relationship” and you can work through the process together, like that time my bracelet hooked on a friend’s sweater.

But some people are just not able or willing to do that. So remember, your hook is part of you, that’s what you can control. [you can try this one with just your fingers- hold out ahooked finger- hook it to other hooked finger] Once you have spent some time in reflection, figuring out what is your part of the argument (your “contribution” some folks call it) what you need to own, and what is not yours to own, you can choose to soften your hook and let go. That can sometimes be very challenging, so that’s why we do it with kindness to ourselves and to others.

If someone still comes after you with their hook, that’s abusive. That requires a clear boundary that their hook will slide off. You many need friends to help you create and keep that boundary. Boundaries are a talk for another day. That’s why the first step is recognizing- is asking- is this a hook, or is it something else?

Like some of you, I’ve been sheltering at home in a space that feels pretty small some days for 3 large adults. We’ve all been intentionally kind to one other, knowing we are stuck together in a new way. The other day my husband said something, and I snapped back- instantly hooked. He said “I don’t want to have an argument” and I realized I didn’t want to either. And in that moment, I was able to notice the hook, figure out what I was hooked on, unhook and let it go. In this difficult time when tempers are short, the country is divided and we all have the COVID-19 fatigue, remembering to notice when we get hooked, and practicing unhooking may be very useful. It’s a nonviolent way of looking at the tangles of our life and relationships that helps us grow in self knowledge and non-identification, so we can rest in the freedom of who we really are.
 

Mindfulness Alert

If you let it, your phone will alert you for everything. Not only when your friend messages you, or when a package is delivered, but when there’s a chance of rain, when your store has a new coupon, or when someone you don’t even know has a new photo on Instagram. You can turn off most of these alerts, which I keep thinking I have done until an unfamiliar alarm asks me to review the livestream yoga class I just left. Sigh.

Usually, when the alert sounds, I am doing something else. The sound of the alert disrupts my train of thought and sometimes I have trouble getting back on track. But sometimes it disrupts something that really needed disrupting, like playing one more round of that game I can’t put down. One day a meaningless alert came while I was meditating, which made me grumpy, until I realized my mind had wandered far from my meditation, and needed to be brought back anyway. It made me wonder if there was a way I could get those alerts to work for me. Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh was one of the teachers to introduce Americans to the idea of Mindfulness back in the 1970s, suggested that whenever we hear a bell, we might use that as a reminder to come back to mindfulness, to notice where our attention is and bring it back where we want it to be. I very rarely hear a bell in my daily life, but my life is full of “alerts.” What if all those alerts could be used as part of a mindfulness practice?

Neuroscience is proving today what Buddhism has long taught- that there are psychological, mental and physical benefits from practicing mindfulness, the practice of non-judgmental compassionate awareness to the present moment. Benefits range from increased focus and decreased stress, to such surprising outcomes as more satisfaction with relationships and reduced inflammation.  Mindfulness is also an ancient spiritual practice that helps us connect with the One and with our true Self. When we can bring our hearts, minds and spirits to focus on whatever or whoever needs our attention in this present moment, it brings power, wisdom and a vividness to whatever arises.

The mind naturally wanders, and needs help coming back home. Why not use the many alerts our technology happily provides to bring us back? If we are doing some task when the alert goes off, we could use that as an invitation to bring our full attention back to what we are doing; if we are washing the dishes, then the alert invites us to do the dishes mindfully, to really bring our full attention to the feeling of the water and the soap and the plate in our hands. Or we could use the alert as an invitation to bring our attention back to our breath, to just notice the breath as it moves in and out of our body. Alternately, if we have a prayer practice, we could use the alert as an invitation to prayer, to bring our attention to the spiritual dimension of life, to offer a blessing or a prayer wherever we are, right in the middle of whatever we are doing when the alert goes off.

I’ve playfully adopted this practice for about a month now. I’ll admit I often forget, but each time I remember to hear the alert as an invitation I ask “what was it I meant to be doing with my attention right now?” The usually annoying alert can become a welcome disruption to the chattering distracted mind and an invitation to come home to the body, the breath and the spirit.

On Being Alone

 This column was written in the fall of 2019 before we were sheltering at home. I thought this was an important time for a contemplative look at our time alone.

Sometimes being alone is a wonderful break from the noise of crowds, from the expectations of others. We all need time alone, and it nourishes us like food or water or sleep. But sometimes being alone is uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels lonely. Remember-- every human feels that, from time to time. The next time you feel lonely, try this:

First, feel whatever feelings arise. Sometimes we had feelings simmering unnoticed just beneath our consciousness, and they are rising to the surface now that we have a moment alone. Sigh. So we do the practice of just feeling them. Not clinging to them, not pushing them away. Just letting the feelings rise and then letting them go. If there were a lot of feelings, this might take a while, but somehow taking time to feel helps.

Sometimes we feel “lonely” instead of just “alone.” Loneliness is a survival drive like hunger or thirst that reminds us that humans need one another. For mammals our need for others is hard wired. We are pack animals and need our pack. We need them for safety and support. Loneliness sometimes says “do you know where your pack is?” Take a moment to remember your pack- your family, your friends, the neighbors who would feed your cat if you asked, the firemen and police who would come if you needed help. Type “Volunteer” and the name of your town into your favorite search engine, and see all the folks who give their time to support your community. Perhaps your loneliness is reminding you to connect to and strengthen your pack.

Loneliness also sometimes says “I need companionship.” And like being thirsty when your water bottle is empty, being alone when you want companionship is uncomfortable, and can be scary when you are not sure where your next drop is coming from. Loneliness is asking you to make a plan to find companionship. Just as it might take time to walk to the next water fountain, it may take time to find your companions. I have noticed in the past that if I start texting and calling and reaching out, it may take time for things to come together, but most of those efforts yield companionship sooner or later.

Sometimes, even when I’m with other people, I feel lonely. But sometimes I feel something really joyful and sweet even though I am alone in a crowd of strangers. Recently I went to see live music on the town square, and though I was alone I didn’t feel lonely. I felt proud of the great town I live in. I felt the joy of all the folks listening to the jubilant music. I was moved by  the musicians, working so hard, and all the people supporting them. Sometimes I feel my connection to everyone, and sometimes I don’t. The connection is real either way.
When you think about it, being alone is just an illusion, just a feeling. In fact we can never actually be alone. Even when there are no humans nearby there are birds and trees and bugs and a crazy network of fungus and microbes linking all to all. We are part of an interconnected web of life from before we are born until after we die. Know that you are never alone.

Please remember that even though we may not be able to hug right now, there are still many ways to connect. Please reach out, keep reaching out. You are never alone.

Out of Your Comfort Zone?

The great thing about being an adult is that you know how to do a lot of stuff. Walking, talking, balancing your checkbook, doing laundry, cooking a meal- we have so many skills we take for granted. We know our favorite brand of dish soap, what time we like to eat lunch, and whether we like roller coasters. This is also the spiritual challenge of being an adult; if you know what you like, if you know what you are good at, it’s easy to stay in your comfort zone.

Just a few months ago I realized that I was stuck in my comfort zone. At this moment in life when I’ve been in ministry over 20 years, and have a yoga practice even older, it’s easy to fall into the habit of doing the things I know how to do, the things I’m used to doing. It’s easy to lose the beginner’s mind that looks at the world with fresh eyes. It’s hard to step out into a world of unexplored territory. As a spiritual practice, I challenged myself to try things I suspected I’m not very good at. I took up drawing, having given it up at age 7 or so. It’s been a practice in humility (and sometimes frustration) to  be so far out of my comfort zone, to stumble and grow in that way that is natural for children, but antithetical to our adult sense of self.

Then the Pandemic reached our area, and we began to shelter at home. We realized with humility that are all now adult learners. Not only were the stores out of our favorite dish soap, they were out of many of the products we counted on, many of the ingredients for the meals we knew how to make. When our churches began worshiping online, I met with a group of very experienced colleagues who agreed “it’s like we are first year ministers again- everything is new.” The learning curve is very steep for all of us. One colleague shared her mantra for this time: “there is no perfection in a pandemic.”

As our community began its phased reopening, we headed (some of us tentatively, some of us like students on the last day of school) out into the world, and we realized what essential works have been living for months- that everything was new there too. I so admire these business owners who have had to rethink everything. A favorite restaurant just reopened and I was so impressed with how they had rearranged their space to increase safety, how carefully they had created new processes for the new world we are living in, and how the food was just as delicious as ever. And when I visit a business where things are confusing, where the staff are overwhelmed I just repeat to myself “there is no perfection n a pandemic.”

 

We are all out of our comfort zone now. There is no avoiding learning new things; we stumble, we scratch our heads as things we thought would never change have changed. These are not changes that any of us would have chosen, but we can choose to listen for the spirit as we navigate this new world. These challenges have shaken us from our usual ways of being, have shaken our sense of security, our sense that we know what to expect from this world.

It is humbling as an adult to have to re-learn basic things; it is humbling acknowledge how much we don’t know. But the religious traditions of the world remind us that a humble heart is the beginning of wisdom. When we are certain of the world and our place in it,  we often rest in that certainty instead of listening for  the Spirit.  Honor yourself whenever you feel the discomfort of facing a changed world. Let that discomfort soften your sense of what you know about the world, about yourself. Let your humble heart open to the spirit as you step out into this changing evolving world.

The Practice of the Contemplative Gardener

My lawn is growing so fast I can barely keep up. Everywhere I look I see a chore that needs to be done- the dead branch that needs pruning, the garden that needs weeding, and of course the lawn that needs mowing. This can be exhausting.

The contemplative path calls us to a different way of looking at the world. Jesuit theologian Walter Burghardt described contemplation as taking a “long, loving look at the real”. Instead of seeing the world around us as a to do list, the contemplative path invites us to be present with what is, exactly as it is.

So during this time of abundant growth, I have adopted a spiritual practice of gazing out from my front porch with a long, loving look at all I see. My practice is to just observe. I live right downtown, so what I see each day is the same few trees, my neighbors houses, some parked cars, and strips of lawn in varying states of growth. But the longer I look with that loving gaze, the more deeply I know this place. That dead branch shows me something about the hard winter the tree had, and I become curious about the patterns of which branches die and which live. The dead branches on a tree represent an important part of the cycle of life. In fact, scientists are leaning more every day about the important role death plays in the eco-system of which that tree is a part. If the branch poses no immanent risk to passers-by or power lines, I accept the challenge to gaze at it just as it is without leaping up to get the clippers. .

The same practice came in handy when I noticed myself looking with judgement at the lawn of my neighbor who never did mow. Day after day I watched the spring grass grow into an unruly lawn. My judgmental gaze softened, and I began to look at it not as a neglected action item, but just as the reality of the moment. Then the wildflowers appeared – I’d never seen daisies growing in the city before. Butterflies came. It became a little patch of meadow. Each day my gaze lingered I began to love it just as it was.

Sometimes this long, loving gaze does call me to action. As I write this, we have gone too long without rain, and the soil has become parched and dry in places. It is because of that long loving gaze that I learned what a thirsty plant looks like, and what a plant in danger looks like. But, you might say, every gardener knows that, every farmer knows that. Yes! That is why gardening is a spiritual practice for so many people- because gardeners watch with love and concern as each plant they tend grows and thrives or struggles. So it is with the nature lovers, hikers and bird watchers who take time to let their ears and eyes linger with a long loving attention to whatever is around them.

Even when leave our stillness to pick up a piece of trash, water a thirsty plant or rev up the mower, the work can still be done with a contemplative gaze. We can notice the muscles we use as we move into action, we can observe our thoughts and feelings as we do our work, we can notice the effect of our work on the world around us, and when the work is done, remember to take time to look lovingly, deeply at the ever changing world we are part of tending and transforming every day.

Morning Watch

I am not a morning person, but I was having trouble sleeping at the retreat center where I was staying, so I figured I might as well get up and see the sun rise from that first sliver of light on the horizon, when you can still see the starry sky above. In the following days I woke each morning to see what the new sunrise would bring; when conditions are just right there is a beautiful progression of colors until that bright orange egg yolk pops over the horizon. I found this practice, called “morning watch” to be a beautiful time for meditation and prayer. I was, at the time, grieving the recent death of my father, and so it was often a tearful time, but the beauty and peace of early morning and the transition to day was comforting, something I looked forward to each day.

One morning, though it was cold and damp, I woke up in the grey light, and walked to the top of a hill with my blanket. I waited, and waited and all that happened was that the sky changed from one shade of grey to another. The hills were cloaked in fog, and not a glimpse of color or sun could be seen. It was a no-sun sunrise. Still I took the time to mediate and pray, lingering, gazing at the horizon even longer that I might have if the bright sun had made it uncomfortable to watch. I sat with my disappointment and sadness -- not only for the missed sunrise, but for other losses in my life. I had grown to depend on that touchstone, a practice that had always rewarded patience with comfort and beauty and light.

I grumbled to my reflection group later that day about the “no-sun sunrise”. A friend pointed out that actually “the sun still rose” whether we could see it or not, which I grudgingly had to agree was factually correct.

My friend Sophie Marie, class of 2020

The no-sun sunrise came to mind as we enter graduation season. Graduates and their families are sad from the loss of pomp and circumstance, of ceremonies and parties -- the rites of passage that seemed inevitable and universal. We assume after you put in that hard work, when you are finally done, beauty and light, festivities and family and friends would mark the occasion. Perhaps there is a milestone in your own life that you had expected to celebrate with friends and family -- the birth or birthday of a grandchild, an anniversary or retirement. Perhaps this feels like a no-sun sunrise.

I woke one morning recently at a place that normally has a beautiful view of the sunrise, and wondered if the grey skies portended a grey and sun-less sunrise. Should I stay in bed, or have my morning watch? I got up, and sat in my favorite chair to wait. I meditated, and prayed, and watched the subtle changes in the shades of grey. No peek of color or sun. Nevertheless I sat and watched; I didn’t want to miss the sunrise, whether it was showy and pink, or quiet and grey.

To all you marking transitions this year, I grieve with you that they are not glowing with joy as they have in other years. The loss of that is real. At the same time, however this transition unfolds for you, that is real too, and it is yours. It is just as precious and unique as any other. The sun is still rising. You have still accomplished something real and important. Blessings to you in this tender and challenging time. It is still full of beauty and light, just behind the clouds.