An Extroverted Spiritual Practice

Finally the growing season is in full swing. The long winter is over, and the trees are green again. I’m running into neighbors I haven’t seen since fall. The season invites us to turn from the inward contemplative focus back out into the world. Here in the North East, where our growing period is limited, the spring into summer is a sprint as plants grow and bloom and fruit. Your friends, your neighbors, the trees, the irises, the birds all have emerged from their winter dormant period, and lured out into the world by the long, warm days.

This season invites more extroverted spiritual practices. For most of the summer I move my meditation spot out onto the porch. Before I close my eyes and draw inward, I spend some time just gazing out at the world around me- at the breeze moving through the leaves in the trees, the squirrels hopping from branch to branch, the insects buzzing about, even the neighbors walking their dogs. At first I was frustrated by all the noise- the lawn mowers revving and buzzing, the cars zooming, the friends arguing as they walked by. Then I remembered a practice I had learned in a meditation workshop years ago- to open up my awareness and allow all the sounds to drift in and then let them drift out. In this practice I meet myself, just as I am, in the neighborhood just as it is.

Another favorite summer practice is a walking meditation. For years I have walked my dog on pretty much the same route each day. Instead of impatiently waiting for him to sniff every tree, I decided to engage the walk with openness and curiosity. I watch the mysterious circles he traces with his nose on the ground, and wonder what critters have been there before us. As I walked and observed the same path day after day, I have begun to know my neighborhood in a deeper way. It was exciting to see the Bleeding Heart in my neighbor’s yard that shot up over a few hot days burst into bloom, and now I notice that the blooms are waning. I remember the tree where the woodpecker came last year, and wonder if he’ll be back. I watch the neighbor kids running for the school bus, and marvel how they’ve grown. I love the special green of the moss on trees after a rain, and notice the dry wilt of plants when there is no rain.

This summer I encourage you to experiment with an extroverted practice. Begin with curiosity, and open your senses to whatever appears- flowers or bugs, sun or rain, the chirping of birds or the rumble of construction. As you reach the end of each period of practice, let go even of the curiosity, end with just gratitude- gratitude for all we meet exactly as it is.