Tag: mindfulness

Paying Attention

I like to grab a book at random from my shelves now and then and leave it somewhere that I can spontaneously pick it up and read a paragraph or two. It was a piece of good fortune that the one I’d set out on my kitchen countertop a week or so ago was Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Arriving at Your Own Door. It’s subtitle is “105 Lessons in Mindfulness” and it’s simply a wonderful little book. It’s about 5 inches square and each page is one little lesson printed atop a gentle green design that looks like a veined leaf.

In Lesson One, mindfulness is described as “a way of befriending ourselves and our experience.” Then it goes on to say, “Of course, our experience is vast, and includes our own body, our mind, our heart, and the entire world.”

The remainder of the book simply guides you past the obstacles that stand between you and that friendly relationship with yourself and all that you experience.

I opened to Lesson 24 one day this week, It’s titled “Autopilot.” Oh yeah, I thought. Been there done that. Like over and over and over. Here’s the whole lesson:

“Paying attention is something we do so selectively and haphazardly that we often don’t see what is right in front of our eyes or even hear sounds that are being carried to us through the air and are clearly entering our ears. The same can be said for our other senses as well. Perhaps you’ve noticed.”

Noticed! Ha ha! Now that you mention it, I haven’t really noticed, I thought. But now that you did mention it, let me turn on my scanner and see what’s going on. So I did. And it was quite wonderful.

Of course it’s not possible to stay there, paying attention to all the experiences that your senses and thoughts and emotions are providing to you. And if you decided that staying aware is some goal, that being mindful is a measure of achievement of some kind, you can get grumpy with yourself for forgetting to pay attention for the huge swaths of time that you forget.

But if you read on, you’ll come to Lesson 59, “Acceptance and Compassion,” where you’ll be reminded to be kind to yourself. “Gentleness,” says the page facing this lesson, “is not a luxury, but a critical requirement for coming to our senses.” In other words, you can’t be open to the gifts of your senses while you are beating yourself up or ranting about how things should be different than they are.

To learn to let go when you’re all riled up is no easy task. But catching yourself being riled up is a fine first step. Sometimes, when you notice that being riled up is what’s going on, you might find that you can even laugh at yourself. And the very act of noticing changes everything. That’s what it’s all about.

As I went through the week, the lessons unfolded, and I remembered to practice paying attention more and more. I’m so glad. Otherwise, I might have missed seeing the way the freshly fallen snow glistened in the sunshine, or hearing the adorable chirpings of the chickadees.

Wishing you a week where a little voice sometimes whispers to you, “Pssst. Pay attention!” Listen to it. You’ll be glad.

Warmly,
Susan

Reclaiming the Light

When I first committed to being a joy-warrior, an image appeared in my mind of a glowing golden light that looked as if it was pouring through an open doorway, its light making a long, equally glowing path from where I stood to the distant doorway. Along the dark structures rose of various sizes and shapes, casting their shadows on the path. To me, it represented both the goal and the challenges I would face in reaching it.

Like many of us, I’ve been experiencing this time we find ourselves in as one of the shadowed parts of the path. And the shadow sometimes feels very dark and long. We persevere, but we get weary and discouragement nibbles away at our resolve. All the contention and anger, the disruptions, suffering and uncertainty take their toll.

I was standing in a pool of gloom myself today when I ran across a quote from Dalai Lama XIV that somebody posted on Twitter. “ Choose to be optimistic,” he said. “It feels better.”

“Oh!” some little voice in my head responded. “That’s right!” Feeling better was exactly what I wanted. I was getting pretty tired of gloom. And what a poke his sentence was! It reminded me that optimism was a choice. Hope was mine for the choosing.

Choosing to find the good in any circumstance is one of the disciplines a joy-warrior works to master. And optimism is just that–a discipline. You need to train for it, and to practice it. Otherwise, the shadows will stop you in your tracks and eat your heart.

 I opened my joy-journal and found some notes I made the last few times I battled the shadows. The first one I found was a reminder of the reasons for adopting an optimistic view: less stress, greater self respect and integrity, better coping skills, better health, more patience, increased proactivity, more effective problem solving, enhanced peace of mind, increased gratitude and forgiveness.

Yes! That sounded good to me. I turned a few more pages and found “Tips for Reclaiming the Light.” It was a list of familiar practices that I had cast aside while stumbling in the shadows.

The first one was a little list under the heading “Mindfulness.” It started with a simple instruction. “Be Here Now. Focus on being intensely aware of what you’re sensing and feeling in the moment, without interpretation or judgment.” Under that, it said, “Pay attention to your senses. What are you seeing? Hearing? Smelling? Feeling? Tasting?”

I remembered the peace and gentle happiness I felt last Tuesday as I sat on the porch at night, listening intently, with closed eyes, to all the sounds I could hear, and how I became aware of the subtle changes in temperature. I remembered the little thrill of joy as I opened my eyes and saw the stars above me. Such a simple act, and yet what beautiful rewards!

The next line said, “Walk. Slowly. Pay attention to your posture, to the movement of your muscles and bones.” This is a good one. You can do it out in nature or, if it’s raining, right in your kitchen or living room. It breaks the chain of stories you’ve been telling yourself and conquers your racing thoughts.

The last line said, “Breathe.” You just sit down, close your eyes, take a deep breath and then pay attention as your breath flows in and out. It’s very calming and refreshing, and if you do it for a little while, bringing your attention back to your breath when you notice that thoughts have intruded, you come away from it feeling wide awake and aware.

Those were enough to get me on the right track again, out of the weight of the shadows, into the light.

But I flipped through a couple more pages anyway. “Name three things that you enjoyed today,” one said. That’s something I do every night writing them down in a gratitude journal I keep. It’s a nice way to end the day and sends you to sleep with greater peace.

 “Be your own beloved friend. Just as you are.” When I remember to do that, to accept myself, with all my warts and imperfections, the way I accept my dearly loved friends, it dissolves whatever hardness and self-blame I’ve been holding, turning them into self-compassion.

I was just going to put my journal away, grateful for the reminders, when a folded slip of paper fell out. On it, I found a beautiful observation I’d saved, authored by historian Howard Zinn. I’ll leave you with it’s wise perspective and wish you a week of light and peace.

 ““TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.

What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.

And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”

 Much warmth,
Susan