Awaken Engage: Recent Episodes
Awaken Engage
``` 100 feathers in my cap. You may remember that when I hit 90, I conjectured that the only reason I might go for 100 consecutive days of writing, podcasting, and photo-essaying was for a metaphorical feather in my cap.
Well, make it 100 feathers in my cap.
I made it. It ended up mattering to me.
I just love it.
100 per cent of the days for the past 100 days, I have followed through with one of the bigger commitments I have made in recent years.
I am so proud of myself. Beaming, actually.
Heart full of gratitude that I persevered when I didn’t want to keep going, when I was on the other side of exhaustion finishing a piece before the stroke of 12, when it felt like I had little to give, when I wondered why it was I was doing what I was doing.
I proved over and over to myself that I can trust myself.
And I am finishing well.
This was truly a project to discover my limits, determine whether or not I am really a writer and speaker and photographer, to determine whether or not I am a creative.
I am!
And in the process I have watched as this project has helped create the foundation of something that is rising from the beauty of ashes, following a familiar story line of being broken down and reshaped to be a more open, expansive, wise, beautiful, loving vessel…over and over and over.
Now, it’s officially time to close shop for the summer. My class load at the university has officially ended. Finals are graded. Grades are posted.
The semi-annual Integrated Life Retreat in North Central Idaho is next weekend and it is filled with incredible human beings who are coming together to rest, heal, connect, and grow. I feel so much gratitude to just be part of this!
Summer awaits. Full of plenty of down time, adventure with family, visiting our old stomping grounds in DC and NY with the kids, seeing clients, fine-tuning courses for the Fall 2024 semester, creating a new course (Developing Healthy Relationships - filled up in the first minute of registration!), getting my 200 hour Yoga Certification, getting another Mindfulness Certification, playing music, reading, hugging my kids, cycling, laughing with our family, coming together with extended family and friends, and soaking up every moment like it is the only moment…because it is!
Today, I had fun stepping back and looking at my writing, recording, and podcasting setup, recalling all of the early tweaks to get everything running the way I wanted it to — actually, learning what exactly I was wanting at the same time.
Sound equipment. Process flow. Setting up a podcast. Getting the podcast on all of the podcast platforms. Tweaking the sound equipment. Creating a musical intro and outro. Being intensely present and watchful each day for the next piece of writing to emerge. Sorting through my own photo archives for relevant visuals to help shape and tell the story. Finding the right formats for the website version, podcast version, FB version, and Insta version.
Learning. Learning. Learning.
What a wonderful journey.
100 feathers in my cap.
I made it.
It mattered.
It matters!
Peace ```
``` Each morning, I carve out time for a walk in the Boise foothills between morning routines with our kids and work. Over the past couple of years, I have walked these trails almost every day. It’s a ritual. And one I look forward to and bask in while performing it.
Walking the same trails every day has given me a deep appreciation for the rhythms of nature - what plants grow and when; where the sun rises at what time of the day; fluctuations in temperature; places along the trail that are almost always cooler; places along the trail that are often windy; higher elevation trails that are only accessible when the ground isn’t saturated; lower elevation trails that become hubs of community when they are the only ones in the valley we can use in harsh weather; the comings and goings of regulars; the sounds of migrating birds; the sounds of crickets in just one section of the hollow; the changing colors; the emptiness of the trails on windy, wet, cold days; the rush of footsteps and flurry of voices on the first couple of sunny and warm days; the changing of the shadows cast; the intensity of the heat.
It is a luxury to be able to perform this ritual with such regularity.
Most of the time, I am micro-attuned to my surroundings and I usually notice when I become a bit unconscious, whether from worrying about the day, re-hashing something someone said, trying to figure out my life, etc. :)
Last week, however, I must have been caught up in quite the dramatic simulation because it wasn’t until almost the end of the 1 1/2 mile hike that I tuned back in to where I actually was and noticed worms all over the trail.
A particularly wet storm had passed through the area overnight and the worms were seeking relief from their flooded homes on the dryer trails.
As I looked down, I saw worms everywhere, including one right beneath where my foot was about ready to plod.
I adjusted my gait to avoid smashing the little fella and my first thought was,
“How many worms have I stepped on?!”
I felt a bit of a punch to the gut.
As a general rule, I love contributing to the thriving of life. I realize the cycles of life, for sure. But, I also do all that I can to contribute to watching over, nurturing, protecting, and sustaining life. Where I can reduce harm, I do. Where I can promote life, I do.
I stopped. Looked back over my tracks and couldn’t see any obvious casualties but also couldn’t imagine that I made it through the worm mine field without stepping on quite a few of them.
Not to over-dramatize the event, my response was more meta-connected to the effects and consequences of living with a lack of awareness in general.
How many times am I in auto-mode?
How many times am I missing what is right in front of me?
How can I wake up from mindlessness more often and more quickly?
How can I live even more mindfully, lovingly, kindly, and wisely?
What woke me up in time to avoid stepping on this worm?
What wakes me up through the day?
How many of us are walking around mindlessly crushing worms?
How many of us are asleep most of the time?
What does it mean to wake up?
Is it the same for everyone?
Questions ebbing and flowing, I stooped down closer to the worm and realized that he had seen his last action anyway. He was quickly going to become a part of the trail, a part of the ritual, a part of the cycle of life that I have been walking through every day for two years.
Sometimes awake.
Evermore, so.
Peace ```
``` In Between Places
The thing
about bridges
is that they are
in between places.
On a bridge,
you’re not where you were,
you’re not where you’re going,
you’re not where you’re going to stay.
You’re just
in between places.
You can burn one.
You can build one.
You can avoid one.
You can cross one.
You can even be one.
The thing
about bridges
is that they are
in between places.
In between places
aren’t where you were,
aren’t where you’re going,
aren’t where you’re going to stay.
They’re just
bridges
in between places.
Peace
Photo:Tower Bridge, London || 7.9.23 ```
```
She drinks to remember that she is not the job she is doing.
That she is not just the job she is doing.
Near the bottom of each bottle, she finds possibilities and promise.
She drinks a little more to remember that it’s okay.
And a bit more to remember that it will be okay.
That the way it looks right now is not the way it really is or was or will be.
A drink or three free her from the boundaries of her mind.
Tomorrow, it will take a little more to remember a little less.
Perhaps there is another way.
He scrolls mindlessly to remember that he is not the job he is doing.
That he is not just the job he is doing.
Story after story, reel after reel, he finds possibilities and promise.
He scrolls a little more to remember that it’s okay.
And a bit more to remember that it will be okay.
That the way it looks right now is not the way it really is or was or will be.
An hour or three free him from the boundaries of his mind.
Tomorrow, it will take a little more to remember a little less.
Perhaps there is another way.
They consume to remember that they are not the lives they are living.
That they are not just the lives they are living.
Near the end of their savings, they find possibilities and promise.
They travel a little more to remember that it’s okay.
They eat a bit more to remember that it will be okay.
That the way it looks right now is not the way it really is or was or will be.
More and more frees them from the boundaries of their mind.
Tomorrow, it will take a little more to remember a little less.
Perhaps there is another way.
She studies. He exercises. They socialize.
She bikes. He boats. They ski.
She does this. He does that. They do this and that.
More and more.
Each day, it takes a little more to remember a little less.
Perhaps there is a better way.
Peace
Photo: Payette Lake, 6.1.22 ```
``` For much of my life, I’ve been one of the shiny things in most social situations. Classrooms, trainings, workplace environments, parties, teams. In all of these settings, I gain early acceptance, credibility, and position. It’s not something I have tried to do. It just happens. There have been a few exceptions, but even in those settings, I eventually find myself with a seat at the tables of influence.
After the bonks to the head that kicked me off of the speeding train of a successful life in 2015, I feared that I would disappear.
And, to a large extent, I did.
I was no longer shiny or useful or the “me” that almost instantly attracted people, earned their trust, and had a place in their viewfinder.
I found myself alone. No table. No place.
Now that I am steadily advancing with my easing-into-vocational-life plan, I am finding interesting fears showing up here and there.
For example, I am teaching a Yoga Nidra class at an upstart yoga studio. It’s at 7 p.m. on Monday evenings. I’ve been at it for a month and attendance is super spotty. Hmmm… Every once in awhile I find myself asking, “Is there something I’m missing? Is it me?” I love doing what I get to do there, but I’m feeling my insecurities.
During the early months of this past winter, I partnered with a group to create what we thought was a spectacular event for this summer. It didn’t gain nearly enough registrations to become reality. I find myself asking, “Why? Was it me? Was I the weak link?” Again, the failure to launch and accompanying fears flushed out some of my insecurities.
Now that classes at BSU have finished for the Spring semester and final grades are in, I am noticing that a part of my identity is also coming to a close until next Fall. The classes I teach there fill up within the first minutes of priority registration. They have waiting lists. They are highly regarded by students and often described as some of the best classes they have ever taken at the university or anywhere, for that matter.
Strangely, I don’t find myself asking, “Why? Was it me? Was I the reason?”
I just love what I get to do and who I get to be while I’m doing it. The doing is an extension of being.
I get to show up, be present, set the table, and watch a group of hungry human beings feast on food that helps them wake up and live well.
Surprisingly, the flushing out of my insecurities in the first two examples is the most important of these examples. It isn’t what I enjoy most. But it’s what I value most.
Seeing my insecurities and feeling them deeply has served to remind me of who I really am and of the deep interior work that happened through 8 years of concussion recovery.
I am reminded of who I found out I am when I seemingly disappeared from most people’s lives and they disappeared from mine. When I disappeared from the identity of my vocational life. When I disappeared from most roles that gave me a sense of identity.
I am reminded that I still get trapped in trying to become someone, something, somebody to prove my worth and value to myself and others.
And, as these situations flush out these insecurities, I remember words that brought light into the darkest times of my life.
Words like,
“I am liberated from all becoming and live in the power of being that I am.”
Nothing to prove. Noone to become. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
Liberated.
Liberated from trying to be-come someone to prove something to someone.
Free from that bondage.
Free from that illusion.
Free from the illusion that my classes at BSU make me any more who I am than the failures do.
Liberated from all be-coming.
Living in the power of being that I am.
Living present to my self and the world.
Living as I already am, not trying to become someone by doing something.
And I am so thankful for these seeming failures that bring up fears.
I get to meet the fears with welcoming, loving presence. I get to love on them like I love on my kids when they are scared and want to be seen, heard, held, and feel like they belong.
Rather than being compelled by fear to try to be something else or prove something, the fear reminds me to return home to who I am.
I am liberated from all becoming and free to live in the power of being that I am.
Liberated to keep trying, to keep failing, and to keep loving what arises.
Liberated from being defined by success.
Liberated from being defined by failure.
Liberated from being defined.
Liberated to be.
I am that.
That I am.
Peace ```
``` There are evenings where finding words becomes a sort of adventure. Like when you get in your car and drive into the desert of the upper Great Basin until you can’t see a soul or a dwelling or a trace of civilization in any direction.
You stop, get out, and start walking.
Any direction will do.
In no time, what looked like a barren landscape, what looked like the same thing for mile after mile, what looked uninhabited and uninteresting, changes almost instantly the moment you hear your footsteps on the ground, feel the the wind whirring about you, and find your eyes lose their focus while the whole body and mind get swept up into something so grand and old and mysterious that there isn’t anything happening anywhere else.
Time stops. The sense of time stops.
The 360 degree vistas and open skies swallow up every worry and tension and thought.
And all of a sudden there is room in you.
In fact, “in you” gives way to just “you” and you are expansive and able to hear echoes from west to east and north to south. You follow the sound of messengers’ voices who have been waiting for you to shed one skin of separation after another and feel the ever-increasing boundaries of your is-ness stretching past the places where the echoes arose.
You move with effortless ease across the landscape caring not for when or where or how.
It all fades away into awe.
Awe.
Swept up in awe.
You are swept up in awe, remembering who you really are.
Peace
Photo: Idaho || September 2018 ```
``` I find comfort in routine and consistency even if I also love spontaneity and following the winds of intuition. As I finish my teaching assignments before the summer break, I’m finding myself wanting to fill up the blank spaces and places in my days that for the past 9 months have been filled with vibrant interactions with groups of students in whom I delight and have grown to love.
There’s a rather large hole and, as I said, I think I’m tempted to fill it up rather than take time to feel what the space is like when not occupied.
Wow. Yeah. There is something deep in those words that just called out to me as they found their way into my awareness.
Take time to feel what the space is like when not occupied.
Yeah.
Even though I’ve been wanting to fill the hole - the previously occupied but now unoccupied space - with stuff, with the next thing, with plans for summer and the fall semester, with activity, I am encouraging myself to just let it be for awhile.
To let it be and honor what I - what we as a community of learners and practitioners - just experienced.
Perhaps stating it as an intention is important:
I take time to feel what the space is like when not occupied.
I like that. It resonates and it also flushes out its opposite.
I don’t have words for any of this incredible teaching and learning journey, really. I’m still reading Finals and journals and finding myself awestruck and thankful and humbled. Over and over and over.
With each Final that I click on, with each student’s name, I pause and let it soak in that this is the last piece of their writing that I will experience and respond to for awhile, if ever again.
I treasure what I get to learn from them and what I have learned on the short but transformational journey we have been on together.
“Wow” is the word that keeps finding its way up from my heart and out my mouth.
Wow.
I am in awe.
Over these past 9 months, I rode my bike along the Boise River on my way to class and each day I would always find a spot to coast, close my eyes, stretch out my arms and hands, open my heart, and feel the air and the sensation of gliding along effortlessly. Immense gratitude filled my whole being as I thought about the long days and nights and years when we weren’t sure what part of vocational life I would be able to engage in with any sort of consistency.
The beauty has come from the ashes.
The beauty is coming from the ashes.
The beauty has come from what is no longer there, from the space that the fire created.
A clearing.
Space to be.
Space to be together.
Wow.
Peace ```
```
Some days it’s I’ve got it all together.
Other days it’s more trying to hold onto and pick up what’s falling apart.
Some days feel easy and clear.
Other days feel uphill and cloudy.
And it’s not just days.
Some parts of days are this.
Other parts of days are that.
Some parts of days are calm and warm.
Other parts of days are windy and cold.
And it’s not just parts of days.
Some times of days are this.
Other times of days are that.
Some times of days are vibrant and optimistic.
Other times of days are lethargic and questioning.
Some days and parts of days and times of days are this.
Other days and parts of days and times of days are that.
Some days and parts of days and times of days are rising.
Other days and parts of days and times of days are falling.
You don’t really know what you’re going to get.
You don’t really know what is going to show up.
You don’t really know how it’s all going to come and go.
You don’t really know.
When you know that.
When you know that you don’t really know what’s coming and going,
That is when you know.
This is when you know.
Now is when you know.
Now is when you know the grace to be.
Now is the grace to be.
Only now is the grace to be.
Always now is the grace to be.
The grace to be.
The grace to be.
Now is the grace to be.
Peace
Photo: Boise Foothills, 10.17.22 ```
``` I seem to have entered this world with a strong bent for nostalgia. I don’t ever remember not feeling wooed by longings for the past, even feeling nostalgic about the present because it was heading into the past.
Perhaps my natural propensity for feeling all the feels so intensely is why I struggled mightily to finish a great book or a great movie or a great series. I am notorious for watching 3/4 of a show and being pretty much done with it. I love the exposition, rising action, conflict, and even a bit of the climax, but I’m not really very interested in resolutions and endings. Endings are connected to those deep, deep feelings of loss that nostalgia seems to bring into the present.
I’ve avoided finishing many things because I enjoyed the process so much that I really didn’t want to get to the destination. Once it was clear that the process was almost over, I lost most of my interest.
Almost two decades ago, when I graduated with my Masters and my clinical license, which was a beast of a Masters and 4 digits of supervised clinical hours, I chose to take a job assignment across the country rather than having to walk through a graduation ceremony and deal with a party that signified the end of a stage of life.
I was constantly trying to get to the beginnings that ends signify without having to feel and be with the endings.
But the end of something is worth celebrating. It is something worth feeling. It is something worth our welcoming and loving presence.
In fact, I have learned that the end of something needs to be celebrated, commemorated, felt, observed, and experienced to really move fully into the beginning that is here and now.
I had a lot of loose ends to tie up once I began to face my discomfort with endings, with closure, with what amounts to a sense of grief and loss even in times of intense happiness.
It wasn’t until recovering from my brain injuries that I learned and experienced that every “thing” arises with its opposite. It’s commonly referred to as the Law of Opposites. But I had no idea that this existed and, for the first 38 or so years of my life, I operated under the assumption that I could get the “thing” I wanted and avoid its opposite altogether.
I tried to isolate the enjoyment and happiness of the process from the feelings of sadness and loss that naturally come with finishing the project.
I tried to move from one stage of life into the other without completing the former.
So much of the past 8 years has been learning how to be with life as it is as I am.
Not trying to control life. Not trying to escape life. Not trying to bend life to my will.
But being with life as it is as I am.
Vibrantly. Presently. Potently.
This includes being with the sadness that closure naturally brings.
Today, our Peace and Well-Being in an Age of Anxiety class at Boise State met for our 2 hour final.
We spent time last week reflecting on and discussing how we each relate to closure.
And today’s final was designed to be a time of bringing closure to our experience by honoring the time we have been together and giving a blessing to the new beginnings that are also here.
We began with some movement, some honoring of our voices, and then I asked each student to select a small rock from my personal collection. Each of these rocks stood out to me at some time when I was in nature and I picked them up, pocketed them, and added them to a jar that sits in my office. They may not be significant to anyone else, but they caught my attention, I chose them, and I carried them with me. Today, I was able to display these rocks across a table and invite this incredibly special group of students to choose the one that caught their attention and carry it with them.
Rocks in hand, we then engaged in a silent mindfulness meditation, listening to the ebb and flow of the singing bowl before each student presented a 3-4 minute piece of their personal writing from the course. While they spoke, we passed their rock around, held it, and were invited to say a blessing of some kind.
Something like: May you be healthy, may you be safe, may you be happy, may you live at ease. Or, whatever came to mind and heart.
At the end of our presentations, we held hands in a circle and said thank you and bless you and goodbye to this experience.
A sense of closure.
Prior to class, as I was bringing each student into my heart during my meditation practice early this morning, I felt waves of gratitude co-arising with waves of sadness. I truly love these individuals and am sad that our time has come to an end.
The sadness doesn’t mean it shouldn’t come to an end. It’s just sadness. It’s just the opposite arising as opposites do.
And, like all things arising in awareness that are calling for our attention, it just needed me to observe it, feel it, acknowledge it as it is, and accept it as it is. Or, as Rick Hanson says, “Let it Be. Let it Go. Let it In.”
It came and it went.
All day. Even writing this, I feel the ebbs and flows.
Allowing life to be as it is as I am.
It is profoundly centering, grounding, and powerful to be with life as it is as I am.
Profoundly different.
Nostalgia is replaced by appreciation and gratitude in the present rather than a departure from the here and now into the wishing that then was still now.
Somehow, being with life as it is as we are transforms every moment now and in the future.
There ceases to be a huge reservoir of sadness and longing trying to get our attention because we already gave it our attention and it can freely flow and come through and be on its way.
When the heart stays open, there are fewer and fewer dams of emotions that have to be built and tended to out of the fear that something in life will breach them and become an unmanageable torrent in which we get washed away.
Truly profound.
I will leave you with words not my own but words that are also familiar and wise and true. The first are the words of one of the students in our class who agreed that I might share part of their presentation from today:
“I have noticed myself building trust within myself since this class. In these short few weeks, I have felt security and a sense of wholeness from within. I've learned to sit across a coffee table with my emotions. Based on my background and trauma I never thought I would even get a glance at these feelings, let alone feel them from within. I knew my past came with the responsibility for me to do extra work and part of me never thought I would get to this point in my life. I have felt the contentment of staying open and I never want to fully close again. I have noticed a huge shift in my perspective because of the newfound feelings that were always inside me. I became very attuned to what no's feel like in my body and where I held my anxiety. I know what pain feels like in my body but now I am continuing to learn what calmness, peace, security, wholeness, love, and liberation feel like inside of me too. Now, for some of the first times, I have felt a full body yes.”
Truly profound.
These words wonderfully pair with a Mary Oliver poem that I had chosen to read at the end of our class time today:
“A Voice from I Don’t Know Where”
It seems you love this world very much.
“Yes,” I said. “This beautiful world.”
And you don’t mind the mind, that keeps you
busy all the time with its dark and bright wonderings?
“No, I’m quite used to it. Busy, busy,
all the time.”
And you don’t mind living with those questions,
I mean the hard ones, that no one can answer?
“Actually, they’re the most interesting.”
And you have a person in your life whose hand
you like to hold?
“Yes, I do.”
It must surely, then, be very happy down there
in your heart.
“Yes,” I said. “It is.” (from _Felicity_ by Mary Oliver)
Yes. It is.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Peace
```
``` Today, in the very early morning hours, in the place between, I couldn’t find a way to worry. Every time I tried, I was just here, now, breathing. And I couldn’t figure out how not to be.
In fact, I tried to go over my uber-full schedule for the day and the coming days, I tried to think about the sadness of coming to the end of an incredible semester with another incredible group of students, I tried to worry about finances, I tried to worry about getting behind in life, I tried and I tried and I tried. But I couldn’t figure out how to be worrisome and stay worrisome, which itself was not so much worrisome as it was interesting to watch the show unfolding onstage without being in the starring role for once.
My attempt to find something to disrupt my peace was like riding a bike with a chain that keeps slipping when the gears are stripped, or trying to tighten a nut on a bolt whose threads are almost bare, or attempting to get a rear-wheel drive car to go up a steep hill on a solid sheet of ice.
As soon as I tried to put my mind in gear, as soon as I attempted to apply some pressure, as soon as I tried to get somewhere else, it was as if the chain of reactivity slipped, the nut-i-ness of the mind lost its ability to hold, and the wheels of machinating completely and utterly spun out.
So I was left to just be here, now.
With my breath.
I think it was the breath’s fault.
It was so good, so tempting to pay attention to, so delicious to feel coming in and out of the body, so vibrant in its sensations, so enlivening to each and every cell.
The breath seduced me and I couldn’t help but give in to her. Note: I experimented with changing the sentence (two sentences before this one) with the feminine pronoun and it felt better to just leave it the way it is and have you read it with the pronoun of your choice and in your own time to feel the effect.
Anyway, it was like that. It was whole-body and immersive and intimate and there was just no possible way to exit the present moment.
No way not to be here, now.
And, once I let go of being surprised, I allowed myself to steep in the waters of mystery, to soak in equanimity, to swim in all-is-wellness, to dive deep into simply being unchanging loving awareness, to set my self free and see my self free and experience my self free from all longing and craving and avoiding.
Timeless. Spacious.
Nothing to do.
Noone to become.
Nothing to prove.
Nowhere to go.
At some point, I found my way to the fully waking state which has not been nearly as “real” for most of today as it usually seems. It has not been nearly as “real” as where I seem to really be, where I really am.
Ironically, I have been more present to embodied life today.
There is more.
Sometimes we awaken to it.
Sometimes we live in it.
Sometimes we live as it.
Sometimes it seems like a dream.
Sometimes it is waking from a dream.
What remains?
Love. Love. Love.
Peace ```
``` Here we are. Here I am. 90. 90 consecutive days of reflecting, writing, publishing, and podcasting. I began with a commitment of 30 days, then decided to go for 60, and then 90.
I’ve never even written in my personal journal for 90 days in a row, let alone a published, public-facing composition and podcast, each accompanied by relevant and intentionally chosen photographs from my own collection.
Wow.
We are in the season of graduations and ceremonies and the end of school years and so I am taking time this evening to really celebrate this accomplishment and the conclusion and fulfillment of an intense commitment of time and energy.
Wow.
In recent days, I have returned to some of the podcasts and to some of the written products and to say that I am grateful for this archived journey would be a great understatement. I love that my children will have access to this collection, which comes from a place of deep love and desire to share what has been so graciously and freely shared with me.
If you’re just tuning in and are interested in digging into the breadth and scope of the project, the best place to find it in its entirety is at https://www.awakenengage.com/blog/. There, you will find the posts with corresponding photos, written text, and the audio versions. All in one place. I just navigated there to make sure I was providing the correct link and, again, all I can say is “Wow!”
Well-done. And thank you to this body and mind for doing their job to complete the work.
What’s next?
I’m not sure. I have come to an end of sorts and I have quite a bit of travel coming up for May that will certainly make it challenging to keep up the production schedule. I haven’t spent a night away from home in 90 days, I guess. That feels crazy. My setup is very mobile, though, so we’ll see.
I haven’t stopped doing my earlier challenges of daily ice baths and somatic breathwork, so perhaps I won’t stop this either. But maybe it won’t be daily. I don’t know. It would feel like quite a loss in my life to just stop doing it.
I did have the thought earlier this evening that perhaps daily writing can become like the wind or music or a river at some point. You know, the phenomena that when something is constantly creating sounds, when something is constantly happening, it becomes less and less noticeable and blends into the background of our conscious awareness. It is often only when we get indoors out of the wind, when we get a pause in the music, when we walk far enough away from the river, that we begin to consciously notice both the “thing” and the silence from which the “thing” arises and returns.
There may be some value to both audience and writer to pause and just notice. And, there may be some value to just continuing the work as naturally as wind blows and rivers flow.
100 consecutive days feels nice, but perhaps just for the feather in the cap. And feathers in caps don’t weather well, so that’s not enough of a reason at this point in my life. Nothing to really prove here. Nowhere I need to go to get where I am. Noone to become.
I suppose I will sleep on it and wait and see and hear and feel and just be with it all as it is as I am.
Peace
Photo: Oxford University || 6.24.23 ```
``` I’ve committed to listening and reflecting and writing each day. Tonight, I find myself some where beyond the place where words can originate or return, some time before words begin.
It is gentle and quiet in Here.
And full. Full filled. Overflowing.
There is gratitude here.
Deep, deep and expansive gratitude.
There is also sadness connected to the endings of classes and vibrant communities that have been born and grown during this semester. I am amazed at the awakening of this generation. Something profound is happening in our world and I think I will be alive long enough to see it grow a bit. I do hope so.
Any “thing” that I notice coming I also notice going.
Bubbles rising to the surface of carbonated water.
Tonight, I am more beneath the bubbles, beyond the bubbles, and around the bubbles than I am the bubbles. Sometimes, it feels like I am the bubbles. But tonight, I’m watching them and feeling them rise and pass before me and through me. Affected, yes. Identified as, no.
I am also proud of myself for honoring and welcoming the rising and falling of feelings, emotions, and sensations today. My capacity to do so is so much more expansive than just a few years ago. I may not be entirely symptom free, but I have experienced incredible healing that I’m not sure anyone expected in years 5 or 6 of this journey. I lived well today and as fully awake as possible.
Thank you. Grace, faith, trust, family, friends and practice.
It has been said that you don’t dig a well when the house is on fire. I sure wish I had dug more of a well before the brain injuries, but I am also glad that I got a chance to get to digging anyway. The wells are deeply dug and getting deeper and deeper and fuller and fuller.
But, as you can tell, tonight, I find myself some where beyond the place where words can originate or return, some time before words begin.
I’m just going to enjoy being here, now.
Peace ```
``` When I wake in the middle of the night and the veil is thin, my heart remembers what matters most and the rest of “it” becomes like vapor quickly and completely blowing away with the slightest breeze - even with no breeze. There is a sense of clarity that I imagine also comes when one faces their last moments and is immanently faced with the forced and total letting go of all they grasped that cannot be held.
What remains?
Love.
I have come to experience these night wakings as gifts that have followed me all of my life. In them, my guides and teachers are close, their voices are clear, and their messages are unmistakable.
Never have I felt the draw to anything that was impermanent during these wakings.
Never.
In fact, the burning and aching that is sometimes accompanied by these wakings is that of the feeling of quickly releasing the grasp on that which became a hot fire in the hand and a burden to the mind.
What remains?
Love.
This morning, my eyes are falling on the words of Mary Oliver’s poem, “A House, or a Million Dollars” and I do not even wonder whether or not she knows the 2 a.m. and 3 a.m. hours well and holds them dear. She knows. In fact, very quickly, a heart that knows feels the knowing of others that do, too.
Perhaps it is because these are the hearts in which there is room for another.
I think that is it.
After a long silent retreat, an older retreatant from Italy approached me and said, “I just want you to know that your presence has affected me profoundly during our time here. And I want you to know that I am carrying you in my heart.”
Room in the heart.
Room for that which remains after all else is shown to be the mist that it is in reality - here for a moment and then gone.
Love.
What remains?
Love.
What can’t be taken?
Love.
Finish for us, won’t you, Mary?
“A House, or a Million Dollars”
People do it,
some out of desperation,
others out of greed.
They steal.
The very powerful and clever
might steal a whole house,
or a million dollars.
It’s been done.
But what does it matter?
Love is the one thing the heart craves
and love is the one thing
you can’t steal. (from Felicity by Mary Oliver)
What remains?
Love.
In the middle of the night, I know. In the middle of the day, I sometimes remember.
Love is carrying me in her heart.
Peace
Photo: Boise || January 21, 2017 ```
``` Juicy Worms
the quickest way
to return
Home
is to wait
for the next craving
and
instead of
chasing the worm on that
hook
don’t take
the bait
let the craving
be the
reminder
to wait
to watch
to feel
to listen
to sense
to know
what lies
beneath the
juicy worm:
barbs
lines
draggings
jerkings
pullings
away from Home
the rewards of
mindless abandonment
to craving
don’t
wait
until
gaspings for air
and a whack to the head
to stop the flopping
to remember
that worms are good
a n d
they don’t all
come with
hooks
the surest way
to stay
Home
is to just wait
for the next craving
and
instead of
chasing the worm on that
hook
don’t take
the bait
wait
watch
feel
listen
sense
know
and then
enjoy the juicy worm
that will not drag you
from
this
moment
Peace ```
``` As a kid growing up on our farm, one of my favorite things to do was to find places of refuge from the wind and elements. Since it was windy almost all of the time where we lived, I had plenty of opportunities to enjoy this pastime.
Our straw stacks next to the corrals were particularly well-suited since there were small spaces between the stacks you could crawl into and be completely protected.
Immediately, I would notice the silence and stillness of the air in the absence of the wind.
The sensation was very much like entering another world.
A quiet, safe, secure, even loving world.
I would even imagine that I was in the middle of some catastrophic event and yet I was safe and secure in my refuge.
I can feel that sense of refuge now as I write. It happens to be quite windy out this evening and I am sitting at a table outside on our patio.
And yet I am also in that place of inner refuge that those childhood memories and experiences connected me to.
What I now know is that I hadn’t really found much of a physical refuge at all, but I was drawn to and finding over and over again the felt inner sense of refuge, safety, and security.
One that is actually always present and, more than likely, the root and foundation of our Being.
Sanctuary.
Asylum.
Shelter.
Safe haven.
Secure base.
Home.
Wholeness.
Unchanging loving awareness.
Being.
The wind and the elements were messengers pointing the way.
The protective cracks and spaces in the straw stack were tactile, physical, visible symbols of deeper realities.
The refuge
was
and
is
Real
and True
and Here
and Now.
Peace ```
``` A good friend is visiting and during our time in the pitch black darkness and heat of the sweat lodge tonight, we found our way to the topic of creating for the sake of creating - perhaps the topic found us.
Our friend has spent a lifetime following his heart and finding a way to make a living at it. It hasn’t been easy. It has actually been crazy hard, quite complicated sometimes, and required sacrifice most of the time. Yet, there isn’t an ounce of regret in his voice when he talks about choosing to live life following his creative heart and the rich rewards that he has reaped, not just after the sacrifice and hard work, but during it.
There is a sense of wonder in his voice as he looks back at his life and the body of creative work that came through him as well as the creative work others felt inspired to lean into because of him.
And yet some (if not a whole lot) of his work and many of the stories of inspiration are lying dormant until just the right person finds them at just the right time.
And this reality - that much creative work goes seemingly unnoticed and unrewarded - can be a hard pill to swallow if you’re only playing the short game.
The gestation period may not even finish before the end of the lifetime of the creator.
The life of the work might not come into its fulness until long after the creator is forgotten.
But there is a sense of trust somewhere deep down that the created work matters even if the creator never gets a chance to “see” it matter.
Does it matter more if more people decide that it matters?
Who decides whether or not the created work is significant?
Who stands in judgment?
Does it matter if no one ever sees it and experiences it?
I imagine that somewhere in the literature of quantum physics there is a scientific way of following some “thing” to observe how it “matters” and affects all other “things” during its life cycle.
Does that life cycle ever actually end?
What is actually created? Any “thing” new? Any “thing” independent in its existence from all else?
Once we bring something into “existence” can it ever cease to exist as part of what is?
I have my hunches and I also have the strong drive to continue to allow the creative life to flow through me as unrestricted as possible that I might be a conduit for bringing things into our world that reflect the love and peace that seem to be the source and nature of our very existence.
And this has me wondering: “How does what we create mirror and reflect who we are? How do our creations co-construct or, at least, influence who we are and who we are becoming, changing as it were, the face looking back at us in the mirror?”
Perhaps the answers will show up in the dark stillness of the next sweat.
Peace
```
``` The Space to Be
What is needed?
to feel seen
to feel heard
to feel connected
to feel a sense of Be-long-ing
the rest follows
Yes
rest follows
and
The Rest follows
the space to Be
to feel seen
to feel heard
to feel connected
to feel a sense of Be-long-ing
some call it
unconditional
love
and
welcoming acceptance
the sense of Be-ing
h e l d
in
intense
p r e s e n c e
to feel seen
to feel heard
to feel connected
to feel a sense of Be-long-ing
to offer such
p r e s e n c e
to our Selves
and
to each other
to each other
with each other
with each other One
with each other One that is as I Am
is what is needed
to feel seen
to feel heard
to feel connected
to feel a sense of Be-long-ing
the rest follows
Yes
rest follows
and
The Rest follows
the space to Be
the sense of Be-ing
h e l d
in
with
as
intense
p r e s e n c e
Peace ```
``` Passing Through What Is Still
That which comes goes
That which arises falls away
Passing through what is still
Give it 30 seconds
of undivided attention
Let thoughts come and go
And watch
And feel
And acknowledge it as it is
And accept it as it is
And watch and feel some more
Let go of labels
Let them come
And let them go
That which comes goes
That which arises falls away
Passing through what is still
Not buying it?
Wake before dawn
Set your eyes upon the east
And watch
And feel
And acknowledge it as it is
And accept it as it is
And watch and feel some more
And just to make sure
Find your way to near-dusk
And set your eyes to the west
And watch
And feel
And acknowledge it as it is
And accept it as it is
And watch and feel some more
And just to make sure
Make your way to the shore
Set your eyes upon a wave
And watch
And feel
And acknowledge it as it is
And accept it as it is
And watch and feel some more
And just to make sure
Find any thing
Any thing
And watch
And feel
And acknowledge it as it is
And accept it as it is
And watch and feel some more
That which comes goes
That which arises falls away
Passing through what is still
Now, the one who watches —
Who is that?
And, the stillness —
Who is that?
That which comes goes
That which arises falls away
Passing through who is still
So hum
Peace ```
Raising Usthey say we raise our childrenbut i say we raise each otherand that many timeslike todayit feels to me like our children are raising usto higher levels greater gooddeeper lovewiser actionsome backstory yesterday eveningwe were eating ice cream on the stoop anda text comes in and she says yesto her first job and promptly has to figure outhow much do i charge?as much as i can get?as much as they are able?a fair price according to such and such?i say,what’s the going rate?just charge thatdon’t undersell yourselfshe says,nothat doesn’t feel right there has to be more to this and so she talks with her momand she listens to her gutand they work with numbersand they work with feelingsand they work with valuesand they work with othersand they work with layeruponlayeruntil i heari’ve decided!i’m going to charge less than i couldbecause i want tobecause i know thembecause they’re like familybecause it feels right to mebecause i would do it for freeand i realize that she’s raising meraising usand reminding me this morningthat i’ve spent my own lifeloving living so much thatthere hasn’t been a time or a jobwhere i didn’t feel that i would be happy doing it for freethat something happens that we cannot seewhen we give more than we receivelike an extended exhalethe whole bodyrelaxes and stops fightingand starts trustingand starts receiving moreof just what it needs yesthere must be balancebut the values of this equation are much easier to reconcilewhen the body and mind are giving more than receivingjust ask the man trying to let go of a lifetime oftaking, taking, taking trying to let go of a near-constant, striving, reaching, grasping, holdingtrying to stop inhaling trying to stop just inhalingtrying to stop only inhaling trying to learn to let gotrying to muster up the trust toe x h a l e his way in tothat which cannot be taken
Clutterwhere I grew upskies are bigthe foreground is smallthe horizons are vastand the only times away from home that ever felt like this part ofhomewere the many timeslooking west into the oceanwhile leaning against the end rails of Pacific piersand thanking God that there was nothingto see but seeingevery once in awhileeven where i now livei leave the valley and find my waysouth and west enough that i can seethe seeing and be with out clutteri suppose this is what writing poems is to me
Just Let Gopre-dawnstars grow dimmerdarkness fades nowdeep blue fadesintothe soft glow comingcoming comingpeeks outfirst between the nook of Aldape Summit - little summit - between two other summitsdiminuitiveyet chosen todayto be the placewhere rising sun casts light into valleyonto valleyin a widening Vsouth sides of the mountains left behind in shadows for nowmeadowlarks and starlings sparrows and unknown birdssingchirpcallsomeone is speaking to this heartjust let gohow many heartbeats have youeverhad to think about?how many breaths have youcontrolled?how hard did you workand planand fretto make me rise today?look!here i amrisingbreathingbeatingcallingchirpingsingingwhat is that thingyou are holding?what is that thingyou are carrying?what is that grasping and clasping of the hands?what is that closing and protecting of the heart?what is that fretting and ruminating of the mind?perhaps i shall let you beat your heart?perhaps i shall let you breathe your breath?perhaps i shall letyougive the birds their song?perhaps i shall let you rise as a glowing orbupon the world overand over and over?perhaps i shall remind youto letgo?let golet golet golet godid you not hear the song?did you not see the darkness giving waysurrenderingacceptingreleasing?imagine a day when and whereyou don’t have to beat your heartandbreathe your breathand give the birds their songand rise upon this worldwaitthat day is todayi rise to find this computer to typewhat i have heardsuch profundity!!and as i make my way downstairsto get itand then back upwith iti feel as if the perfect wordsare already disappearing as quickly as the shadows on the south side of the mountains that are almost not shadows nowi sit downand open this contraptionand it is a blank screenstaring at medamn battery!come on!and i am trying to hold onto the wordsbecause they were so goodbut here i am waiting and they are flowing by likeripples on the riverdamn!i grow hot and try to hold onuntil i see my reflection in the blank screenand it is laughing at mebecause this is it!the song!right here in this moment of holding onreminding meof letting goand i laughwe laughand i can no longer see the blank screenbecause my eyes are closedand my face is raised to the eastand i am letting goand i am letting goand feeling with this glowseeing with this glowbeing with this glow
Outside In from outside inand across the waylight findsa place ihadn’t seennow seeing from inside outthe same lightcasts shadowsonto spaces and placesthat go unnoticedon a usual morning walk through this roomonly noticed this morningas the light drew my eyes into focus afforded only by the darknesssurrounding iti hear,“what would it be if all were the same?”how exquisite the subject of light that borrows its place from the darkness surrounding itand how this moment often brings praise to one subject withouta hint of appreciation for the backdrop that gave itrise into vision earlierbefore the light shoneoutside inthe blanket the chairthe whole scene was less than noteworthy and most unnoticeable what is catching my eyefrom the outside in?what is this space and stillnessfrom which all subjects ariseinto this moment? a blanketon a chairbathed in morning lightfilling me with wonder from the outside in
Countingyour branches were bare just two days agoi suppose there were signs of lifeand i knew it was about that timebut i couldn’t see just how closeyou were to shading my walk and hiding places of chirping and squirreling aroundperhaps it’s strange thati took the time to count the numberof monthsthat you will live in seeming fulnessbefore you drop thesegreens that delight my heartsix, maybe sevenand considered the number of days until the days grow shorter againi wonder at how the sight of new lifeand the warmth of the late-evening sun on longer dayscan inspire childlike delightand a sense of longing and lossin the distance of just one breathor even half of the breaththe ever-present remindergiving and receiving taking and letting goin-ing and out-ingfilling and releasingjust two days agoyour branches were bare
Wow. Wow. Wow.Wow.I’m excited about this one. But, first, some backstory.My recovery from the brain injuries has been, among other things, a journey of restoring a healthy relationship with my nervous system which for many years was highly dysregulated and on constant alert for danger. The healing process for the brain injuries had much in common and took place, at times, alongside the remnants of PTSD recovery.Just a few years ago, just about everything in this world felt pretty dangerous outside of my slowly expanding bubble of security. I constantly pushed the boundaries of that bubble, but all it would take was a trigger of some kind to ping my nervous system and my body would be in full-fledged panic mode. As if a hurricane was making landfall and all hell was breaking loose.It’s a tough way to live.And I’m so fortunate and blessed to have had so many incredible guides, teachers, friends, and family members to teach me techniques and strategies, to embrace me physically and wholeheartedly, and to carry me in their hearts.Today, I have very few triggers left — at least, ones that can really take me offline and into the reptile brain where there are few options and they all seem like life or death.Tonight, as we were planning a family summer trip to DC and NY, I found a couple of the triggers that I haven’t had to face for awhile. I’m using airline award points from my pre-TBI traveling days i to fly us to DC and then NY and back for free. I used to fly a lot and tonight it was strangely emotional to think about the hundreds of hours and hundreds of thousands of miles that those airline points represented.We haven’t been back to DC or NY since the injuries. These were places I used to know quite well. We lived right in the heart of DC for several years and the headquarters of the company I worked with for over a decade were right next to the Lincoln Center in Manhattan. A lot of memories and associated emotions began to wash over me as I searched for flights, looked at housing options, zoomed in on maps, and sort of lost track of where I even was as I sat on our sofa.In addition, there are still times where interacting with a computer screen in certain ways can also set off reactions in the nervous system and it was beginning to feel pretty unsafe and dangerous in my body. A feeling I haven’t felt that strongly for perhaps a year.I began to panic and wonder if I could keep it together enough when I got to DC, and especially NY. Would I remember this? That? What if…? What if…? A jumble of scenarios rushed at me in which I wouldn’t be prepared and would then panic and not have a safe place to go to and retreat to. The hurricane was making landfall.My whole body began to get really uncomfortable and irritable and I just wanted to get away from it all, cancel the trip, and live a very simple life here in our little bubble where things are predictable and where I have enough resources to feel okay.As I sat staring at the computer screen and feeling the body really firing up as though I were under a clear and present danger, I heard a mantra that I have often used:“I don’t need my body involved here.”In years past, I would say this very, very slowly and enunciate different parts of the mantra, saying it over and over again.Tonight, even more than hearing it, I just noticed the essence and cadence and pace of the words.I felt my body become very still.I felt my breath really come in smoothly and deeply, sort of grounding me right into the sofa.And then I felt my chest and abdomen relax as the breath released.My eyes grew soft in their gaze, my typing slowed, I let my attention feel the whole body as a wave of sensation, I released an audible and gentle sigh, I took in my surroundings, I touched my lips softly, I took a very slow sip of water, and I just stuck with the whole scene, watching it, welcoming it, accepting it, and releasing any thoughts and sensations and beliefs and feelings that I didn’t need at the time. I don’t need my body involved here.There is no clear and present danger. My body can relax. My mind can relax.Observe the emotion, the feeling, or the belief. Feel the emotion, the feeling, or the belief. Acknowledge the emotion, the feeling, or the belief as it is.Accept the emotion, the feeling, or the belief as it is.I don’t need my body involved here. And, as I have noticed in my experiments with feelings, once I gave it my attention (an attention that is always rooted in the present), the intensity of the feeling passed within 30 seconds or so.And I was back to figuring out flight times, connections, transfers, etc. in a very peaceful and open and responsive way.Once we found just the right itinerary, I finished up all of the data entry and pushed “Submit.”Ahhhh…satisfaction!But satisfaction only for about 15 seconds until I realized that I had somehow chosen the wrong DC airport for our arrival.So, that’s why I didn’t see that option before!Instead of even feeling the panic, my body was at relative ease and Emily and I worked together to figure out how to do the cancellation and resume the booking.It is hard to describe how different I feel in this body today than I did even a year and a half ago. It is nigh unto a miracle. And it has also been a hell of a lot of work. A miraculous work.A working miracle.
A miraculous working.I do hope that this journey can give hope to others who feel as if their body is not a safe place to reside. It may not feel that way now, but it can be safer. And some day, it can be safe.I am safe with myself.For many years, I said these words and held onto the assurance that they were somehow true even when I didn’t feel it.But today, I not only know that I am safe with myself, I feel it.More and more and more.I’ll let Mary Oliver’s words brings some sense of closure here:“Hurricane”It didn’t behavelike anything you hadever imagined. The windtore at the trees, the rainfell for days slant and hard.The back of the handto everything. I watchedthe trees bow and their leaves falland crawl back into the earth.As though, that was that.This was one hurricaneI lived through, the other onewas of a different sort, and lasted longer. ThenI felt my own leaves giving up andfalling. The back of the hand toeverything. But listen now to what happenedto the actual trees;toward the end of that summer they pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.It was the wrong season, yes,but they couldn’t stop. They looked like telephone poles and didn’tcare. And after the leaves cameblossoms. For some thingsthere are no wrong seasons.Which is what I dream of for me.Peace
There were quite a few years of my life after the concussions that I didn’t show up much for life. At least, I didn’t show up for the parts of life that I had always shown up for. It was perhaps the hardest part of the “old” life to let go of. In many ways, it felt like I was disappearing.Once I began to stabilize and regain a less dysfunctional brain, there was a lot of disappointment around not being able to show up consistently. That was its own agony and eventually I think we wished that we could just avoid planning or committing to anything because we didn’t know what kind of day I would be having. Saying, “I’m sorry, but we won’t be coming after all” gets old pretty quickly.“Showing up” was something I became uncertain of being able to do and more and more afraid of because of a growing list of experiences where I couldn’t and didn’t.Trying to push through and show up often led to lengthy regressions and longer recovery times.It was a rough cycle.Much learned. But rough.As I have come back online with vocational life over the past 3 or so years, “just show up” has been one of my mantras.I don’t have to show off to show up. I just need to show up. If at all possible, I show up with what I have to give. I can’t remember if it’s 100% of what I used to be able to give because there are significant swaths of life that I just don’t remember.And who is it who is figuring out and deciding the outgoing percentages, anyway? Who decides what 100% looks like?It’s obviously an inside job, but even then there are quite a few voices that would like to weigh in on the matter.So, I just don’t listen to any of them when they start doing math with my mantra. I just show up.As I am.As I can.I didn’t disappear.I’m not disappearing. I’m here. Showing up.Always showing up.To this moment. And now this one. Appearing here.And here.Like water.Like water flowing.Like water.Like water flowing.Showing up.Just always showing up.Peace
Excerpt: "When I noticed myself trying to peek into the future to see if I could find a time when I could relax, I realized that I was giving myself over to an old way of being with life.A way that sort of waits to live, waits to enjoy, waits to relax, waits to be satisfied, waits to feel like everything is okay.A way that is constantly setting the table for a meal that we never actually sit down to eat. We just keep setting the table.So, when I caught myself in this reactive cycle of waiting to be present until a set of pre-described and self-determined circumstances are met, I was most of the way back Here."
Excerpt: "I spent a lot of time over the last few weeks dreaming about different approaches and ideas and finally, earlier today, I decided to use the last bits of our old fence, a bit of bailing wire, and a 10’ 2x4 to create an accordion-like “wall” above the fence that can be raised and lowered as preferred. I’ve never seen anything like what I built. I just figured out what I could make with the materials I had on hand. For me, this is so much more fun than going out and buying all sorts of supplies. In fact, I think I just like re-using things because it simplifies what I can do. I don’t have to think about nearly as many options because most of them are not going to work with what I have to work with."
Excerpt: "As a general rule, humans put their trust in two areas in which they are all utter failures.The first: We think we know what we should actually worry about. The second: We think that the way we see things is actually the way that things are."
Excerpt: "The body relaxed more, the sensations of relaxation moved through the body. And then, when ready, I inhaled.I did 4 sets of these. On the third set, I held my breath for 4 minutes and 4 seconds. My longest ever hold. By the end of the fourth, I could breathe freely through both nostrils and I felt alive and vibrant. I recorded another video of my breathing. The difference in the before and after videos is quite amazing."
Excerpt: "The breath brings us home. Yeah. It’s a fad. It’s white noise. It’s easy to dismiss and look for the next thing. And it’s your most powerful tool for transforming your life and one you have direct contact with and control over if you want it.Don’t think about it. Try it."
Excerpt: "The hardest part of this practice for me is when I feel like I am making others’ lives harder (particularly my wife) by asking for help. It has take a long time to be okay with other people helping even when they have to sacrifice something to do so. I am really willing to do this on my end, but I don’t like “putting people out.” In fact, the feeling of seeing someone struggle to do the thing I was supposed to be doing has been enough to push my buttons of reactivity and then I re-engage to try to keep them from being uncomfortable. Well, that’s a rough cycle to be part of and I am learning that sometimes our lives do inconvenience others and sometimes our conditions in life do make life harder for those we love. To fight it is to really increase our own suffering and the suffering of those trying to help.What I can do is honor the body and mind and to express gratitude for the sacrifices being made."
Excerpt: "And as I looked at them, I noticed that a breeze was blowing them back and forth and I felt its cool kiss against my skin, and then I noticed that beyond the tree leaves was a blue sky with white fluffy clouds just hovering overhead, and then I felt the warmth of the sun on my face, and then I felt a great and deep breath fill my lungs, and then I felt like I was just completely absorbed in the moment and that there was really no place and time I could be or rather be other than the one right there and then, walking alongside my son and our dog."
Excerpt: "But one of my intentions these days is “I am safe with myself.”This means, among other things, that I step out of reactive cycles and accept and feel what is in my body, embracing what is present rather than exiting the moment to try to get somewhere or get away from somewhere."
Excerpt: "What pure joy to know this world with another in the heart of another as though there is no other."
Excerpt: "Of all the moments thus far today, it is the one that is the steeping tea leaves in the water of my conscious awareness. It is present even now. A wonderful mystery too marvelous to be understood as Mary Oliver says in her poem, “Mysteries, Yes.”
Excerpt: "The content at ground zero doesn’t really even matter that much, the backstories are quite insignificant, but we are all lying down in our beds tonight with the sense that we can show up to life together, that we can get through hard things, that we can extend grace and truth and forgiveness at the same time, that we can laugh while crying and cry while laughing, that we can feel all the heat of the moment and let it burn through our hearts and pass through, that we can acknowledge our mistakes and reconcile, that we can be better than we were yesterday, that we are safe with ourselves and each other, that we are loved and loving, that we are gentle and we are warriors, that we care enough to tell the truth as we see it, and that we are tender and wise and humble enough to receive the truth when we hear it."
Excerpt: "What if they don’t seek permanency where it can’t be found and instead live out of the joy that is often described as simply the joy of being? The joy that people often do not find until late in life when they realize they’re never going to “get there” or after an illness or great loss. The joy that they then realize was “here” all along and had nothing to do with their circumstances.Much suffering and violence would simply end."
Excerpt: "This is the power of “perhaps.” “Perhaps” allows and invites investigation, exploration, curiosity, inquisitiveness. It engages the inner eye. It opens the doors and windows to receive input, to do it in one’s own time, to withhold the need for an answer, to bypass judgment, to leave behind labels for awhile, to simply be with life in an intentional way, open to mystery, open to discovery, open to listen and receive.
Excerpt: "hat I often mistook as passivity, I now am beginning to see was a deeper wisdom that comes out of a heart and mind that do not rush to judgment, that recognize the effects of place/time/history on perspective, and take into account the limitations of any perspective at any given time."
Excerpt: "60 has come and gone. If you remember, the 30-day writing challenge morphed into a a 60-day writing challenge and I have no intention of stopping anytime soon so, let’s make it ninety. I am compelled by a force greater than I, so I’m gonna just let go and see where it takes us."
Excerpt: "Rather than a solo act, we were a choir of energetic resonance, harmonizing with one another in a language that is hidden deep within the soul, beyond words. Soul speaking to soul.Deep speaking unto deep.Life inviting us to abide in and as love."
Excerpt: "My goals for the presentation were pretty simple: * to help people feel seen, heard, and known; * to introduce them to resources to help strengthen their minds, bodies, spirits; * to experientially share a couple of techniques and practices that could help connect them to a sense of well-being and alleviate some suffering;* and to close our time by facilitating an experience of deep rest, relaxation, and restoration.As I got out of my vehicle and walked toward the building on the night of the presentation, I paused and thought back to what life was like when I used to come in and out of these doors."
Excerpt: "No shame. Not even guilt. Just a lesson to be learned.Listen for the intention.Commit to it. Bring it into conscious awareness over and over. Let the intention point the way home."
Excerpt: "And then, I saw a petal fall from one of the blossoms on the crabapple tree.And I was that petal. Falling gently toward the ground."
Excerpt: "But what I am noticing as I am becoming more and more present with my body in this moment — not the simulated moment — is that I am at ease, at peace. I really do have the right response to every situation.My loved one has the right response to every situation.Life is only unbearable when we demand it change. We can be with this situation in a wise and dignified and whole way.And our ability to be with this life situation has nothing to do with what is actually happening or what we would like to happen.We can be with life.We can continue to move forward with kindness and grace for ourselves and others. We can move forward with wisdom and truth, trusting our voice and using it to advocate for what we want and need.We can set boundaries and hold them fast, knowing we are safe and secure with ourselves.We can honor every feeling that we have, we can work with thoughts and beliefs, we can watch the rise and fall of sensations.We can meet this situation with grace, love, and truth."
Excerpt: "...The calling right now is to be still. And to be thankful. To remember to be thankful. I recall the day.A reminder arrives in my email inbox:“Hi Professor Jones!!! I just wanted to check up as well as update you on how much you have impacted me. Taking your class has been one of the most life-changing experiences I’ve ever had….”
Excerpt: ..."We go on the journey to find the treasure that is hidden within us, that has been ours all along.But this truth can only be realized as we commit to the journey - to a journey.Otherwise, it lies buried within us, under layers of complacency, self-doubt, lack of perspective, laziness, jealousy, fear, pride, and even ignorance.We write to realize we are writers.We run to realize we are runners.We act to realize we are actors.We lead to realize we are leaders.We create to realize that we are creators.We live to realize we are alive.We go on a journey to find out who we already are.But we must go on the journey.And as we do, we see and experience the universe conspiring to bring us into contact with what matters most.As is the way of things...."
Excerpt: ..."I remember the terrible weight that overwhelmed me one night when I realized that my parents couldn’t help me. My sleeplessness had been going on for many, many nights and they had to sleep. It wasn’t going to work if none of us slept. So, my mom closed their bedroom door and I was left standing in the hall outside my bedroom.Nobody could help me. No one could be with me through every night of not sleeping. Interestingly enough, it was that same moment of feeling overwhelmed in the hall of our farmhouse, feeling on my own, that I also noticed something that, looking back, felt like strength. I had to figure this out. There was no other way and no one could do it for me.This was my part of the journey to figure out...."
Excerpt: "...Mindful living saved my life at the end of the year in 2015 when I worked with an Occupational Therapist at our local concussion clinic and she introduced me to the world of iRest, or Integrative Restoration - a school of Yoga Nidra and mindfulness meditation developed by Dr. Richard Miller. I found unexpected hope in that first session when I experientially realized that I wasn’t in an inescapable bubble of unending pain but rather that there were sensations of pain happening in specific parts of my body. I experienced the reality that I could be with the ebbs and flows of life from a place of equanimity and wholeness. On that day, I got a small taste of that wholeness and that unchanging peace.It was the first hope I had experienced and it came at a time when I was at the end of my rope.I immediately jumped into the practices as though my life depended on them — because it did — and after months of practicing, I was encouraged by my occupational therapist to go to a Level One 5-day intensive training that would serve as much as a therapeutic intervention as anything else. She said, “You actually do your homework. That’s unusual.”I said, “I’ll die if I don’t.”She said, “Well, then go get trained by Richard (the founder of iRest) before he dies.”So, I did....."
Excerpt: "...Spring flowers. Fall leaves. Summer green. Winter white. Sunrise. Sunset. Full moon. New moon. Waxing Moon. Waning Moon. Morning. Evening. Day. Night. Noon. Midnight. Inhaling. Exhaling. Every “thing” that comes, goes.But who is it that things come and go “in” and “through” and “to” and “by”?Who is it noticing the comings and goings? Who is the subject noticing the objects?What is that “Who” like?Where is that “Who”?Who is that “Who”?When is that “Who”?"
Excerpt: "The last glimpse I had of them before I drifted into dream land was of them gleefully and joyfully and effortlessly and playfully pulling on the tissues and tendons and ligaments in my head and neck and back as if they were made of taffy. I chuckled good-naturedly at the sheer ridiculousness of the scene.When I awoke in the middle of the night, I realized that my neck had no pain whatsoever and almost complete mobility. This morning, more of the same. For two days, walking has been one piercing stab after another.Today, I not only hiked the trails, I climbed the steepest section and ran up another."
Excerpt: "Of all the lessons of the TBI recovery, none have been so important to me as the reality that life doesn’t have to change in order for me to live fully. I can be with life as it is as I am.Two of the maxims that experientially moved me from resisting life and wanting to just die during the it-looks-like-you’re-not-going-to-get-better years of my post-TBI recovery read as follows:“Life is only unbearable when I demand it change.”and“That which we welcome cannot bind us.”This morning, today, right now, here is the lesson again, deepening and validating and reminding me of its message in my life.I share these words that arose this morning not as my own.They are meant for more than me. I have no idea what you might be going through. Perhaps you are experiencing a season of life that feels like more than you can bear. If so, I hope you can find the right support and comfort and care, whatever that means. There is so much good medicine in our world. There are some things we can just let go of and there are others that are ours to carry for awhile. What we always have a choice in is how we are present with what we are carrying. We can be unwelcoming resistance and we can be welcoming presence. Sometimes, we are both.Sometimes, we are the welcoming presence of our unwelcoming resistance. But, we can always be welcoming presence. In fact, my experience has been that who we truly are is unchanging, loving, welcoming presence in which the ever-changing flow of life arises.Sometimes, I welcome life from that state of being.And, sometimes, like this morning, I have to choose to welcome life and, in doing so, am reminded and reassured that this is my true state of being.Perhaps better said, life chose me this morning and I simply said, “Yes.”I will carry you with gladness. I will carry you. Yes. I will.I am carrying you with gladness. I am carrying you. Yes. I am.Yes. I am."
Excerpt: "What I am finding quite fascinating is that my life has already begun the shift to the kind of practice that Godin describes, particularly my attitude toward results and feedback. As I’ve mentioned before, “positive” feedback is nice, but I don’t actually care all that much right now. I am doing the work that I am doing for its own sake, for my own sake, and out of a deep sense of trust that I have cultivated with my self and others around me.Applause? Great. Crickets? Great. Nothing guaranteed? Great. Still, I must create. I am an artist.It feels strange to write those words and say them aloud and perhaps it is Godin and Sylvain who have bolstered my confidence in the matter.Godin says, “If we care enough, we keep looking for that feeling, that impact, that ability to make a difference. And then we look harder…That search has created our culture and the world we live in. More and more people, engaging and contributing, weaving together something worth building. Let’s call it ‘art.’ The human act of doing something that will make a difference. The emotional action of doing personal, self-directed work to make a change that we can be proud of…Your part matters. Your art matters” (p. 9)We’re not on the outside of “art” looking in, we are on the inside creating out.
Excerpt: "...A wave of shame and guilt pummeled me and I found myself struggling to find air.These are old stories for me and old ways of doing things. A decade ago, I would have gotten caught in a shame cycle and made things worse and worse.But that is not who I am anymore....
Excerpt: I found these entries scattered around a symptom journal that accompanied me to doctor’s visits, visits that were becoming increasingly discouraging as “We don’t know what to do, so let’s try…” became the constant refrain. I fairly despised having to keep the symptom journal because it felt like I was looking for things that were not going right, putting so much energy into trying to prove myself and explain myself.Invisible injuries like TBIs are especially challenging to navigate. I do know that I wrote much about the challenge of looking fine on the outside and feeling that I must have been making it up because no one else could see that anything was wrong from the outside. Yes. That was its own particular agony: trying and having to prove to others something that I didn’t want to be “true” in the first place. When we have a broken arm, it’s easy for others to see that we are injured and there is a standardized, accepted course of treatment. There are specific things that the patient can do to actively recuperate. I am a star when it comes to recovering from those kinds of injuries and have even been referred to as a “Super-Healer” by several doctors.But the brain injury recovery did not work that way.It was invisible. And there wasn’t a standardized course of treatment. And I was not a “Super-Healer.” In fact, my determination to recover often led me to being overactive in my “work to recover” and kept me from the deep rest I needed.
Excerpt: "While not the exact opposite, my original plan for this essay was to write about the Dark Night of the Soul. I had already selected a wonderful Michael Meade quote from his most recent episode of Living Myth. But while I was sitting in my chair next to the bookshelf, Gibran’s little book of aphorism, poems, and fables caught my eye. I turned a couple of pages and saw a line that fit in so well with my intended theme. It said, “One may not reach the dawn save by the path of the night” (p. 8). What an amazing connection!But when I began to write, it was as if Kahlil wanted to say something, something timeless. He said, “Give me an ear and I will give you a voice” (p. 12).So I did, and he quickly reminded me that “The voice of life within me cannot reach the ear of life in you; but let us talk that we may not feel lonely” (15).In the reminder, I felt his presence since “Remembrance is a form of meeting” (p.6). And how incredibly profound, because on my city walk with Iris tonight what I felt more than anything was the sense of being lonely."
Excerpt: "s I watched the couple walk ahead of me, they slowed to join a party of similarly aged and dressed folks. A group of beautiful people who, by all appearances, have plenty of whatever they want and need. The kind of look that says that you made it in life and are now going to enjoy what’s left of it. For whatever reason, a sad story arose into my awareness. Several years ago, I was volunteering at a memory care facility, playing music for the small group who lived there, getting to know them and their families, and experiencing a lot of healing and meaning of my own.I met a gentleman there whose wife was one of the residents. She was quite young, as was he. One day, he explained that they had looked forward to their retirement years all of their lives. In the first year, his wife received her diagnosis and before the end of that year she needed advanced care.They were younger than the couple I met at the crosswalk. As I felt the sadness of this story, all of a sudden, tonight, walking along the street, rather than seeing any of the clothes or identities that anyone was wearing, I began to see them without any of those layers, real or perceived. I noticed my heart soften and open.Not only did their layers shed before me, but my own shed. Several people approached me, frumpy-dog-walker-look and all, just to say “Hi!” One gentleman, who was so in love with his partner that you could feel it a block away, stopped me and introduced himself, “Hi! What’s your name, sir? My name is Dan. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
Excerpt: What required the most will power, the most strength, the most wisdom this morning was choosing to listen to the wisdom of the body and to take a day to rest. So, I did.Gentle warrior wisdom.Deciding what to do was less of choosing this/that like an on-off switch and much more like I had my hand on a dimmer knob and was experimenting with it, turning it this way and that, noticing what the mix of sensations, thoughts, and beliefs felt like until I found just the right spot for the moment. That felt good.I am becoming more like a dimmer knob than an on-off switch. That feels quite profound — the feeling of being with life as it is, welcoming the unwelcome, listening, responding, waiting, and then acting in honor of the wisdom I have received.Being with life and adjusting to its flow.
Excerpt: Earlier today, I went upstairs after what felt like a half day of spinning my wheels on tasks that I either couldn’t complete, didn’t complete, or forgot that I was even trying to complete. Walking by my wife, I said, “I feel intensely unproductive.” She said, “Do you need to rest?” I said, “Of course, not. I have too many things to do.” And then I went back downstairs to spin my wheels some more.Because, at least if I’m spinning my wheels I feel like I’m doing something. I realize that is a laughable statement, but likely also relatable. I also realize, as I briefly pause my day to write this short essay (because I wanted to at least check something off of my to-do list), that I have had one moment after another today that I actually have treasured, noticed, seen, heard, and embraced. Many of those moments are connected to my interactions today with fellow human beings who I don’t require to be intensely productive to be my friends. In fact, I really enjoy my friends who are not caught up in being intensely productive and who actually enjoy the intense unproductiveness of days and even seasons as a way of balancing themselves in a world that gives us plenty of chances to spin the wheels of our lives like madmen, not go anywhere at all, and miss all the meaning that was waiting for us right here all along. Perhaps, I am just worn out and tired of being productive, but I think that my heart is trying to get my attention and is simply unwilling to be settled until I listen.
“Do your best and let go of the outcome.” This was the advice of my fellow teacher and good friend, Jeff Goldman, as we were navigating what seemed like the impossible demands of our school in Washington, D.C. Jeff was older and wiser and lived a much more balanced life than I did at that time. I was finding myself burning out because I couldn’t do everything I was being asked at 100%. No one could. At the time, I think there was at least a part of me that heard Jeff’s advice and felt like he didn’t care as much as I did. Oh boy. That’s embarrassing to admit, but it is pretty accurate. My unwritten rule was “Do your best and control the outcome. If the outcome isn’t what you wanted it to be, you didn’t try your best.”Yeah. That’s pretty close to the way I lived.The folly of that way of thinking is clearly visible at this stage of my life. I’m twice as old now and I have had to come to terms with the limits of what I do control. In fact, I control almost nothing.I love how Michael Singer describes the job we assume when we try to make life go our way:“Just stop for a moment and see what you have given your mind to do. You said to your mind, ‘I want everyone to like me. I don’t anyone to speak badly of me. I want everything I say and do to be acceptable and pleasing to everyone. I don’t want anyone to hurt me. I don’t want anything to happen that I don’t like. And I want everything to happen that I do like.’ Then you said, ‘Now, mind, figure out how to make every one of these things a reality, even if you have to think about it day and night.’ And of course your mind said, ‘I’m on the job. I will work on it constantly’…
“Ultimately, what stands against the storms of extremism, the spread of untruths, and the threat of nihilism, is the awakened individual. Unless we find the inner truths of our own lives, and the underlying sense of unity that is secretly present in each soul, we inadvertently add to the growing darkness, divisions, and confusion that already threaten the world. The uniqueness of each individual life is the treasure hard to find. It’s the secret of the elixir in the individual. It’s the eternal thread that secretly weaves through all living things.The awakening, the healing, and the blossoming of our own souls becomes the way we can best contribute to the healing and the renewal that is secretly trying to happen even, and especially, when the world around us and the ocean of existence is churning again.” (Michael Meade. Living Myth Podcast. Episode 373: Lies that Poison, Truths that Heal).
Excerpt: Commitment and consistency have been keys to countering this natural negativity bias, gaining new perspectives, building resilience, moving out of reactivity, and developing the cognitive/emotional/somatic awareness to respond to life in ways that are more loving, wiser, and creative.For much of my life, I poo-pooed routine and consistency because they felt legalistic, formulaic, and too restrictive for my free spirit that loves to trust its intuition, act spontaneously, and not be fenced in. The irony has been that my commitment to daily routines (such as ice baths, sitting meditation, breath retention, exercise, and writing) has helped free my spirit even more, connect me to deeper intuition, and feel more open to acting with wisdom in the moment because of the connection to an unchanging core that I experience as a safe haven and secure base.
Excerpt: Editor’s Note: Our family plays a version of Uno that came to be called “White Chocolate Badger.” Here is the story behind the name, a story that was first told on an Idaho mountain summer morning to a young boy asking for a tall tale while waiting for the sun to rise.Once upon a time, there was a lonely albino badger. He lived in a badger community with a badger family, but never seemed to fit in like the rest of the badgers.
Excerpt: "I’ll begin with the disclaimer that this piece should probably begin where it is ending, but it doesn’t, so here we go. Let’s see what happens.Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “I’m simply interested in what is going to happen next. I don’t think I can control my life or my writing. Every other writer I know feels he is steering himself, and I don’t have that feeling. I don’t have that sort of control. I’m simply becoming. I’m startled that I became a writer.”Studying literacy and composition in my undergrad, Vonnegut was a writer with whom I often identified, not so much because of his writing, but because of his writing about writing.
Excerpt: “A strong community helps people develop a sense of self, for only in community can the self exercise and fulfill its nature: giving and taking, listening and speaking, being and doing. But when community unravels and we lose touch with one another, the self atrophies and we lose touch with ourselves as well. Lacking opportunities to be ourselves in a web of relationships, our sense of self disappears, leading to behaviors that further fragment our relationships and spread the epidemic of inner emptiness” (Palmer, 39) Parker Palmer penned these words in A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life in 2004. I happened upon the book as soon as it was published while studying developmental psychology in my Masters program. It was hugely influential in my life then and has continued to be a source of support and encouragement for two decades now. For 20 years, I have been slowly and imperfectly moving toward the undivided life that Palmer refers to, sometimes more intentionally and consciously aware than others.
I also noticed that my mind allowed itself to unlock from the targets. I didn’t try to figure out why I was thinking the way I was or solve any problems or write any new stories.As soon as I felt into the sensations, they morphed, and the attached thoughts morphed with them. I noticed a whole world of possibilities within my cognition and belief systems that literally had not existed in my awareness 5 minutes before. The creative unconscious at work.Wow.Jack Kornfield says, “If you become aware of your feelings, they don’t last very long. We feel like we’re angry for a day, or sad for a week, or happy for a month, or grieving for a while — as if those feelings lasted that long. But if you look closely and you let yourself feel what is here and pay attention — feelings rarely last more than thirty seconds, maybe a minute, and then turn into something else. Guaranteed. If you have some feeling that feels like it’s lasted much longer than that, you haven’t paid attention to it. This is how loving awareness frees us.”
Hanson says, “Virtue sounds lofty, but it’s actually down to earth. It simply means living from your innate goodness, guided by principle. When you are virtuous no matter what other people do, their behavior is not controlling you.He continues, “As a therapist, I’ve seen many couples in which each person says essentially the same thing, “I’ll treat you well after you treat me well.” They’re stuck in a standoff — which neither of them truly wants - because they’re each letting the other person determine their behavior.
February 13, 2016St. Gertrude’s Spirit CenterOn Retreat with Emily “Each scene is beautiful, no matter what.” Sister Jerri as she was looking out over the Camas Prairie on a cloudy morning in which the sunrise was hidden from view.
During perhaps the third cycle of 4-7-8 breathing, I could feel deeper and deeper into the brain, which was like dry ramen noodles closely bunched together. As soon as I noticed this felt image of “ramen-ness,” warm fluid began to flow into and around the dry noodles, loosening them, and softening them until they were saturated with liquid and flexible to all subtle movements.At this point, my consciousn awareness gave way to the deep unconscious awareness and, while I was very awake and alert in this state of consciousness, I was there as an observer rather than an active agent.
I was surprised by it. I know we are all getting older and I like how I am aging and how I am with this process. I am friends with death and have made my peace with it whenever and however it takes this body. But there was something that caught me off-guard tonight.
As we sat waiting for the overtime period to begin and I looked at the score tied at 49-49, I found myself thinking about how in less than 20 minutes one of these groups of teenagers would be filled with elation, excitement, joy, happiness, and all that comes from accomplishing a big goal.And the other group of teenagers would be on the opposite side of that emotional spectrum, filled with disappointment, anger, jealousy, sadness, regret, remorse, longing, and disbelief. And we, as sort of neutral spectators, were getting ready to witness these pairs of opposites played out in front of us, in our minds, in our hearts, and in this shared space. It is really quite an incredible scene and perhaps what draws us to it has quite little to do with just the game and quite a lot to do with the stakes of the game.
In addition to the feeling in the air, today marks the end of this month’s challenge of writing a daily essay and podcasting it. I’ve enjoyed it immensely. I have learned a lot. I am enjoying it. I am learning. I never stopped doing ice baths. Today was 60-something in a row. Maybe I’ll just keep writing and podcasting, too. We’ll see. I’ll see.What’s the next month-long challenge? I’m not sure, yet.
...a story that is unfolding in a brain that is whole and full and beloved and loved and lovely and healing and healed and ready to accept more and more this wave of life that caught it up and broke left when it was expected to break right, but broke Right when it broke left and somehow never really broke at all except to be emptied and filled up with the ocean of life and love that is always waiting to fill the vessel, Love that enjoys mixed metaphors, laughs extravagantly, despairs openly, lets the fires of existence burn hotly, and just lets go and sees how this goes and goes and goes until the timer goes off and this wave is gone, but not gone, just resting in the ocean, again, like always.
If we can create ulcers and myriad other diseases in our bodies from worrying and being in an anxious state of being, what can we “create” in our bodies from using the power of our imagination in positive ways and living out our lives from a place of equanimity, spacious awareness, welcoming presence, love, and joy?
Richard Miller, the founder of iRest Yoga Nidra, says, “Psychological, physical, and spiritual integration unfolds naturally when we cease trying to rid ourselves of our experience and instead open to the full spectrum of opposites.” (Yoga Nidra, p. 76. 2022).Working with opposites, I would invite both sensations into awareness at the same time and then I would be daydreaming about something until my mind would come on and say, “Hey! Isn’t this supposed to be excruciating?” To which the body would reply, “I’m not sure what you call it, but it is present. And, also present is such and such and such…Feel…Feel…Feel...”
ne night, one of my teachers and I sat on a bridge above a river. We watched thoughts coming and going. All through the night. As the thoughts came and drifted closer and became clearer, my teacher would say, "Well, are you going to go for a ride on this one? Or let it pass you by?”
Akin to the ideas of relax/release and noticing the opening/closing of the heart, the pause that refreshes is a staple of recovery and continual healing. It’s a simple concept, but not an easy practice.
Right now, I’m feeling and being while thinking and doing.They’re not really two sides of a see-saw. I don’t have to get off of one side and watch the other side plummet to the ground.They are kind of inseparable while we live in these bodies. I am feeling and being while I am thinking and doing.“Just as a desire leaps up,And you perceive the flash, the sparkle,Quit from its play,And maintain awarenessIn that clear and shining placeFrom which all desire springs.” (Radiance Sutras, p. 108)
I don’t have the ambition to be a famous or renowned player. I don’t have the symptoms I used to have that drove me toward it.What do I have?I was wondering this and as I just sat with the uncertainty, the one passion that was the beginning passion re-emerged: these are healing vessels to be used to facilitate the awakening and healing and comforting and transporting of self and others.A warm smile moved across my whole being as I felt the deep resonance with my heartfelt desire to be with others as they wake up to who they are, why they are here, and what they long to do with their lives while on this wondrous orb we call Earth. The handpan is just one of the tools.
“We’re not coming together to help one another. We’re coming together to be with ourselves and with each other as we are, knowing that when we are with ourselves and others as we are, we cannot help but change.”Truly, welcoming presence is at the heart of personal and interpersonal change. As students are learning what it is like to be welcoming presence, they are watching themselves gradually change their relationships with fear, trauma, anxiety, depression, self-sabotage, habits, compulsions, sleep issues, relational issues, and life in general.
It is, during this small sample size, the most life-giving practice I have ever done upon waking in the morning. Even the ice baths have not energized my system like this. In so many ways, I have experienced a deep sense of equanimity (i.e., literally “even” “mind”) during this practice that is exquisite in its sensations and lasting effect on my being throughout the day.Not to mention that my core temperature stays pretty much the same inside or out of the ice.As I mentioned, I’m on my 16th day of this practice, and it continues to light me up in the morning, as well as relieve headaches I have had upon awakening and any congestion in my sinuses.It’s not a magic bullet, but it is somehow just the right medicine for my body right now.
Reflecting back is different than processing in and through.I haven’t read those journals since I wrote them. But I know they are raw and real and that they hold moments and anecdotes and breakthroughs and breakdowns that others need to hear who are on a similar journey or are walking alongside someone in such a place.Soon, I will begin the project of bringing that journey to life and sharing a story that is universal in its message but also distinctly mine.
This composing music and writing and, well, living is all kind of a great science experiment to me these days. And that science experiment is much about rhythm. There is a certain music and rhythm playing in the background of this experiment and it is a combination of even and odd meters, fast and slow tempos, and filled with dynamic range.It is a flexible rhythm that seems to be what I need it to be when I need it to be.
It is monumental, my friends. The change. The recovery. The healing. The incredible amount of work that I have personally put in to get here. The choice to live a different life than the one my brain looked like it could live.I am here, being and doing. It is grace and it is effort. They go together.
In choosing to be with life as it is as we are, we begin to know ourselves more deeply, we begin to remember who we are and what we have, and we begin to see that what we need is here, now, waiting for us to mix it, to choose it, and to experience a joy and wholeness and peace and love that is beyond the changing phenomena of this world.
And the way back here is always through the senses in some way or another. These bodies are exquisite in their wisdom and in helping us return Home when we have gotten lost in the labyrinthian corridors of the mind.Since we cannot think and feel something at the same time, the quickest way to step back from the mind and release my hold on it is to just feel the senses.
"By far, the most courageous moments in my life, the ones that required the most strength, the ones that required the most will power were the moments when listening to wisdom meant tapping out."
Navigating the intersection of living in the present and preparing for the future, the author explores the challenge of maintaining a restful presence amidst struggles like chronic pain or terminal illness. Reflecting on ice bath meditations, a moment of clarity emerges: one can only tackle challenges one at a time. This realization brings a visceral sense of relief and allows the author to stay present, coping with worry and planning by embracing the here and now. This insight echoes Nkosi Johnson's ethos—doing what one can with what they have in the given moment.
During the Super Bowl, the writer practiced the self-awareness technique of "taking a step back" to observe their reactions and maintain an open heart amidst emotional investment in the game. Noticing physical cues of reactivity, the writer found the experience enriched by being consciously present rather than reactive, leading to deeper enjoyment with family. The practice highlighted the transience of such events and the benefits of mindful engagement.
Once mesmerized by the immediate triumphs of short sports events, the writer now values the long game, recognizing the significance of lifelong consistency and commitment. They have learned to appreciate the daily grind and making the most of the present, embracing the rewards of enduring the mundane. This perspective extends to their writing process, acknowledging the personal growth that comes from perseverance despite discomfort, as articulated by Oliver Burkeman. The realization that the most rewarding outcomes are a result of sustained effort reflects lessons from a farming upbringing, where success is a collective, long-term endeavor.
Reflecting on a phrase commonly said by his parents, the writer grasps its profound meaning after becoming a parent himself: the desire to absorb loved ones' pain. He recognizes painful experiences as necessary for growth, akin to the butterfly's struggle out of its cocoon. While yearning to shield his children from adolescent hardships, he acknowledges these challenges are essential for their development and independence, yet reassures them of his unconditional support.
A survivor of an early COVID-19 infection, the author recounts a harrowing night of repeated suffocation without medical care, leading to PTSD. Encountering fear as an object, they embarked on a transformative journey. Utilizing practices like Yoga Nidra and Wim Hof's breathing exercises, the author learned to manage fear, viewing it as a passing thing, shedding its remnants, and embracing a secure sense of self. Echoing Michael Meade's words, they acknowledge fear as a guide towards self-discovery and growth, learning to let go and welcome life's lessons.
Writing and publishing a public-facing exhibit and podcast is more of a challenge than getting in a tub of icebergs. A little known way to completely quiet the mind of all sensical and meaningful content is to decide that you must write some of that content every day and share it. Thoughts be gone. I’m now setting a writing timer for 15 minutes to up the ante here. I now have 14:22 left. I began the day by taking a photo of an almost-empty peanut butter jar, feeling it had something to do with what needed said. Well, I think
As I write today, my mind is quiet and still, like a placid lake on an early summer morning right before the sunrise. Very still. Very quiet. Smooth. Indistinct. Undisturbed. Gentle. Calm. At ease. There’s not much to say. It’s quiet in here today. Very quiet. Very still. Smooth. Indistinct. Spacious. Open. Like a pebble plopping, a thought drops. And is immersed and surrounded by spacious, quiet waters. Pebble plops. Thought drops. Now floating down until it rests on the lake floor. A few ripples begin their journey outward in all directions. But they are small, quiet, easy, ripples. And
On day 5 of a 30-day writing and podcasting challenge to foster growth, the author reflects on self-compassion developed over 8 years and recovery from brain injury. They describe a past filled with self-criticism and seeking external validation, now replaced with self-love and healthier relationship dynamics. Writing meets the challenge's criteria of resistance, daily effort, and action, aligning with their commitment to continual growth and self-acceptance.
Encountering a majestic spotted tiger while retrieving a basketball, the writer experienced an unshakeable inner peace, contrasting with years of sleep paralysis characterized by terrifying visions. Facing these fears led to an awareness of an unwavering loving presence within. This realization, likened to equanimity, outlasted the encounter and transformed the author's perspective on fear and existence.
The author reflects on accepting oneself and the world, highlighted by their yoga teacher’s poignant reminder that while each person is special, they are not separate from others. This lesson is threaded through their experiences, particularly during their daughter’s volleyball game, where competitive emotions stirred old rivalries and judgements. The story evolves into a metaphor of water and waves to illustrate individual uniqueness within the collective whole, emphasizing the importance of competition alongside kinship. This balance is crucial for meaning and connection.
Begun as a challenge to write and publish daily, the author reflects on the phenomenon of the internal narrator, originally triggered by audiobook exposure in their pre-teens. They describe how this narrative voice grew intrusive, recounting every life experience. The author highlights the importance of mindfulness and being selective about sensory input. Their morning ritual—including an ice bath and meditation—illustrates a newfound ability to manage the narrator, finding peace in the clarity and stillness that comes from being present and engaged with life directly, rather than through constant internal commentary.
The Ice Bath Meditations challenge ends, and the writer embarks on a new task to script and share a short musing daily, even as they navigate feelings of life being adrift. The day's theme revolves around accepting the rainy present instead of longing for spring, leading to contentment and an appreciation for the natural cycle of life.
Catching the morning light. Today was the first day post-Ice-Bath-Meditations. I didn’t really have a plan for this morning except to listen and watch. When I awoke, it was still in the 4 a.m. range. So, I sat in silence for a bit, put on my shorts and flip flops, walked outside, and then sat in the ice bath for awhile. Just feeling. Just experiencing. Just being so thankful for all that was passing through my awareness. Relax and release. Let it Be. Let it Go. Let it In. Step out of reactivity and step into life as it is,
Day 31: (Air: 40° / H2O: 45°) I step out of reactivity and I step into the ice bath, allowing myself to accept and feel what is in my body. I embrace what is present. I step out of reactivity and into life, here and now. I step into this moment. Here I am now I am here I am now I am here I am… Being with life as it is as I am.
Day 30: (Air: 35° / H2O: 45°) Attitude of Gratitude 😊😊 Being with life as it is as I am Eyes of a child Wonder and awe Releasing labels and judgment Seeing and feeling for the first time Welcoming and inviting opposites Pairing Loving Awareness with each moment
Day 29: (Air: 34° / H2O: 46°)Embracing vulnerabilityPracticing stepping into the clearingBeing welcoming, loving presence to all that arisesWorking with opposites/polaritiesCore human needs: to be seen, heard, connected, belongGentle WarriorStand in the clearing and do not defend myselfI am safe with myselfWelcoming all that arisesI am unchanging loving awarenessHere I am now I am here I am now I am here I am…
Day 28: (Air: 38° F / H2O: 35° F)Feel it“I didn’t quit. I’m just not smoking today.”Echoes. Connection.Hear. Speak. Remind. Forget. Hear. Speak….I can’t take tomorrow’s ice bath, today.Do I have what it takes to be with life as it is as I am, right now?I am safe with myself.I am here, now.Here, now is the only place/time I can ever Be.Sitting in the seat of conscious awareness.I am aware that I am aware.Life is. We are.Here we are now we are here we are now we are…
Day 27: (Air: 39° / H2O: 35°)Here I am now I am here I am now I am…Come to your sensesBeing welcoming, loving presenceBeing with life as it is as we arePracticing presenceLearning to trust ourselvesI am safe with myselfHafiz #mindfulness #coldtherapy #yoga #awakenengage #fullypresentfullyalive #icebath #yoganidra #nsdr #irest #irestyoganidra #amrityoganidra #loveyourbrain #integrativerestoration #resiliencytraining #tbisurvivor #concussionawareness #concussiontreatment #coldplunge #coldplungetherapy #brainhealth
In March of 2020, I was on my way to ending my life. As I drove toward the backcountry, despair gripped my whole being and I had decided to make it all just stop. In the midst of my desperation, I heard the words of one my teachers, Richard Miller: “I always have the right response to every situation.” It wasn’t just his words that appeared in that moment, it was his presence. I stopped the car, got out, and felt the crunch of gravel underneath my feet. I heard the gentle babbling brook. I felt the cool crispness of
Day 25: (Air: 36° F / H2O: 33° F)Intention guiding and supporting commitmentStay awake, alert, and openNoticing and being with the present experienceWorking with the past and future in the presentSitting in the seat of conscious awarenessBeing with life as it is as I amHands and feet are adjusting to the coldStay open. Just don’t close.I am aware that I am aware.
Day 24: (Air: 33° F / H2O: 33° F)GratitudeLoved and LovingWho am I? Where am I? When am I? What am I?Watching the mind, feeling the body.Who is watching? Who is feeling?I am unchanging loving awareness,in which the ever-changing flow of life arises.
Day 23: (Air: 36° F / H2O: 33° F)Step out of reactivity and into the moment.Accept and feel what is in the body.Embrace what is present.Breathing in, I calm myself; breathing out, I smile.Unconscious incompetence.Conscious incompetence.Conscious competence.Unconscious competence.
Day 22: (Air: 37° F Rain / H2O: 33° F)Lesson Learned 🥶😬Enacting the will / Visualize it / Do itIntention: Step out of reactivity andallow myself to accept and feel what is in the body.Acknowledge feelings. Feel them.Embrace what is present.Engaging with my curriculum.Wake up. Love. Live.
Day 21: (Air: 39° F / H2O: 32.6° F)Stay open. Just don’t stop it. Just don’t prevent it.That which we welcome cannot bind us.We have the right response to every situation.Giving/Receiving. Exhaling/Inhaling.The breath is our teacher and guide.Moving from thinking and doing to feeling and being.
Day 20: (Air: 31° F / H2O: 32.2°)Being with what isFeeling sensationHarnessing the power of the thinking mindSitting in the seat of conscious awareness4:7:8 BreathPhysiological BreathActivating the PNS (relax and release)
“Hang Loosed” is an original composition…in progress 😁😁. I think you’ll need 🎧🎧 to enhance the enjoyment. Played on a PanArt 2nd Gen Hang Kurd
Day 19: (Air: 29° F / H2O: 32.2° F)Step out of the “cascade” of negativityDo this thing and the next thing the right wayTapping into self-compassion and will powerBreathing in, I calm myself;Breathing out, I smile 😁Moving from thinking and doing toFeeling and Being.Bliss. Senses wide open.
Day 18 (Air: 22° F / H20: 32° F)Autogenics (Schultz and Luthe, 1969) It is in the present that we experiencereal peace, love, and wisdom (Hanson) Joy doesn’t hibernate (Blair) Learning how to be with life as it is as I am. I am safe with myself.
Day 17: (Air: 15° F / H2O: 32.2° F)Conscious AwarenessSitting in the Seat of Conscious AwarenessFeeling and Being / Thinking and DoingNoticing When in the SimulatorSeries of Scientific Inquiries and Experiments
Day 16 (Air: 2° F / H20: 32.2° F)Feels like: -6° F Wind Chill Working with Anticipation of UnknownFun Series of Experiments and InquiriesWelcome What ArisesDo ItWe Have the Right Response to Every SituationUsing the Practice to Be Aware in the PresentI Am Safe with MyselfSo Good. So Thankful. ☺️🤲🏽
Day 15: (Air: 5° F / H2O: 32.4° F)Welcoming and Feeling What ArisesDeeply Acknowledging What is PresentCompassion Leading to Wisdom and ActionAllowing Life to Live Through MeLoving Self and OthersTrue Self and Transformation
Day 14: (Air: 15° F / H2O: 32.2°)Finding and Following the BreathBeing “With” and Not Just Pushing “Through”Listening, Welcoming, Responding with WisdomBreathing in, I Calm Myself; Breathing Out, I SmileNoticing that Which is Constant
Day 13: (Air: 6° F / H2O: 32.4° F)Let it Be What it IsComing to the SensesMoving Away from JudgmentMoving Toward CuriosityBeing Welcoming Presence
Day 12: (Air: 29°F / H2O: 33°F)Spotlight of AttentionWhere Attention Goes, Energy FlowsConscious Awareness Guiding PracticingVisualizing as a Support for Doing / Resiliency Training for LifeWelcoming and Feeling and BeingChoosing to Get In /Choosing to Stay Conscious
Day 11: (Air: 23°F / H2O: 34°)Using Visualization to Strengthen ResolveWhat is passing? What is constant?What remains the same?Let it Be. Let it Go. Let it In.Present-Centered PracticeSeeing the Healing Effects of Cold Water on Neuropathy
Day 10: (Air: 28°F / H2O: 34°F)Choosing to Do It / Developing ResilienceLet it Be. Let it Go. Let it In.New Relationships with Old PhenomenaStay Joyfully CuriousI shift out of reactivity and allow myself to accept and feel what is in my body.I embrace what is present.
Day 9 (Air: 33°F / H2O: 34°F) Being Welcoming Loving PresenceLet it Be, Let it Go, Let it In (Rick Hanson)Inhale / Pause / Exhale / Pause / InhaleDeep Acknowledgment and Acceptance of What IsMoving from Reaction to Responsive Wise Action
Day 8: (Air: 19°F / H2O: Ice 🧊😂)SmileBreathing in, I calm myself; breathing out, I smile.It is well with my soul.I am unchanging loving awareness in which the ever-changing flow of life arises.May we be the love we seek to find in our world.
Day 7 (Air: 23°F / H2O: 32°)Welcoming OppositesI shift/step out of reactivity and allow myself to accept and feel what is in my body.I embrace what is present.I am unchanging loving awareness in which the ever-changing flow of life arises.I am at peace with myself as I am, and the world as it is.
Day 6 (H2O – 35°F)Resistance/Daily/Do ItHere I am. Now, I am here.That which we welcome cannot bind us.I always have the right response to every situation.I am unchanging, loving awareness in which the ever-changing flow of life arises.
Moving from Judging and Labeling to Feeling and BeingComing to My SensesSitting in the Seat of Centered AwarenessUsing the Thinking Mind to Direct Attention and EnergyPhysical Changes Connected to Ice Bath
Day 4: Breathing in, I calm myself; breathing out, I smile. I shift out of reactivity and allow myself to accept and feel what is in my body; I embrace what is present. Disidentify from changing phenomena. Rest in centered, calm awareness.
Day 3 Themes: That which we welcome cannot bind us. Welcoming presence. Using neutral positioning to calm the nervous system. Enacting the will. Developing resiliency. Fostering curiosity.
Day 2: Today was a really emotional soak for me. Connecting to the lessons learned coming through almost 8 years of post-concussion syndrome. Feeling so thankful for my teachers and family and these practices. Themes: Relax and release.That which we welcome cannot bind us.Life is only unbearable when we demand it change.We have the right response to every situation.Notice the second arrow of suffering.
Experimenting with ice cold soaking. Watching how the body reacts and learning how to stay conscious and neutral while experiencing passing discomfort. I’m discovering that there is a stage that feels similar to the burn of lactic acid when cycling/running/exercising. If you stop too early, you miss the stage after the burn when you get to a new level of growth and development. Post-ice bath, I am doing yoga, horse stance, and other exercises to warm the body. Still feeling the chill.
"Land of Magic" is an improv piece inspired by Carlos Rodrigues (Kabecao). I love the chilled out vibe of this rhythm when used slowly and with lots of room to breathe. Seems to work really well with this pan.Pantam: CFoulke Magic VoyaGe(r)
La Illaha. Il Allahu. A practice that helps us give back what we no longer need and to receive what is present in the moment. Each moment. Every moment. Each breath. Every breath.
“Can you endure silence? Are you a night fighter? Or more a child bored with outgrown toys trying to win at tip-the-cat?” ~ Rumi This composition arose during a long night and celebrates the long nights of our souls as we approach the longest night of the year. A night that corresponds with a very … Continue reading "Longest Night"
🎧 Early one autumn morning, I stood next to my son watching the fog lift off of Payette Lake. A sacred moment. Today, I sat at the handpan and breathed and listened and let the rhythm of the moment move my hands. As soon as I finished, I thought of my son, the cool early … Continue reading "Foglifter"
A reflection and guided meditation…and some handpan ☺️. Note: If you just want the Guided Meditation, scrub to 8:50 on the audio track. What masks do you wear? What do you see in the mirror? Who do you see in the mirror? How can you live from your fullest and truest self throughout the day? … Continue reading "Unmasking Ourselves"
What is asking for your attention today, right now? What wants to be seen, heard, connected with, and noticed? What do you do with “unwanted” sensations, feelings, and thoughts? If we want to live in the present, this is a muscle we have to develop.