Category Archives: Mindfulness

During the last hours of a winter storm, the snow slows and falls more delicately. The wind has subsided and the evening has arrived, and at this late hour I began my daily meditation. After going through my usual litany of meditation focuses and intentions, I opened my eyes and watched the snow fall, choosing to make the pretty scene part of the practice. In the same way I once sat outside in the summer and did my daily meditation by the pool, listening to the birds and the insects and gentle rustling of the leaves in a warm breeze, I made the winter snow part of this meditation.

It is a decidedly different feeling when meditating on a winter evening. That one world could look and feel so completely changed in just a few months is a remarkable wonder, yet as far away as summer felt, and as distant and dim were the echoes of its memories, the warm heart of it all still beat beneath the ice and snow. It was there in the candlelight, there in the hints of blue that the sky insisted on bleeding into the night. 

During the past two years of my meditation journey, I’ve been using an imperfect piece of rose quartz, found at a little gift shop beside the Red Lion Inn in the Berkshires. At first I wasn’t sure of it – it was off-center and assymetrical, and looked weirdly off-balance depending on how one viewed it – yet in my hand it felt at home, and so it was home where I brought it, embracing its imperfection, hoping some of that acceptance would rub off on myself. Through the ensuing two years, I held it in my hands for each of my daily meditations – by the end of each it was warm and seemed to glow with the energy and spirit of the calm that came by the end of every session. 

Last week, while holding this crystal in my hand, I noticed another imperfection in its surface, something I’d glossed over for these two years, which is odd for my critical nature. Also telling. It wasn’t perfection I was after when it came to meditation, and so my practice has always been forgiving and humble, something sorely needed when I first began meditating. By this point, I am open to acceptance. In a book I’m reading now one of the meditation practices involves focusing on what is bothering us, acknowledging it and giving it a moment, then accepting it, and finally letting it go. The practice also speaks to accepting what our body is telling us – whether in the breathing process, or whatever else the body whispers when in a state of meditation. 

Sometimes that arrives in a pain of the ankles, from sitting lotus-style on the floor. Sometimes it’s a knot in the shoulders or back from a day of work stress in an office chair. Sometimes it’s a sense of dizziness that borders on a headache. In each instance, the practice advises breathing into each little pain and then exhaling out and letting it go. If the pain or bother persists, and the focus veers from the breathing, one is supposed to focus again on the pain and what the body is saying, then shift back into deep breathing. 

As I felt the suddenly-slightly-ragged piece of rose quartz in my palm, I breathed in deeply, then slowly breathed out. Next, I listened to the body, and felt the stress-agitation in my shoulders and neck. Feeling the twinge of an ache there, I lowered my shoulders a bit, breathing deeply in and then slowly out, and somehow the pain lessened. Maybe it was the relaxation and the dropped shoulders, or maybe it was something deeper. The body and the mind work together always – perfectly imperfect. 

Over the years, I’ve had many moments of being misunderstood. It’s never bothered me much, as many of those misunderstandings lent an armor of protection to the way I was perceived. As such, I let them accumulate and become part of the person I wanted the world to see. Yet there were times when I was genuinely perceived as mean, either in my delivery, or in what I was actually saying and feeling, and I can’t pretend it was always a misunderstanding. Most of us have times when we let ourselves down, when we allow a bit of meanness and pettiness to creep into the best of intentions, when we wish we’d conveyed a thought or feeling in a kinder or less blunt manner, when we simply could have and should have been better but, whether from hurt or pain or sadness or exasperation, we chose a way that was less. I thought of those moments as I read this passage from ‘The Book of Hygge’ by Louisa Thomsen Brits:

“Like growing up with love, if we are fortunate enough to be exposed to hygge for long enough, it changes life. The spirit of hygge is spread by warm-heartedness and generosity. We can light a thousand candles, but the flame of hygge is easily extinguished by a mean spirit. If the concept of hygge exists outside the realm of our experience, that doesn’t mean it will always be unavailable. It only takes one match or a single kind gesture to illuminate the dark.” ~ Louisa Thomsen Brits

While most books slip in and out of my head these days without making much of an impression, this sentence struck me and has haunted me ever since reading it for the first time: We can light a thousand candles, but the flame of hygge is easily extinguished by a mean spirit.

The idea that I could have ever been that mean spirit, whether intended or unintended, is a deeply disturbing realization, but one that I need to confront, and one that will prove helpful in confronting. It reminds me of the humility and open-mindedness needed to continue on this journey. It reminds me that I’m still just a beginner when it comes to mindfulness and meditation. Mostly, it reminds me to forgive and to be kind – not only to others but to myself. 

And so, last Saturday night, I lit a tray of candles and read a bit more on meditation and mindfulness. I reached out to a few friends and make loose and tentative plans for the future, something we don’t do much anymore in the world of COVID, but something that feels good to do, with the caveat that anything can happen. Things to look forward to, even if some never come to fruition. It is a healthier frame of mind, and an indication that everything we have learned in the last two years has not been for naught. 

“The salient feature of hygge is the atmosphere of warm and relaxed enjoyment of the moment which it allows. While it is nurtured by thoughtfulness and mutual involvement, hygge is informal and unrestrained.” ~ Judith Friedman Hansen

The whistle of a tea kettle. 

The scampering footfalls of a squirrel on the roof.

The moan of a winter wind rattling the rafters.

These are the sounds of the season, and the sounds of this weekend. A storm brushes by, who can tell how close or how far until it happens, and Mercury is in retrograde motion until next week. A few more days of heightened vigilance and extra-careful movements. 

My friend Sherri gave me a calendar of when Mercury would be in retrograde for the next year, and this first stretch of madness has been a trying one, mostly at work. As soon as the workday was done, I’d arrive home and immediately settle into a daily meditation, sitting lotus-style beside a smoking stick of Palo Santo and decompressing from whatever the day had delivered. It was a necessary demarcation between the stresses of the world and the comfort of home, and a reminder of how helpful meditation can be, especially in the last days of January – the last days of Mercury wreaking its havoc for this cycle. 

Outside the window of the attic, a squirrel calls to me from the pine tree. I open the window for a brief moment to listen to its chatter, to hear the winter and take it in, because I know it’s important – as important as the same scene in summer, when the land is green and lush and soft. And we will love it more then because of now. 

“This is the real secret of life – to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.” ~ Alan Watts

Any Alan who spells their name the right way is a good Alan as far as I’m concerned, so Alan Watts gets due homage with this quote, which dovetails neatly with the meditation and mindfulness practices that inform my life right now. Re-framing one’s life takes time and effort, but it’s a way of rectifying the past while making peace with it, honoring its place while moving onward. It is sometimes a huge lift – re-shifting things that have settled over forty plus years is no quick or easy task usually, but when the mind is ready, it is happily possible, and the rest of the world seems to aid in every step along the way. 

Seeing the work of a day as a form of play recalls the simple lessons of Mary Poppins, long and sadly forgotten by those of us well into our adulthood. “In every job that must be done there is an element of fun. You find the fun and – SNAP! – the job’s a game!”

Even better, every task you undertake becomes a piece of cake, and in these parts cake is almighty. 

On that note, ‘A Spoonful of Sugar‘ gets the full-on and proper Lawrence Welk treatment. Feel free to clap along. (I absolutely adore a clap-audience moment as Suzie well knows.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UadPv-TW8A

“A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live.” ~ Bertrand Russell

The universe will tell you whether or not you’re on the right path, but it doesn’t always signal loudly or blatantly. It requires stillness and quiet and, though it seems counterintuitive, a condition of not being hyper-focused or aware. A lighter touch, if you will, sprinkled with the nonchalance to be able to exist without forcing anything. I’ve always been able to follow those signs, however, even if my heart was so often and otherwise a turbulent riot, as Fitzgerald once put it. Though the signs may not be as glaring or blaring as we might like for easy notice, they are there if we know how to look for them, if we allow ourselves to pay attention to the little things that make all the difference. A case of this is my recent foray and obsession with the notion of hygge, which dovetails in ideal alignment with the idea of mindfulness. 

“It must be emphasized that hygge entails commitment to the present moment and a readiness to set distractions aside.” ~ Judith Friedman Hansen

In the above quote, hygge is posited to have the very same requirements for mindfulness. It’s about committing to the present moment, putting distractions to the side, and focusing on the immediate here and now.

The flickering candle flames that dance and wave like little oceans of light.

The curling trails of water vapor rising from a cup of hot tea.

The sound of your own breathing as you wait for the tea to cool, and the way you can deepen and lengthen it, more fully inhabiting the moment and pushing other worries and concern into the distance. 

It’s the sense of stillness and quiet when you shut out the rest of the world, silencing phones and notifications and computer screens. It’s the initial thoughts of what you need to remember for work the next day, or what you need to pick up from the market that night, or what you need to check on once you finish this cup of tea. And it’s letting them go so you can sip and come back to yourself so you can be better and calmer and kinder when you eventually end up getting to all of those responsibilities. 

This is the winter where hygge and mindfulness meet in cozy and calm connection, and it’s a meeting that will go on in magnificence the year round. 

“It isn’t easy in our complicated world to enjoy the pleasures of ordinary living – children, family, neighborhood, nature, walking, gathering, eating together. I imagine life not as an ambitious quest, but as an anti-quest, a search for the ordinary and a cultivation of the unexceptional.” ~ Thomas Moore

The happiest people often lead the simplest lives, and such a state is what I strive to achieve. One of the common components in the many studies of how to find happiness is the thread of meditation and mindfulness that runs through the practices of so many who seem to have found a sense of peace and calm in their lives. Part of that is in finding the enjoyment in the misunderstood-as-mundane moments of life. 

Take, for instance, the reading glasses pictured here. A whimsical lark of a purchase – is there anything more dreadfully dull as having to buy and wear reading glasses? – I made the most of it and found something in a fun color and pattern. More than that, however, is the appreciation for what they do for me. When I slip them on, the words on the page are suddenly easy to see again, and reading becomes the joy that was slipping away from me in my stubbornness not to be bothered with glasses anymore. There, in that one simple and mundane act of putting on reading glasses, I cherished and gave gratitude for the sight and pleasure it gave me. It’s a small ritual that will now trigger a frisson of joy every time it happens. 

“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life.” ~ William Morris

Take also this book I just finished, ‘The Book of Hygge’ by Louisa Thomsen Brits. A couple of years ago I’d never even heard of hygge. Suzie kept its charms to herself without sharing such a wonderful concept with the rest of us, but like the ideas of the floating world, it called to me from a deeper level, and I began my investigative journey. That’s led me to all sorts of literature and writing on the subject of hygge, and it turns out much of it aligns with the principles of meditation and mindfulness – an embracing of the present moment, a savoring of the hour and pleasures at hand, and a way of pushing distractions out of the forefront of the mind in service of clarity and calm. 

“Every repast can have soul and can be enchanting; it only asks for a small degree of mindfulness and a habit of doing things with care and imagination.” ~ Thomas Moore

We begin the work week not with a busy recap of all that came before, but with this simple bit of music and a few morning images of matcha to gradually and gratefully ease into the Monday morning at hand. We will return to our traditional recap a little later if you want to revisit some pretty marvelous posts, but this feels right for now. With Mercury in retrograde, it may be wise to go gentle on ourselves in the next couple of weeks, being mindful and present and forgiving with whatever foibles wait around the corner. 

The music here is tranquil and calming, and it lasts for an hour, which provides ample time to simply exist – breathing in and out, slowly deepening and elongating the breath where it’s still comfortable, but perhaps a little calmer. It need not be a formal, full-fledged meditation – it’s just a method of managing a Monday morning. 

A cup of matcha, warm and prepared with careful consideration, is another way to enter the week with quiet assurance and deliberate grace. When the day begins in contemplative form, when we start any endeavor coming from a place of peace and calm, such intention informs whatever may follow. We won’t always have control over it – most days we don’t have much control over anything – and the freedom in that realization lightens every burden. 

For now, it is enough to put a kettle on the stove and sit in stillness while the water takes its time to boil. It will not be rushed, and it will take as long as its going to take. Some days when the kettle is full and the water begins at an icy temperature, it may take longer than usual. Other days, when there is just a small amount of water left, when it may be warm from someone boiling it not an hour before, it may take less. 

Sit with your cup of tea or coffee. Sit with your thoughts, whatever they may be.

Sit with yourself. 

It is the hardest thing to do in an age where constant stimulation and the bombardment of all our senses is thrust upon us the minute we start scrolling through our phone or turning on the computer. Pause and reflect before that happens. Begin in the place where you want to end up. 

Here there is peace, and you may embrace it. At the very start of the day, before anyone else is up, before the world has had a chance to impart its madness, take this moment to set your daily intention. 

Returning to a daily meditation has been the best move I’ve made in a while. For a few months in late summer through fall my daily practice dwindled to a weekly, if that, routine. From the last day of the last year until now, I’ve maintained a daily meditation for 15 to 17 minutes and the difference is already being felt. What had previously taken me a few months to experience has returned much quicker than anticipated, and the practice of meditation seems to be one of those things that is akin to muscle memory of a mental sort – it inhabits the mind and the return to form is easier the more you do it. 

That illuminates the main point of meditation for me. It has never been about some transcendent moment of utter peace and serenity – those may be attainable and they do happen from time to time, but that’s never been the goal. The beauty of meditation, and the reason why I have incorporated it into my life, is that it makes the baseline of my existence more peaceful and calm. That doesn’t mean I operate on some enlightened monk-like plane – it simply means my days begin, and progress, from a place of deeper peace and acceptance, so the times of stress and worry don’t rise to the peaks of agitation that they would otherwise do. Some days that means I don’t get as close to breaking as it once felt like I did. There’s a huge difference in overall happiness that results from that. When you start from a level of calm, there’s more room for acceptance of errors and disasters. When you begin from a place of stress, there’s very little wiggle room before reaching a point of crisis. 

That’s the unsold secret of meditation, and it doesn’t get shared enough because most people don’t want to take the weeks and months and years of practice to see that difference. We are too demanding of instant-gratification and results, and we live in a world where no one has any sort of attention span. Unfortunately, the greatest gifts sometimes require the greatest investment of time and focus – two things most people just don’t want to give anymore. That doesn’t concern me. This meditation practice has changed my life for the better. 

When I find myself in situations that feel stressful, I go into my deep breathing – which can be done anywhere and at any time – and it recalls those hours of meditation – the body recognizing the slowing of breath and placing the mind back in that place of calm. It’s not an instant stroke of magic and profound revelation – its quieter and softer than that, more of a blunting of the usual reactions to stress, lessening the tendency to lash out or lose my temper or simply get annoyed. It makes for a much more peaceful day. 

When you make meditation a regular part of your life, when it becomes a habit and a comfortable place of respite, you can conjure that space wherever you may find yourself. That part does feel a little magical, and I’m grateful for the practice. 

“All winter you carved water jars out of ice.
How well will they hold the summer snowmelt?” ~ Rumi

This is the sixteenth day in a row in which I’ve meditated, and it’s starting to bring me back to a calmer baseline. In my case, that’s the whole purpose of meditation. Not for any transformative earth-shattering shift, just a calmer starting and resting point, one that remains more stable, with gentle and manageable curves rather than the spikes and rollercoasters akin to the latest COVID numbers. 

This winter has been especially wanting for something calm and serene. As my Dad declines a bit every day, and the stresses of a worldwide pandemic entering its second year take their toll, I feel the weight that most adults feel, and I understood it was time to make meditation once again part of my daily routine. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWwY6K5Vjyo

For now, I’m doing 15-17 minutes of meditation a day, and it’s a good beginning. Gradually I’ll increase the sessions as my body adjusts to sitting still for longer periods, which will make for a deeper experience, and a lengthier place of peace. Winter always has its troubles, and it’s good to have something to keep you grounded. 

Listening to Tibetan flute music, and burning thin little sticks of Japanese incense also helps to set an atmosphere of calm and serenity, aided by the light of our living room with its bay window of ferns and tiny fig trees. It’s where I pass the winter weekends, watching the sky for signs that the light is lingering, and waiting for the gray morning to come again. 

“And don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It’s quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.” – Rumi

There are about 70 days left of winter, so the vast bulk of it is yet to come, but rather than view it that way, I’m focusing on the subtle joys of the season, doing what I can to embrace or at least accept the present moment, one day at a time. That means finding happiness in the simple act of sitting down to savor a cup of tea. 

If taken slowly and mindfully, the mere act of making tea can be a therapeutic and almost meditative experience. One begins with a kettle on the stove-top, and the life-nourishing addition of clean, pure water. As the water heats, a mug is chosen, along with the tea. I find mint or ginger or lemongrass works well for me at this time of the year. For something slightly more floral I’ll go with an Earl Grey and occasionally a chamomile or lavender for evening enjoyment. 

Once the water is near boiling, I’ll let the tea steep for the recommended time (and timing is important with tea, as various teas want differing steeping periods to avoid bitterness). Then there is the minor and all-too-under-rated moment of waiting for the tea to cool slightly. This is a moment ripe for meditative contemplation, a built-in check of the universe to force us to slow down, lest we burn ourselves on scalding tea. Most people fill it with something else – scrolling through their phone or computer, reading the mail or a magazine, rushing to complete some other task that can wait – instead of simply sitting with themselves, their thoughts and their tea. But this is precisely the most magical part of the tea tradition – the moment just before one actually takes the first sip. All hope and promise and possibility are in that pregnant moment of time, and we all too often rush right by it, letting it go. 

So let this be a reminder, as much, if not more, for myself than anyone else who may read these words. Slow down. Savor the moments before, during, and after a cup of tea. Give your mind a break from the rush of the world and the rage of the winter. We deserve to be more mindful of ourselves. 

I ended the last day of 2021 in the same manner in which I ended the first day of 2022: with a meditation beside the Christmas tree. Lighting a candle and stick of Palo Santo, I sunk into the deep breathing, focusing on a few key points and allowing the mind to present what it needed to present, then gradually clearing the space for stillness and emptiness, expanding the room within my mind until it was endless and empty – until all that remained was the breath and the peace. 

My meditation practice fell by the wayside as other concerns occupied life for much of 2021, and I felt its absence more keenly now that I look back on things. For that reason, I’m planning on going back to daily meditations, which makes for a calmer baseline from day to day. It’s too easy to get tense and worried when I move away from meditating for a while. 

Like its benefits, the drawbacks of not meditating aren’t felt immediately, nor are they distinct and decisive. They become noticeable with a rise in agitation and irritability, when everything at work suddenly becomes unbearable, or petty arguments suddenly seem insurmountable. As I notice those things happening, I return to meditating, and slowly the return to a place of serenity begins to happen. 

Consistency is key to reaping the maximum enjoyment and benefits from meditation, and I forgot that over the past few months. A new year is a good time to get back into good habits, and winter is when mindfulness seems to matter most. 

After this year’s rather quiet and subdued Christmas Card post, and since it is the day of rest, I’m offering these snowy photos and a video that is eleven-plus hours long for absolutely anyone who needs a longer haul to calm down and shake off the craziness of the season. It’s an ideal background for a meditation – whether that’s eleven minutes or eleven hours. Take your time – or make your time if you don’t think you have any – and give this little moment in the midst of the madness to simply breathe. Long, slow, deep breaths that don’t rush with an end in sight, but simply exist, one leading into the next, and not worrying about what comes afterward, because it’s all going to be okay. 

With winter coming around the corner, we’re going to need to embrace the quiet amid the tumult. It also leads to a calmer existence overall, with the memory of meditation lingering longer and longer the more you put it into practice, bleeding beautifully into everyday life, when we most need the tools and habits to blunt the onslaught of panic and stress. 

To that end, and considering the way meditation should be practiced consistently to be most effective, it’s never too early, or late, to start a simple mindfulness plan, even in the midst of the Christmas mayhem. In fact, now may be the best time to begin. Every day, you can give yourself the gift of mindfulness, even if it’s just for a few minutes – a time set aside only for yourself, when you lay down the worries of the day and the responsibility of caring for anyone else, and re-connect to the inner-being that must be healthy and happy to keep anyone else healthy and happy. What may feel at first like an indulgence is actually the best way to be more, and to be better, to others. 

After a day of eating turkey and having a quiet Thanksgiving, one would think I’d be in a natural state of calm, and as it goes with most things, one would be completely wrong. When the heart and mind are in turmoil, when the little frustrations and blames prickle the minutes, I turn to the only solution that makes a difference, even if it’s just for a moment, and for me that’s meditation. 

As Andy was watching a Dean Martin roast in the den, smiling and letting out a rare laugh, I lowered the music and lights in the living room and began taking deep and slow breaths. I lit a stick of Palo Santo and blew it out, watching the smoke curl around me, then closing my eyes and sinking into a deeper breath. 

It took a little while, but eventually I found the empty space – the clear and calm stillness in that place where no thoughts raced or worried. It’s easier to find it than it was when I began meditating, and for that I’m grateful for the practice and the time spent figuring it out. It is a perch I can access wherever and whenever I need a bit of calm.