The gray and coral tip of a Japanese incense stick glows as baroque designs of smoke curl into the morning air. Through the window, a scene of snow reveals the falling of the night. Winter is sparse in many ways, simplicity and elegance working together like smoke and flute music.
“Winter solitude-
in a world of one colour
the sound of the wind.â€
―
It is said that the Buddha meditated for 49 days beneath one of these trees, the Ficus benghalensis ‘Audrey’ after which He first attained enlightenment. Native to India, these trees grow to immense sizes in their natural habitat, sending down aerial roots and expanding their canopy into a veritable forest, providing much-needed shade, and apparently a perfect place for the Buddha to dwell and meditate. To this day, temples are built beneath many of these banyan trees – space which is viewed as sacred. I love that idea, and when I saw one of these little plants at the local nursery, I picked it up on a whim to be closer to such enlightenment.
“If you truly loved yourself, you could never hurt another.” ~ The Buddha
Reportedly, this plant is a good alternative to the more finicky Fiddle leaf fig, a plant whose moodiness is too frightening for me to attempt. I don’t have the expanse of bright indirect light and space for the ginormous Fiddle leaf trees, but this tiny little Audrey fig looks manageable. Smaller specimens generally are more amenable to change and adaptation for less than perfect indoor situations. I have a humidifier and some decent enough light by a bay window to at least give this little guy a chance.
He rests on the table beside which I do my daily meditation. Sitting in the lotus position, I can gaze with a soft focus on his handsome leaves, and feel some wondrous connection to nature, to the earth, to the Buddha, and the path on which I find myself makes a little more sense.
I don’t know if the common name (Ficus Audrey) came before or after ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ but I’m taking it as an auspicious sign that it may grow for me. If it ends up eating me alive, well, it was nice knowing you.
“It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you.” ~ The Buddha
“It was when I stopped searching for home within others and lifted the foundations of home within myself I found there were no roots more intimate than those between a mind and body that have decided to be whole.” ~ Rupi Kaur
A full Wolf moon often means craziness and lunacy – something that’s been in the air for a few days now, the way it often goes with the lunar schedule. To survive that mayhem, I’ll indulge in 28 minutes of meditation – my last day at 28 minutes. Tomorrow, on the 29thof January I’ll advance to 29 minutes of daily meditation. This is the timing that works for me – you may find something more suited to your lifestyle and where you are in your own meditation journey.
Lately, as I lower myself into the lotus position in the middle of our living room – the plant-lined window to the front yard to my left, the conversation couch directly ahead of me, and a Korean tansu climbing to my right – I’ve felt the pull of the earth beneath me, felt the grounding connection between body and floor. The electric energy of the day, the charged frizzing jerkiness that comes from being too caught up in my head then drains from me as I feel the ground solid beneath my posterior. It’s similar to the feeling of grounding I get when standing in the sand of an ocean shore, the way it pulls and draws itself around my legs as the water advances and retreats.
This sense of grounding is something that didn’t reveal itself until recently, about a year into my meditation practice – proof that this is a gradual, slow, and wondrously beautiful process – a journey that takes its own pace, refusing to be hurried or rushed, unwilling to give hints or peeks of the lessons until I am genuinely ready to receive them. It’s a humbling and happy realization. The moment I think I know something is the moment a world of unknown mystery suddenly appears with more questions and misunderstandings. Embracing the uncertainty, I am coming to trust this winding path.
And so I sit in the lotus position again, breathing slowly in and out, knowing it will not be any longer or shorter than it needs to be, accepting that whatever madness the Wolf Moon may manifest is all an integral part of winter, a way to help us pass through the final days of January. In the same way I’ve slowly leaned into the wonder and majesty of winter, I will lean into the mystery and magic of the full moon, harnessing its positive energy and reining in the typical madness. A little lunacy might prove necessary for further acceptance of life’s imperfections.
The sunset embers smolder low,
The Moon climbs o’er the hill,
The peaks have caught the alpenglow,
The robin’s song is still.
~ John L. Stoddard
Delving into the world of hygge, I’m doing my Danish damnedest to bring about a sense of cozy warmth and family love into this winter. According to the most basic of dictionary definitions, hygge is ‘a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture).’ It sounded gloriously suited to our world at this moment, and to winter in general, so rather than abysmally trudging through these dark months, I’m doing my best to approach it from a place of light and warmth. If we can create hygge in our own space, perhaps we can achieve it wherever and whenever we need it most.
It begins, as so many things do, with the superficial. Candles, blankets, and cozy socks make for a proper hygge experience. Comfort foods – teas and coffee and soups and stews and cookies and baked goods – are also an integral part of creating an atmosphere for hygge. Enjoying such things with family and friends is the main goal, though that proves tricky in these socially distant times, so maybe this virtual gathering will have to suffice until such times that we can gather safely outside again.
As I researched more on the concept of hygge, it brought me around to Scandinavian style – the bright, minimalist, nature-honoring simplicity that plays a role in inducing such peace and calm and beauty. In service to that, this winter is about de-cluttering the house. That’s my typical modus operandi following the holidays anyway; I’ll simply go a bit deeper this year.
The best, and more pertinent, aspect of hygge is that it’s not really about material things or superficial joys – as much as I’ve already seemed to contradict that. It’s about the feeling, the coziness, the warmth that one feels when ensconced in a moment of pure joy and love with loved ones. It’s that feeling of having your heart burst from happiness at a moment of connection. This is directly aligned with the notion of mindfulness, and being present in the moment – a practice that ties into my meditation. The universe, when you listen and follow its cues, is constantly guiding, continuously nudging us in the direction we should be going. This is another example of that as I make my way through the rocky path of middle-age.
All the signs pointing toward hygge remind me that there are grander schemes at work. We each play a part in them, and there are times when we simply must stand back and let the world work its magic around us, taking quiet notice and listening to the whispers of winter.
Since Thanksgiving (and perhaps slightly prior) I’ve been on a bit of a sugar tear, devouring cookies and ice cream and sweet treats as if there was a sugar shortage (and given that it’s still 2020, there may just be). That didn’t bode well for my figure, but I’m indulging and enjoying these last few weeks of a year that had otherwise been horrid. I’ll get back on the fitness wagon come January, which is a drag, but a good way to pass the first couple of winter months. That’s all a bit ahead. Right now, my belly is full with a gigantic chocolate chip cookie that just came out of the oven.
With all the sugar flowing through my system, I’ve been a bit more hyper than usual, and that has, in turn, made my daily meditations slightly askew. Clocking in at 27 minutes, there’s a decent stretch of time in which the mind can travel unless kept in strict check – something that’s more difficult to do when riding the sugar crest. I’ve noticed my thoughts wandering more, and being in the midst of the holiday season doesn’t help. To combat that, I will sometimes combine my meditation with a nightly shower, and somehow by the end of both I will hopefully have found some sort of calm, and a more peaceful and less frenzied frame of mind.
The kind of mindfulness needed to combat the holiday mayhem is not the easy and casual sort so quickly referenced in passing new-age fancy and quasi-spiritual quests. This is a mindfulness that takes effort, and in that exertion is the method of cleansing the mind that works if you truly engage and focus. Such mindfulness is not a passive thing, especially at this time of the year.
In the words of Britney Spears, “Work it out, work it out, work it out, work it out…”
The moon was near full a few days after Thanksgiving, and it hovered at the top of my parents’ street when I stopped by for a quick dinner in the garage. It seems silly to have prepared the space for one single grand dinner when this unseasonably warm fall allows us to be gathered at a safely ventilated distance. As I made my way back to my car, I caught the moon peeking over Amsterdam, working its magic and wonder and mischief.
Earlier that day I had ticked my meditation time up to a total of 27 minutes, which actually goes by more quickly than one would expect, and the bulk of it doesn’t even focus on me. I spent a good portion contemplating intentions on Andy’s physical and mental health, and have expanded that to include the same for my parents as they are getting older. That only leaves a short time for my own intentions, but they have dwindled in the year since I started meditating, which is how it should be. Getting out of my own headspace will go down as one of the few gifts that 2020 has bestowed on me.
On December 28th, I’ll move up to 28 minutes of daily meditation ~ a lofty goal of peace, a window of light and expansive clarity, and a ritual to quell and calm the holiday mayhem.
When the election results for that FUBAR state of affairs known as Florida started coming in and it was clear no landslide of the American people doing what was right was in sight, I walked out of the room leaving Andy to fend off his mood and the increasingly disappointing news. I’d never had much faith in this country doing the right thing on a mass level. We are too racist, too selfish, too entitled, too hate-filled, and too deceitful to be anything better than a divided country right now. America has revealed itself, and it’s not beautiful. At such times, and especially during this disastrous year, my method of withdrawing and retreating from a world too dark to contemplate involved a meditation session and a mindfulness practice.
Turning off the classical music station that was playing in the living room, I took my habitual seat on the floor in the lotus position and lit the end of a Palo Santo stick, blowing out the glowing flame after a minute and letting the smoke surround me. An egg-shaped piece of rose quartz nestled in my hand. Cool and smooth at first, it would eventually take in my warmth. That was something I noticed more in this session: the warmth.
The chilly day that began with an early hour’s wait in line to vote ended with this chilly night, and I’d pulled a fluffy lavender robe around my shoulders before I sat down to begin. As my meditation went on and my breathing deepened, I blocked out the world and the worry until only good intentions and healing thoughts were present in my mind. My body shook off the chill, gradually gaining in warmth until the rose quartz in my hand seemed to emit its own heat, and I had to pull the robe from my shoulders. Despite the calm and deepness of my breath, my body had warmed itself beyond the need for extra layers. I’d noticed this warming phenomenon slightly before, in the way that I would occasionally wonder whether my sock-clad feet would be cold as I sat on the floor on fall and winter nights, only to feel perfectly comfortable, if not a little heated, by the end of a meditation.
When the twenty-six minutes were up, my mind was surprisingly calm. The way the election was going in Florida wasn’t surprising to me. When you spend all of your formative years and the bulk of your adult years being implicitly told you are less-than because of your sexual orientation or the bi-racial make-up of your ethnicity, and when you were only legally allowed to marry the man you’ve loved ten years after you met him, you tend to not have much faith in humanity. You realize early on you can’t trust that people will be fair and do the right thing, even if it has no bearing on their lives.
We saw that again in the numbers this week. It didn’t surprise me in the least. It saddened and disappointed me greatly, and my heart aches for what our country and our world has become, but it was not surprising. And so I did my meditation, in my favorite room of the house, breathing slowly and calmly, in and out, and when it was over I didn’t return to watching the results, but rather walked mindfully into the bathroom. I lit a candle and took a hot shower, extending the mindfulness, extending the calm, and leaning into the deliberate slowing of the day to recognize the simple sensations of life.
Then I tried something that I’d always thought foolish to do, a practice that some teachers of mindfulness encourage, whereby you initiate a thought or emotion by manifesting the physical results first – in this case a smile. The idea is that if you execute the physical manifestation of happiness and joy, it will in fact elicit such an emotion – a sort of reversal of how we expect things to work. And so I smiled. And then I laughed at the ridiculousness of it. And there, in the glow of a candle on an otherwise-dim night, came a spark of joy.
And a little bit of hope…
Preparation for the coming winter comes in the form of gradually elongated meditation sessions. On October 26 I increased my daily meditation to 26 minutes – just adding an extra minute, but what a difference a mere minute can make, allowing for a deeper experience, allowing for a little extra space – the space for more calm.
My plan has been to add one additional minute per month, so that by the time February rolls around I will be up to half an hour of daily meditation, which is a goal I don’t want to rush, but am definitely looking forward to reaching. 26 is a good number for now, and will see me through most of November.
We are at that turning point of the seasonal year, when the kinder enchantments of fall are in the process of blowing away, when there is no longer any lingering warmth in the earth of morning, no matter how bright the sun of the day prior. Meditation puts me into the beauty of the moment, where there is no place for sadness or worry. 26 minutes is a short amount of time to invest to reap such a benefit.
Some journeys have to be taken alone.
When I made the decision to stop drinking a year ago, it was a decision that had been in the works and the back of my mind for several months, if not years. I’d noticed the thrill and enjoyment I once elicited from alcohol had changed into something darker and more problematic. It wasn’t giving me the same sense of relaxation, and I had promised myself that if that day arrived, I would stop drinking. Circumstances and prompting from Andy and my family on certain nights when my tongue cut too deeply hinted to me that things had shifted. More basic than that, I simply wasn’t enjoying it. I saw its deleterious effects in sluggish mornings and extra weight gained, as well as the drain on my wallet (a proper cocktail averaged about $15 back then ~ no idea how much they are now). And so I gave it up – just like that ~ exactly one year ago.
In some ways, I’d been waiting for an impetus to impel me to do it, but it was less about that and more about my desire to get healthier and to grow into the next phase of my adulthood. When I look at those individuals who enjoy healthy living long and far into their retirements, I often see that they have kicked their healthy living into effect before middle age and then made those healthy habits into a regular part of their lifestyles.
While Andy and others were supportive of me not drinking, this was not something I did for anyone other than myself, and that’s part of why I was able to do it without any great difficulty. It came at the right moment, when I was ready to make the change, to put in the work, and to substitute those lifestyle moments that might otherwise be full of cocktails with things like meditation and therapy and a course on finding happiness. Some people do better making smaller changes slowly over a long period of time; I challenged myself and took this multi-pronged approach because it was what I needed to move forward in my life that winter. It was something I had to prove to myself, to once again recall what it was like to stand alone and do something just for me. It took a lot of work, and a lot of discipline, and I embraced all of it.
It had to begin with letting go of the idea that I was perfect. I had to own up to my mistakes and bad behavior. I had to acknowledge that I was letting myself down, as well as letting the people who meant the most to me down. That meant starting over again in a lot of relationships, and they evolved accordingly. I also learned that, if need be, I could find ways of survival and self-sufficiency that had been dormant for decades, and that sort of reawakening was powerful and precious. With every day that passed with meditation instead of alcohol, a little more of me was transformed and brought into better focus. So many days and nights of drinking had become hazy; I yearned for clarity and honesty and courage without the crutch of a cocktail to blunt my socially anxious edge.
In retrospect, my undiagnosed and underlying social anxiety formed the main proponent for my drinking for years ~ a habit and reliance that I could see possibly becoming an addiction, and I wanted to put a stop to that before I couldn’t. That’s where therapy came into my life, and I was finally ready to work on my most difficult truths without hiding anything, which is why it started to work so well. Along with that, I invested time and effort and a disciplined study schedule into the famous Yale University course ‘The Science of Well-Being‘.
Finally, meditation grounds me every day, creating a safe space of calm and healing and intention, that on its most basic level addresses social anxiety, but on a broader plane also transforms my brain’s basic make-up, pushing out distracting worries and tension while allowing for a blank space of quiet and peace. The world will eventually encroach on this place, that’s just the way the world works for adults, and I’ve seen the importance of consistent and meaningful meditation to counteract such stress and anxiety.
With those things in place, eliminating alcohol was actually a lesser ordeal than most people seemed to think it might be. I never thought it would be a problem, and I leaned into those early months, and that tough winter, with these new habits. By the time spring arrived, and COVID instantly changed all our lives, they had become a natural default, an integral and genuine lifestyle that felt healthy and good. As the world was rocked by the madness of 2020, and most people relied on their vodka and wine and coping crutches, I had already found my comfort cravings, and when stressed I would simply sit for an extra meditation, focus on my deep breathing, and write out any concerns for discussion at my next therapy session.
As easy as the drinking thing was on its surface, it was everything behind it that proved to be the difficult part, and those issues required the intense emotional work and discipline that being home for COVID may have helped coalesce into concrete results. Looking back on the first photo here, taken right before my very first therapy session, I see a glimpse into the fear and terror I was feeling at the start of this journey. It turned out that not drinking was going to be the easiest part of the past year, but I didn’t know that then~ I couldn’t know that ~ and perhaps that not knowing is why it went exactly as it should have gone. In owning up to everything I didn’t know, and acknowledging the many missteps I had made, and the implacable imperfections that make this life so interesting and worthwhile, I became a better person. In the photo below, taken this fall, I recognize the spark that had grown dull over a number of years of drinking and burying everything that bothered me. As the second half of my life ensues, the tools I’ve learned to use in the last year will be what I grasp when things turn difficult. There is little peace to be found unless you’re willing to work for it.
This is all still relatively new to me. I wish I could better put it into words, because on some level these things too easily veer into the hokey and simplistic when expounded upon, and I only hope I’ve come somewhat closer to explaining where my head has been at for the past year. That said, this is only a day, just like any other day and filled with the same hope and opportunity and space as tomorrow will be. So I embrace the day, and beckon you to join me…
“Above all, we cannot afford not to live in the present. He is blessed over all mortals who loses no moment of the passing life in remembering the past.” ~ Henry David Thoreau
What energy did you find and release during the Harvest Moon? With Mercury in retrograde, I’ve lost track of anything the moon might have whispered to me. Instead, I focus on my daily meditations, using the deep ocean breath to drown out the cacophony of the rest of our wayward world. These days the noise seems to be getting louder, the distractions more numerous and challenging. It’s at these times when meditation matters most, when it becomes the highlight and break in the day for 25 minutes of silence.
While I prefer silence for my meditation, some people like to use ambient music as a guide for both their timeframe and something on which to focus. Here’s a Harvest Moon meditation track, and some words far wiser than any I could string together.
“If you know how to be happy with the wonders of life that are already there for you to enjoy, you don’t need to stress your mind and your body by striving harder and harder, and you don’t need to stress this planet by purchasing more and more stuff. The Earth belongs to our children. We have already borrowed too much from it, from them; and the way things have been going, we’re not sure we’ll be able to give it back to them in decent shape. And who are our children, actually? They are us, because they are our own continuation. So we’ve been shortchanging our own selves. Much of our modern way of life is permeated by mindless overborrowing. The more we borrow, the more we lose. That’s why it’s critical that we wake up and see we don’t need to do that anymore. What’s already available in the here and now is plenty for us to be nourished, to be happy. Only that kind of insight will get us, each one of us, to stop engaging in the compulsive, self-sabotaging behaviors of our species. We need a collective awakening. One Buddha is not enough. All of us have to become Buddhas in order for our planet to have a chance. Fortunately, we have the power to wake up, to touch enlightenment from moment to moment, in our very own ordinary and, yes, busy lives. So let’s start right now. Peace is your every breath.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
“To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself. When you are born a lotus flower, be a beautiful lotus flower, don’t try to be a magnolia flower. If you crave acceptance and recognition and try to change yourself to fit what other people want you to be, you will suffer all your life. True happiness and true power lie in understanding yourself, accepting yourself, having confidence in yourself.” ~
“To dwell in the here and now does not mean you never think about the past or responsibly plan for the future. The idea is simply not to allow yourself to get lost in regrets about the past or worries about the future. If you are firmly grounded in the present moment, the past can be an object of inquiry, the object of your mindfulness and concentration. You can attain many insights by looking into the past. But you are still grounded in the present moment.” ~
“Breath is the bridge which connects life to consciousness, which unites your body to your thoughts. Whenever your mind becomes scattered, use your breath as the means to take hold of your mind again.” ~
The day had been particularly trying and difficult. A phone conversation ran through my lunch, and I didn’t get outside for my usual walk. The sky had started overcast and grew progressively dimmer before spitting a bit in the early afternoon. When I finally got home, I had to put in another hour of work to deal with a deadline, and by the time I scarfed down a leftover burger for dinner, my nerves were frazzled and my constitution was shot.
Then the damn Presidential debate started and I could only sit through about half of it, shutting the shit off by 9:50. Half-traumatized and half-shell-shocked, I felt on the verge of maniacal laughter or a crying tantrum, and without thinking or putting any effort into it, I immediately headed into the living room to meditate. It was, I later realized, an instinct and habit, like reaching for a cocktail would have been a year ago, and it suddenly struck me how natural it all felt. I pulled up this album of meditation music to drown out the debate that continued to rage in the other room and settled into the lotus position.
Lighting the end of a stick of sacred wood, I watched the flame flicker ~ bright and soul-enriching ~ before blowing it out and letting the smoky incense trail around me. A gossamer protection and talisman, floating fortress of ethereal filament, it formed a certain energy field that set the scene for the deep and steady inhalations of breath that carried me through the next twenty five minutes.
I hadn’t intended to make my meditation this late in the evening, or even at all. On office days it’s difficult to find the time or slow down enough to have a meaningful session. I suppose it should be the opposite, but I’m not quite there yet. It was enough that in this moment of stress and duress, the first thing my mind went to, and the first solution that my body demanded, was meditation.
It’s a little before 8 in the morning, and I just finished up my first morning meditation. That’s what happens when you get old and insomnia wreaks its havoc and you wake up at 6 AM for no apparent reason. I know I just extolled the beauty of meditation deeper into the evening, but many people begin their day with a meditation, and being contradictory suits me.
In a lot of ways, the break of dawn is the most peaceful time of the day. It certainly is in our home, when Andy is still asleep and there is no television or radio or coffee-maker on. In this quietude and stillness, I assume the lotus position, light a stick of Palo Santo incense, and deep breathe my way through 24 minutes of meditation. It’s a good way to begin the morning, and for those days when the schedule is packed and there is a chance of missing out on a meditation, getting up a bit early may be worth it. I’ll see if it affects the rest of the day, or if the serenity fades by the time the first work issue rears its head.
Somehow the day got away from me. Certain days do that. They pass quietly and unnoticeably by, and when it’s time to look up from the tasks at hand you find, rather startlingly, that the bulk of the day has gone. It happens less when one is working at home, and more acutely aware of the ticking of the clock, but it still happens.
More often I find myself doing an evening meditation when I’ve gone into the office, then out to dinner, and by the time I’ve settled down and have a moment to rest, I remember that I still need to meditate. It’s become such a part of my daily routine that when it doesn’t happen I feel like something is missing. Doing a night-time meditation is how I started my meditation practice; in the early dark of winter, I began meditating to find some calm in the emotional turmoil that the dark season can occasionally conjure. It was a way of ending the day and preparing the body for rest and slumber.
When the clocks turn back and the daylight declines, I’ll be forced to do some meditation in the dim light of the evening again, and it actually makes for a lovely close to the day. It’s easier to soften the focus when the only light is carried by a candle. The items of interest fade dimly into the background, the mind is free to clear itself, and that somewhat elusive sense of clarity and peace that is the goal of most meditation seems to present itself most comfortably at the start or ending of a day.
{Programming note: this seems like a fitting post to carry us through tomorrow, when we go dark in honor of 9/11 – a tradition I’ve kept since the inception of this website in 2003. Back then it seemed like our country would never see such a horrible loss of life again. That was before COVID and this administration’s disastrous response to it. Now those numbers feel different, but the ache of any loss resonates, no matter how much time has passed. Let’s take some time to be still and silent, and come back here on Saturday.}
This is a post that’s going to hit you with a bunch of numbers that will likely mean little to nothing to you, but I’ve always loved how numbers worked, and what they symbolized, so indulge me. Like you have a choice.
On August 24, 2020, the day I turned 45, I turned my meditation timer up to 24 minutes. Previously, I’d upped it on July 23, when I advanced it to 23 minutes. A month of doing that prepared me for one more minute per day, so now I’m at 24, and it’s a nice round number. My goal is to hit 25 minutes a day for the fall, when meditation will be more important, and hopefully up to half an hour for the winter, when meditation will be absolutely vital. We know how brutal the winters can be.
For now, those 24 minutes ground me, settling me into my body again, calming my mind, and keeping bothersome and agitating thoughts at bay. Eventually they creep back, but they have less of an impact, and are less of a burden. The more I do this, the easier it gets. Such is the beauty of meditation.
Since deep breathing is a part of these meditations, I can also conjure a certain peace when I simply slip into a state of deeper breathing, which is helpful at stressful times. It’s a simple safety net when you don’t want to reach for other crutches.
