Beginner Mind

It has been a long time since I have sat down to write; my fingers miss the rhythm of the tapping on the keyboard and my mind misses the meditative state that writing induces. It is a blustery Saturday in the Berkshires; the snow is still piled up in the backyard, but Spring birds have started their morning symphony. All is well.

I have not taken the time to write, I have not given myself the space to prattle off a poem, or even just a few lines, lines that someday will transform into a story, a post, or even just a note to myself. I have been too "busy," rushing about my day, working and commuting while squeezing in runs and yoga and shopping and bill paying and time with my partner. Too often, what is really important, what really brings me joy, those activities are stuffed into a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. If I were to go back, to read my previous blog posts, I would undoubtedly find a post similar to this one, following months of silence. What is really important to me today? Do I make the space in my day to nurture those things? Probably not.

It is National Poetry Month. Yes, it is already April 4, but I remember last year on April 1 I made the vow to create one poem per day. I upheld that vow and was left with 30 poems, some corny, some nonsensical and a few that made me smile. The act oif creating as a daily practice is intensely powerful. It is within the act of caring for my self and my soul, that I find God. It is within the intersection of self-care, silence, and creativity, that my Higher Power exists.

So right now I gaze at the sun-streaked sky, the balsam pines swaying in the wind, the snow disappearing, and oak leaves floating across bare ground. It is in this moment that I am grateful, for the desire to put my fingers to the keyboard and the space and time to do so. 

Give me some space please...

Lately I have been noticing something about myself. I need space, physical space, psychic space and emotional space. I don't know if it is because I am one of those highly sensitive folk, but I become physically uncomfortable around loud people, or anyone either in a vehicle or in person, coming too close. I tend to pick up on what others are feeling (tailgaters and their anger) and get easily distracted (clicking of someone typing on a laptop in class). Is this the ramblings of a mad woman? Is it because I am a country girl, and grew up with a big backyard and the woods in which to play? Or maybe it is a personality flaw, that uber sensitivity that allows me to keep others at bay (black flies don't count!). 

I think as a woman, my culture has taught me to be small, to take up as little space as possible. Look at the passengers in a  bus or a train, the men have splayed legs, taking up more space than allotted, and the women usually cross their legs, in effect, making themselves smaller. I have issues with anything or anyone that comes too close, be it a black fly (mean little suckers that dive bomb and attack in Spring) or the man standing behind me in the grocery line.  

Elaine Aron has written many books about the Highly Sensitive Person, approximately 15 -20% of the population who notice subtleties, is very intuitive, is sensitive to pain and to noise, among other things. Here is a list of traits on Elaine's website. When I took the quiz on this site, I came up overwhelmingly highly sensitive. It can be a hindrance (I am scared of car horns for what they do to my nerves!) as well as an asset. I can "read" people's emotions, and that can be very helpful, saving me from many scrapes. 

Personal space is a huge trigger for many people. On her website, Dr. Juith Orloff writes about how to cope with space invasion. "Why can personal space intrusions make our blood boil? Aside from being obnoxious, rude, dangerous, or unhealthy, they violate a primitive instinct that we’re not safe or respected. When we experience such violations, our brains actually react as if we were still back in 50,000 BC. Research shows that personal space disputes such as neighbor feuds about overgrown foliage are evolutionarily prompted responses aimed at guarding resources and ensuring survival." She  has a list of personal space invasions on her website. These include: telemarketers, loud cars, air pollution, tailgaters and graffiti. Knowing these triggers helps us to let them go when they pop up. Why do people get so close? Are we programmed or is it a personal issue?

Time Magazine answered the question: Why is so uncomfortable to be close to strangers? "Evolution seems to have programmed this discomfort via a brain structure called the amygdalae, a pair of almond-shaped brain regions deep within each temporal lobe that control fear and the processing of emotion. It's your amygdalae that keeps you from getting so close to another person that he could easily reach out, gouge an eye, and then drag your woman off by her hair." So we can blame it all on our ancestors, something we, as humans, excel at.

So I am a highly sensitive person that has a highly developed amygdalae. No one will be gouging my eyes out anytime soon, just please, if you see me driving, cute little blue shoe-sized car, don't honk. I am off to the woods.

The Dreaded "If Only"

If only I had a real job, if only I was ten pounds lighter, if only it stopped snowing...they strike again, the dreaded  " if onlies." If only {insert some life event} happened I would be happy. These two little words reek havoc. After all, is happiness truly contingent on change? Eckhart Tolle wrote, "The primary cause of unhappiness is never the situation but your thoughts about it.” I know my life is fabulous, I am grateful for all that I have: a wonderful partner and family, I live in a gorgeous home surrounded by acres of wooded land, I am healthy and I have an amazing network of friends I can call anytime I need. So why do I want more? It is hard not to slip into the negative, what is lacking in my life today, a full time job, extra money for luxury products, a newer car, a husband.  I find that if I let my guard down old negative thoughts surface.

I keep thinking, when I get that full time job I will be fulfilled. I have been looking for a full time job in teaching, a field I fell into by accident, a field which makes me happy. I love the creative aspect of teaching, the planning, and creating new ways in which to get information across. But it is a hard field to break into. I have been trying for a few years now, interviewing and receiving the dreaded rejection letter in the mail. If only I could land a full time teaching position I would be truly happy and fulfilled, and be able to pay my bills to boot. But is that statement true? Would a job really change me? Intellectually I know the answer to that question is no. As Tolle points out in many of his books, happiness is an inside job. He wrote, “Pleasure is always derived from something outside you, whereas joy arises from within.” Maybe I have been focusing too much on pleasure and not at all on joy. I practice gratitude on a daily basis, but even my gratitude lists contains many external things: my family, healthy, home, and my friends. Will that new job bring me merely pleasure? Is pleasure enough? What I have found is that externals can be taken away, the laptop can be stolen, the photographs burned in a house fire, the lover leaves, the car totaled. I have learned these lessons already. How do I access joy? I have a feeling that prayer and meditation might be part of that equation, accessing the interior / spiritual world, rather than the external. Is gratitude enough? This post has proked more questions than answered. But life is a process. If only I knew the answer.

Robbed

Not much was taken, a few laptops, some medallions...but I now lock my door. I do not trust my home to passersby. I do not leave my door unlocked when I shower. I do not trust today.
Yesterday I came home to a disturbance: doors and cabinets all wide open, drawers rifled through, my God box violated. He had taken my laptops, one from the edge of my bed, another smaller one that had been tucked away in a bookcase awaiting the next time I traveled. My cats were hiding and my underwear was strewn across the floor. I don't miss the laptops, I miss the sense of security I had felt in my personal space. Now when I walk my dogs at night I wonder if someone is watching me, totally irrational thoughts, but they are there. 

Today, it has been a month, the laptops are still gone. They are forgotten. I have smudged my home and day by day my sense of security has begun to return. I still lock all the doors when I am at home and I am getting used to remembering my keys when I leave the house. Stuff happens, so the saying goes. It is true, what I had thought a crisis is now a memory. What I have learned from this incident, as well as a house fire a few years ago, is that material possessions really do not matter in the long run. What was impacted that truly mattered was my sense of security and peace. And really, when it comes down to it, they are not really lost, just waiting to be accessed again when I tap into them, with the help of whatever deity with whom I choose to connect. I forget that I can pray for peace, I can pray for the feelings of fear and insecurity to dissipate. In the end, what did he take? Absolutely nothing.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

A brilliant man said today, "there is always a light at the end of every tunnel." So many times I forget as I am experiencing strife, that I always come out of that difficulty and into the light. However I can always choose to stay in the tunnel, to stay in the darkness or the problem. The light is scary sometimes, it is bright and many times it is an unknown. I believe I have made it to the other side of a period in my life that I have perceived to be difficult. After graduating from college I was plunged into unemployment, without the check. I was without an identity and an income. I wrote about it (on this blog), I shared it, I prayed, I read and I learned (slowly mind you) to slow down and savor each moment. I realized that I don't necessarily need to thrive in a fast-paced, workaholic environment. It is possible that the pace I held for years, ever since I began working at fourteen,was masking the woman I am, or the woman I want to be. We live in a productivity based culture, the more you do, the more you make, the more you achieve, the more you are esteemed. If I were to say to you, "I spent three hours meditating today," you might think, "ok, whatever." If I were to say, "I spent three hours at work today and invented the antidote for warts," you might congratulate me. Doing is valued. Being is not. But this summer I was forced to Be. I was forced to sit back, after I had done the footwork (action is required), and allow my Higher Power to take over. Forcing solutions backfired. Quiet contemplation prevailed. Today I am choosing to leave the tunnel and to walk out with my friends and my God. The light is bright and my eyes haven't quite adjusted, but I have faith that soon I will know which way to turn.

Let the Mosquitoes Be Your Guide

I needed quiet time with God today. I also needed a long run, so I dropped my car off to get my snow tires removed (I think it's safe) and headed South on the Appalachian Trail. I wasn't sure what to expect as I entered a field that abuts Route 7. I turned off my music, sure that it would robe me of the total effect. Good choice. I arrived into a magical world, filled with lush grasses and maple trees, pine needle strewn floors and swamps. I traveled from the cool of a grove of trees to the mucky algal water of swampland. My feet were wet within minutes as I wondered just what the eel- like creature I had startled, was. I began to pray. The mosquitoes guided me across the terrain and I gave up on the practice of Ahimsa, wiping my sweaty arms, smearing the bodies as I went. I emerged from a grassy path onto a side road and continued through a field, the only sound was my breathing, sneakers hitting earth and songbirds. Traffic was a distant murmur. I was alone. Not really alone though. I know I was with God and probably a host of other creatures that watched me run by, the heavy footfall a contributor to hip problems and waking every field mouse in the vicinity. Each turn of the trail brought a new world, the only constant were my guides the mosquitoes, their unceasing loyalty to me made me feel important, needed, wanted, loved. The funny thing was, in the quiet, I wasn't scared. I entered the path with a clear mission, to spend time with my Creator. Field, swamp, forest, and on and on. I reached a point where I might have hit the road and continued to my final destination, my partner's house, where I would wait for my car to be ready for pick-up but I chose a different path, I continued along the Appie, unaware of what would meet me up the road, and unprepared, but armed with curiosity and naivete. The trail should lead in the direction of my destination right? More of the same terrain, right? I looked up at the rocky cliff in front of me, a mile from the turn off, my mouth parched and deer fly in tow. It was too late to turn back, or was it? If I had a map I would have known, so I forged ahead and proceeded to climb to the miraculous view shown in the above photographs. Turkey vultures flew overhead, close enough to jump up and reach, I was sure they were waiting for me to fall into the ravine, tired and dehydrated. I forged on, contacting my father for direction once I could text, amazed when he had, that day purchased a book on the trail, which he proceeded to share with me. Three miles until the turnoff that would lead me to my destination, three more mini peaks to go, Mountain Laurel waiting to bloom, Goosefoot Maple, relaying my altitude. Frustration, uncertainty and fear cropped up. Emotions I am familiar with, having indulged in fear cocktail daily for the last few weeks. But I was ok, I wasn't mauled by a bear or fed on by vultures. I reached the intersecting trail three hours and forty five minutes after I had left that morning. Maybe I traveled ten miles in all, many of those however were scaling cliff. But I was supported the entire time, almost four hours with only the sound of my breath and footstep, the rustle of trees and plop of a toad. I survived being the only human traveler, although my buzzing friends do get credit for their tenacity and devotion. I found what I was looking for, a sense of peace and space withing a fear-filled world. I was brought into the land, cradled, rocked and spit back out on the other side, reaching the faucet and plastic cup right in the nick of time.