Returning to Center: What To Do When My Practice Derails

I have not been writing. I can feel the deep loss of this important part of my daily spiritual practice. Three weeks ago I started a temporary job in my chosen field, which will last until Christmas. I have been underemployed for a few years now, so the position was welcomed and it has proven to be an amazing opportunity. I work with people I respect and have support in learning my craft. The only caveat? A long (hour and half each direction) commute. Before this job, I would wake up early, go for a five mile run, and head to work. I would then come home, maybe another short run or yoga class. Now I am waking at 3:45am to run a quick two miles and leave my house by 5:30. The days are shortening and daylight savings time has begun. My schedule has been disrupted and I am experiencing intense exhaustion. Three hours a day in the car has begun to wear on me, and the resulting illness derailed the daily spiritual and physical practices which have kept me centered and, for the most part, serene. My job now is to get back on track, which includes taking a few moments a day to write. My problem is, that if I cannot do something completely, I do not even begin. So today I am here, with a cup of tea and the blank page. I do not have to write a novel, I just have to write a paragraph. Disruptions are part of life; we change jobs, go back to school, experience loss or fall sick. Getting back into the rhythm of routine is nearly impossible for me, but must be done before I succumb to the negativity that plagued my life years ago, before embarking on a spiritual journey.

As I write this post I am reminded of the opening lines of the Divine Comedy: Midway in the journey of our life / I came to myself in a dark wood / because the straight way was lost (Inferno 1, lines 1-3). Dante writes that it is the "journey of our life," not my life. First, I am not alone, we all get lost, off track, or derailed. But just because the straight path is lost to us, we are still someplace, even if it appears to be dark. It might just be that the straight way is not the path I should be walking, and I need to get lost for a bit, in order to focus on my surroundings. What has the past three weeks taught me? First: I adore teaching and I adore teaching teenagers. Second: I am wrapped so tight in my habits and routines that any time I stray from the path, I lose serenity. I am not well practiced in the art of navigating through change. In the Comedy, Dante, after finding himself in the dark wood, continues on, even though he did not know how he had gotten to that place. He takes a rest, and continues on the path, although he is ultimately thwarted by three vicious creatures. It is only when he accepts the help and guidance of Virgil, that he is able to continue. Albeit he continues on a different journey, one that will result in the writing of one of the most important pieces of literature.

What can I learn from my favorite writer? Certain daily practices may have been derailed, and it may seem a wee bit bleak, but if I reach out and accept the help and guidance of others, I might be able to find a different way. I know that in the past when I was trying to figure out how to juggle my undergraduate work with commuting and raising a child, I only had to ask for help and my schedule smoothed out. The first step in resolving this unrest, is to ask for Divine guidance. Breathe in, breathe out, pray, take a nap, and begin again. My one paragraph has become three, and I already feel as if I am returning back to my Self.

After The Storm

Sitting here after a rainstorm, the water is loud and falls from the mountain behind my house. Usually there is a small trickle but today the recent storm has turned this quiet section of woods into a powerful sight. I am sitting on a rock in the middle, wondering why I am so sad. There are obvious reasons, the school year has started, and I am still an unemployed English teacher, Sallie Mae has been calling and I am unsure what the future will bring. I watch students go back, teachers go back, and I would love to join them. But also I think it is a time of transition, the season is changing, bits of red and yellow dot the landscape now, summer is winding down and I am about to go into my first autumn without textbooks to buy; my first year without a degree to pursue. My son has made his way to his junior year of college on his own and I feel as if I don't have a direction, I don't have a clear cut goal. So I am sitting in the middle of a crazy directionless waterfall, its water spilling haphazardly over numerous rocks, unable to form a single path because of the sheer amount of water. The water makes its own path. Maybe I have choices; I don't have to just teach high school English, although I enjoy that. I am a teacher and a writer. I need to teach and I need to write, but maybe the form of my employment will be different than what is pictured in my head. The water is making its own path, maybe I should be as well. The answers are here in my church, in the power and strength of the falls, in the slippery rocks and the crazy act of climbing to get a better view (coming down was scary). I have made it this far, maybe what is around the bend will surprise me. Once I reached the "top" of these falls I saw they went higher than I had previously thought. I just don't know, and that is ok. The Universe knows, and that should be enough for today. All it takes is a step up or a step forward, hold on to a branch and hopefully enjoy the view. 

Taking Flight

This morning I set out for a run, choosing the trail behind my apartment which weaves through rolling fields, past a pond, over a brook and by some pine woods. I hadn't been running in a few days and my lungs felt it,  and my legs were a little shaky, but I ventured on, determined to add five miles to my running tally. As I passed the pond a Great Blue Heron took flight, he was invisible to my eyes until he made his move. It jarred me from my meditation. Herons transition between water, land and air, and although it appears that their bodies may be heavy as they take off, once they are airborne, their flight is smooth. It occurred to me that over the last few months I have been considering myself to be in a transition period, graduating from college, and waiting for the next adventure to begin, that new job or writing project. I have been focusing on getting someplace, finding that source of income, making a contribution to society. When that didn't happen this summer, my first instinct was to run away, to start over in a new place, because maybe just maybe I would actually get somewhere then. But today as my lungs reminded me to stay present and the heron reminded me to pay attention, I realized that I haven't been in a transitional limbo. This is a necessary part of life. Just as winter isn't the transitional period between autumn and spring, the last few months haven't been the transition between school and employment. Winter is essential. Without it there would be no opportunity for new life to sprout. Life is cyclical, each day is necessary, not just another 24 hours to get through in order to get to the good stuff. As westerners I think we value the active life, the workaholism, the doing doing doing. Meditation and quiet seem unnecessary in the scheme of life, because nothing gets done. But watch a heron as it stands completely still in the water. In that stillness is action, without it the fish would never be spied. When the time comes I will be called to action just as the heron will move to spear its prey, but just for today this stillness, this so called "transition" period is exactly what I need to be experiencing. When I ran this morning, what mattered wasn't my starting point (my house,) or my ending point (my house,) but the grass, the mud, the cattails and heron between the two points. That is the journey, that is the point.

The Calm Sea is Full of Shoes

 

The day is crisp, a gentle breeze blows from the north, or south. The
house is quiet, for once my animal friends are snoozing. I am serene, my life is running smoothly, things are falling into place. Why do I want so bad to splash? Not just a little, oops sorry I got you splash. I want to create waves, I want to start a fight, to mix things up a bit. It is hard to sit in peace with oneself. I find that I am closest to my God when I can calm the chatter in my head and just sit in peace, in prayer and meditation. There is something scary about sitting in peace and quiet, alone with myself. What dragon will sneak up behind me and yell "boo" in my ear? I think that it is more than just waiting for the other shoe to drop (yes size 9-1/2, pumps please). Part of having an addictive personality is that I just love chaos. I love the drama, the adrenaline that shoots through my veins when I have 18 million projects to do and not enough time to do them. I love feeling excited when I have new projects, new shoes, and new adventures planned. My enemy is silence, is stillness, is treading water. Give me bigger, better, more, more, more until I collapse in a heap and what? Sit in silence maybe? For today I will write a paper, I will allow myself a few minutes of quiet with myself. I will refrain from entering a shoe store. I will keep my mouth shut and not start a fight. I will be a grown up. Now there, that wasn't so bad was it. Row, row, row the boat...

Ode to a Great Blue Heron

It is foliage season in New England, the leaves are turning their brilliant or not so brilliant colors before dropping to the ground to be come recycled material. It always sneaks up on me, one day I will be standing in the woods and they are awash in color, the next day, or so it seems all that's left are branches. The variances in between are imperceptible. We become accustomed to our surroundings so don't notice the beauty until it is too late. I said good bye to the Great Blue Heron that lives nearby, a bird that somehow, in some way I see almost every day, either flying overhead at dusk, or sitting on the edge of the pond, waiting for his dinner to pop up. Soon he will be leaving for warmer climates, along with the Canadian geese and hummingbirds. But it is this smokey gray bird that I will miss the most as snow starts to blanket my backyard. I live in an area with four seasons, each having its draw points. Autumn with the brilliant colors, fresh apples, pumpkins and breezy bright clear days. Winter has soft white snow, fires in the hearth, hot chocolate and...and what? Shorter days that allow for cozy naps, and (insert your own winter wonder here.) So yes, I may be a little bitter about the end to warmer temperatures and my favorite bird, but I have become accustomed to my surroundings so much that I have failed to accept every season, including the one that is hard on the wallet and snow shovel. Winter is also the season to bundle up, become quiet and go within. The blanket of snow muffles most of the outside activity. Spring's dramatic burst, and autumn's color spectacular make way for a time of solitude and silence. I don't work well with peace and quiet. As November approaches I want to be cognoscente of my internal dramatic self that longs for a little chaos and excitement, a roller coaster ride or two. I can feel her yawn and stretch, to start daydreaming about possible ways to create trouble, to pick a fight or bring a little color to the silence. This winter I want to sit in the silence and learn how to enjoy it, beyond acceptance. The silence is where I find my God, my connection with the vastness that is there.