Tag Archives: awareness

The Restless Hours

The hours in-between, when no light separates night from day, when both are morning, when both are one.

These are the restless hours, so suited to illusion. Their magic lies in that they are neither dark nor light.

Just when I believe I see one thing, something else is revealed. The more aware I am, the more the magic reveals.

Is that not the heart of illusion? The unknown shrouded in the midst of the known.

Murky by design, these hours of in-between keep me on the cusp of the believable. Momentarily, the sound of rain becomes a waterfall.

On this day, the light remains gray, the illusion of the waterfall all but gone. I opt for candlelight and a bit of incense as I write by the light of a screen.

I want to make the magic stay, that time when morning is not yet day, when one is not yet the other.

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

 

 

Feats of Thoughtfulness

I cannot think of a moment when kindness is not essential. Yet, it remains a hard practice for me.

Always, I start with the small stuff–especially on difficult days—when I want to shout, not necessarily to be heard but just to shout at senselessness.

I “can build a whole world around the tiniest of touches” (Carol Rifka Brunt)–world building, moment by moment. A kind word or a gentle touch—a hug— interrupts my momentum, perhaps saving me from a slide down yet another slippery slope.

I like to think of world building as a balancing act with kindness keeping me in the middle-of-the-road, providing me perspective on both sides of the spectrum, saving me from the tipping point.

Perhaps this is how we effect change everywhere—in tiny touches with surprising feats of thoughtfulness.

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

The Energy of Being

Wednesdays are my week’s fulcrum. It is the day after my dose of a weekly medication. My body is weaker on Wednesdays.

Sometimes, the pivot point settles quickly but no two weeks are the same. No point holding onto the unique. It won’t repeat.

A low energy Wednesday might mean a higher level on a Thursday or a Friday, possibly even a Saturday but not a run of three. The energy may remain low or drop even lower.

My physical energy level helps me read the signals my body is sending. Cells are in die off, and the body adjusts, a bit of respite from the immune system’s constant attack. It has been a long time since there was any actual truce but at times I glimpse a glimmer.

Medication may be my immediate response but it is not the only one.

Michael A. Singer taught me about the “seat of self—the flow of energy from the depths of my being.”  Call it Chi, Shakti, or even spirit.

For me, it’s the energy of being.

To sit in the seat of myself is to know pure awareness. It is as constant as my body’s signals but beyond the battle. Here, peace is available no matter the war.

Consciousness is the highest word you’ll ever utter.

There is nothing higher or deeper than consciousness…

It is pure awareness.

(Michael A. Singer, The Untethered Soul).\

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

Larger-Than-Life Appetite

A colleague once said to me, “You can’t be passionate about everything.” I was sure I could and responded similarly, maybe even dismissively.

Years later, I consider her observation more a question than a statement. Maybe that’s why it has stayed with me. I think we were both talking about hunger, although I doubt either one would have found that word acceptable.

At all costs, she avoided “running on empty,” while I did not know how else to live other than filling up and spilling over. Every. Single. Drop.

My larger-than-life appetite marked most of my life. I poured passion into whatever occupied me. It was exhausting physically; emotionally, I echoed.

Mindfulness showed me it was my choices that left me hungry. Mindfulness is life unfiltered, pure awareness. Each moment offers me a slice of life, and all I need do is experience it. There is more than enough.

Each slice is another choice, sometimes from a completely different pie. But my focus is exploring each choice–sometimes, it’s a hard swallow.

Then, I physically quiet myself. Eventually the gap between thoughts grows and the mind stills. On some days, that gap is infinitesimal but practice has shown me it exists. I need not hunger.

The more you are willing to just let the world

be something you’re aware of, the more it will

let you be who you are—

the awareness, the self, the Atman, the soul.

(Michael A. Singer, The Untethered Soul)

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

Yours For the Taking

This morning, I walked away from my walker without realizing it. I did not return to it immediately. It was a bit of freedom. Why not take it?

Mine is a two-room apartment so this was not a walk for distance or duration but it was a walk with an actual gait. I focused on each step, sensing a rhythm.

Is that what a blur on an x-ray might bring? Rhythm? Is that what “teeny” fusing of donor bone with my vertebrae feels like? I’ve been here before, too aware that such a blur may be in the eye of the beholder.

A year and a half ago it seemed my neck was healing after C2-C4 fusion surgery, only to be later told later no healing was taking place. The neck is the “piece of real estate” that controls my limbs; daily, basic yoga helps me work with the signals they send me.

In all ways, this feels a matter of nerve. Do I have what it takes to believe again? Is that what hope is?  I don’t think any one thing–like an x-ray–can give me hope any more than one person can take it from me.

It is mine to give or not to take. Hope is always available. In every moment, I’m given yet another perspective on the obstacle that is my path. In this moment, it is a blur on an x-ray.

It is not a matter of “getting my life back” for this is my life, this moment right here. I don’t want to miss a moment of it. So, in the early light of this morning, I walked.

As Emily Dickinson wrote, “if your nerve deny you— go above your nerve.” It is yours for the taking.

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

Trying to Be a Woman with No Future

Yesterday, I saw a Byron Katie meme that said, “I am a woman with no future.” There was a time I knew myself as such but of late, I am caught up in the way of the world rather than the way I work.

I know they are not mutually exclusive but I have lost sight of myself, looking only to the future. My body is taut, my perspective narrow. Two writing submission deadlines loom, and neither essay is coming together.

I am focused on the deadline rather than the content, looking to the end stage rather than the words it takes to get there. I need to be a woman unaware of her future.

It means bringing the meditative state into my day. For me, writing does that but the world does not stop because I write. Even without deadlines, writing occupies most of my day. Words are always forming phrases.

I pass over one thought for another and then maybe go back to the original. Regardless, I find out what I’m thinking. I have great respect for mind and all that it produces, which is a lot.

I’m not sure that I ever allow my body enough respect, especially when I am writing. It, too, requires movement but unlike moving words around on stationary screens, the body in motion takes me away from screens. Words float, sometimes out of mind.

If I sit just a little longer I tell myself. I’ll set a timer but I sit too long or maybe, not long enough. Without an evenness of mind and body, my entire being stiffens.

Mind often dominates but at its own expense for if the body is ignored in terms of exercise and nutrition, the mind muddles. In frustration, its only focus is deadlines.

It is time for a cup of tea, and a bit of a stretch. I will find more words. There are so many–more than enough–but I have only this one moment.

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

The Essence of Mirage

If equanimity opens me to the colors of the day, mindfulness provides the canvas. These are my daily tools, and I keep them close. If I do not, ego will send me in search of something so promising that to escape the day seems my only choice.

As well, I am provided 1001 reasons why inattentiveness to the day and its requirements is my best course. Sometimes this is true but mostly, it is a mirage.

Ego is formidable and endless but acknowledging–not avoiding or attaching–to such strong desire is the pause I need. I go to a poem, albeit one of a Victorian girl new to dreams. No matter; its essence provides what I need.

Mirage

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,

Was but a dream; and now I wake

Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,

For a dream’s sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,

A weeping willow in a lake;

I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt

For a dream’s sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;

My silent heart, lie still and break:

Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed

For a dream’s sake.

Christina Rossetti (c. 1842)

The line that lingers is “life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed.” It is what I need for this day, the day I have, and I am attentive to its canvas.

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.