What I Learned Today

A few months ago, I listened to a presentation given by a man named Carl about his struggle with addiction and his path to recovery. This included practicing meditation, and specifically participating in a local Sangha--a group of people that practices meditation together in community.

I was intrigued.

Since then, I've become convinced that a practice of meditation could be key to keeping my mind and body more connected with one another.

While I do have amazing experiences living in my body, my default setting is living in my head, disconnecting from my body.

Today I visited a local Sangha, the one Carl talked about, for the first time. Here's how the guided meditation went for me, the images coming to me without any effort beyond breathing in and breathing out.

It seems I had an epiphany. Maybe epiphanies. About myself? About the world around me? Maybe both?

We imagine ourselves as a flower.
Breathe in, flower. Breathe out, fresh.
I am one of the gazillion flowers I walked by on Teton Pass this summer.
Suddenly, I am vulnerable on the steep side of the mountain,
at the mercy of brutal elements.
Breathe in, flower, Breathe out, fresh.
I picture basking in the warmth of the sun, being nourished.
Breath in, flower, Breathe out, fresh.
I picture the relief of the rain, so cool after the hot sun,
drinking deeply at my roots, which are holding strong.
I have what I need to live.
I am fresh.

We imagine ourselves as a mountain.
Breathe in, mountain. Breathe out, solid.
I am the maiden,
lying along the top of Mt. Timpanogos with my arms crossed.
Suddenly, I am not solid.
I am vulnerable, struggling to find my balance on the narrow ridge.
Breathe in, mountain. Breathe out, solid.
I am the mountains near Thistle,
washed to the bottom of the canyon when I am too saturated with rain.
Breathe in, mountain. Breathe out, solid.
I am the scree at the base of a crag in Rock Canyon,
hoping hikers know what they are getting into if they cross over me.
Breathe in, mountain. Breathe out, solid.
I am the Wasatch Front, riddled by faults.
Breathe in, mountain. Breathe out, solid.
I am an ancient volcano, spewing ash and lava.
I breathe in; I breathe out. I breathe in; I breathe out.
But I can't imagine the mountains are solid.
Am I?

We imagine ourselves as water.
Breathe in, water. Breathe out, still.
I am floating on the surface under the moon and stars.
I am in my element.
Breathe in, water. Breathe out, still.
I am dozens of feet down in the Caribbean Sea, below the waves,
watching a sea turtle twice my size swim past without disturbing a thing.
I am still.

We imagine ourselves as the sky.
Breathe in, sky. Breathe out, free.
I am up on a cliff, the blue sky is vast.
Breathe in, sky. Breathe out, free.
I am up on the cliff, the blue sky is vast, but I am not.
Breathe in, sky. Breathe out, free.
I am up on the cliff, the blue sky is vast.
I stretch my arms wide; I refuse to stay small.
The blue sky is vast, and so am I.
I am free.

After the Wild Fires

The other day, Roger and I took a drive in our little 2002 Audi convertible (a spontaneous purchase when it came in on trade at the Volkswagen dealer I worked at selling cars this past year, and, oh, it is sweet). We drove the loop around Mt. Nebo, the tallest mountain in view from home.

Last summer, wild fires raged through the area. This was my first time on that road since, and I was curious to survey the damage.

Growing up, I didn't have experience with wildfires (though we often hiked to lookout towers in the mountains of New England, so we must have had them from time to time). When I moved west, and especially since living in our Utah neighborhood nestled near the mouth of a canyon, I've seen so many fires. I've seen every mountain around us on fire at least once.

The two things that have surprised me most as these mountain wild fires have become familiar to me are (1) it is rare for entire forests burn to the ground - the fires skip and jump and often leave many trees they pass completely unscathed, and (2) that the mountainsides and forest floors are always green the following Spring.

The past few years I've experienced some metaphorical wild fires, as have too many people I love.

Like really devastating, life-changing wild fires.

As I return to writing here, I realize that much of what I've experienced are not my stories to tell or are stories that need to be told in private, in person.

And so in an irritatingly vague way, I will say this:

As my wild fires ripped through--and some are still flaming up--I have feared total devastation. I have experienced deep, personal visceral fear. I have wondered what I'm rooted in and if my roots will hold.

And yet, here I am! Here we are! There are trees still standing alive; there is green everywhere.

All is not lost. It is not.

Write Something

I'm in between again.

I'm trying to figure out my next step in my life and trying to use this time to get things in better order - house, finances, relationships, body, mind, soul, etc.

The last time I found myself in this space was after we closed our bookstore. It took me a long time to find my sea legs without it. One of my kickstart strategies back then was to practice 40 good habits every day for 40 days. I wrote about my experiences, and it was transformative.

This time my challenges are substantially different, but I again see a need to be more deliberate about creating structure. (To be honest, I'd rather hang out at the beach and read a book, which, in my opinion, isn't so bad for my body, mind and soul. Especially if I take breaks for a swim! But. Balance.)

It is not in my nature to do the same thing twice.

On Tuesday night, I made a list, a framework for a reinvented daily approach.

Organize something
Clean something
Purge something
Write something
Read something
Practice something
Stretch something
Change something

On Wednesday night, I came across this passage in Mark Manson's book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*uck, in which he is quoting his high school math teacher:

"Don't just sit there. Do something. The answer will follow."

Manson goes on to discuss the relationship between inspiration, motivation, and action and concludes with this thought: "If you lack the motivation to make an important change in your life, do something--anything, really--and then harness the reaction to that action as a way to begin motivating yourself."

It is in my nature to appreciate synchronicity.

And so on Thursday, I am all in.