Tag Archives: mindfulness

Living, Spirituality

Smash the Taskmaster

I will not feel guilty for doing what the Spirit moves me to at any given time.
I will revel in the mindless work of plucking pine needles from fingers of moss.
I will lose myself in the monotony.
I will let my mind drift along meandering paths –

    not to the should’ve, could’ve, would’ves.

I will write for the pleasure of it,

    not the drudgery.

I will not let unfinished business ruin the relish of the deal on the table.

There is no sense in feeding our souls if we are constantly counting calories.

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Living

One Blessed Moment

 

A mail truck swinging in ahead of you as you swoop down a hill.

A child vomiting on you as you’re about to walk out the door.

Sometimes the universe conspires not against you, but for you.

Saving you from the speeding ticket that lay in wait just beyond the mail truck.

Forcing you to stay home and not only soothe your child, but cleanse yourself of the worries of the day.

When your world is spinning at an alarming rate, there is no room for error.

But certain things cannot be ignored;

Course must be altered –

 

if only for one blessed moment.right on time delivery

 

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Poetry

Soak a Single Moment

 

Tart and sweet,

warmth running down my middle.

The cricket click of a processor.

The whine of refrigeration.

The wave of radiation shimmering in the shadow box of mullions.

No matter where I am, I can find the glow of the sun.

It and I travel all over, and yet, connect –

if I look, if I feel, if I stop to soak it in.

Sometimes the grandest thing to be done

is to do nothing but soak in the sun.

 

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Living, Poetry

Today

Some mechanical hum
the lonesome wail of a railway train
the cyclical sound of rain on window

The acrid smell of heat coming up
The warmth
as it soaks through my sweater
spreading from limb to limb

An upside down paint-by-number
with a hidden smiley face
Drink from that spring-fed well
that defies gravity

And go about your day

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anxiety, Identity, Living

Lowest Common Denominator

We’re taught to see the big picture.  The interrelationship of all things.  This keeps us all on the same page, united in our humanity, celebrating our differences in their similarities.  It helps us make meaning and induces awe.  I get it.  I value it.

But this mindset is antithetical to a ‘one day at a time’ mentality; a live in the moment attitude; that ever-present push for mindfulness.

Especially for an anxiety-ridden person such as myself.

How can I not ‘sweat the small stuff’, when it adds up to a whole mess of stuff?  Each tiny bit of tedium I must attend to throughout the day fills up the entire day.  I cannot shut off the mechanism in my mind that fits each peg into its hole in the mosaic of my life.

X leads to Y then to Z and every consonant clamors in dissonance.  I can’t hear the letter for the alphabet.

I’ll always be an English major, though I graduated a number of years ago.  I’ll always be a book reviewer.  An English/Language Arts teacher.  A writer.  A critical reader.  A literary theorist.  All this is type-set into my skin.  I eat, sleep, and breathe words, letters; their combinations, their phraseology.

I am forever searching for ways to form patterns, find themes, stack layer upon layer of meaning.

But what about when I need to reduce?  To distill an idea down to its purest form?  Base.  Primitive.  The smallest atom of an idea.  I need to reverse operations.  How do I learn to do that?

“The proper, wise balancing
of one’s whole life may depend upon the
feasibility of a cup of tea at an unusual hour.”
― Arnold Bennett, How to Live on 24 Hours a Day

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Living, Spirituality

Ain’t Got Time to Die

Hello, my name is Jennifer.  And I have a problem with mindfulness.

 

In the quest to be mindful, I’m consumed by it.  I’m so busy thinking about it, I don’t think I can achieve it.  Two days ago, I wrote about the miniscule moments that eat up our day; how we don’t live because we’re completing chores and tasks that never end, but we keep trying to complete them anyway.  True.  But people like me never set boundaries, a point when reached, regardless of completion or ‘im’, I stop and begin to relax, enjoy.

 

Julie Metz also offered me another perspective in her book, Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal. 

“Henry’s [Metz’ husband] idea of a perfect day was an action-packed race from waking to sleeping.  He was afraid of the tedium of everyday life, with its chores and routines.  Every real day, however, includes a portion of boredom.

I have struggled to resolve my own boredom through frantic mental activity or shoe shopping.  In rare, blessed moments, I have understood that, with patience, boredom can lead to stillness and calm.  And in calm, I can experience a meditation where I connect with my true self.  I can greet myself with kindness, before I return to my work, parenting, and chores.  These uncharted moments, whenever they happen, are as close as I have come to heaven.

Henry fought off every meeting with his true self, with all its flaws, contradictions, and talents.”

 

Am I, by not embracing the boredom and tedium, not meeting with my own true self?  By mocking the replacing of the toilet paper roll, et al, am I missing out on whole chunks of my life?  Mini-mental vacations I can take to realize, wonder, and reflect?

 

I can’t tell you the last time I was bored – unless you count depressive states when nothing is appealing.  I often joke that I’d love to be bored, to have the opportunity to do nothing.  Really, we can’t do something with our lives unless with take time to do nothing periodically. Am I physically and mentally capable of that?

 

The refrain of a song I heard long ago fills my head as I write this [My subconscious speaking or another sign that I can’t focus on one thing at a time ;-)] –  “Ain’t Got Time to Die,” a Negro Spiritual I first heard sung by Terras Irradiant, a Christian acapella group from Amherst College.

 

Lord, I keep so busy praisin’ my Jesus

Keep so busy praisin’ my Jesus

Keep so busy praisin’ my Jesus

Ain’t got time to die.

 

I am so busy, but I think I’m filling my time with the wrong sorts of things.  Or at least the balance is off.  Focusing on the spiritual would make the crazy press of days fall away or at least lessen.  The hectic pace would slacken, or wouldn’t bother me so much with moments of mindfulness to bring me back to center.  My center as it relates to the greater world around me, my place in this great sweep of time and humanity called life.

 

How’s that for some high falutin’ thinking?

 

Now enough thinking, just be.

 

(Think I can follow my own advice!?)

 

(Don’t answer that!)

 

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Living, Poetry, Spirituality

One

Disparate sources

Un-disjointed by you –

The common denominator

Umami

Ujjayi

States of higher being

Sizzling pan-fried hamburger

Time stops and you with it

Don’t be afraid

Let the universe hold you

I’ve got you, she says.

Let go.

You are the center from which infinitesimal spokes shoot out

But you are not the only one

Millions rotate through the atmosphere

Spun by One

 

Feel One thing at a time.

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Living, Poetry

Miniscule Moments

The tiny tasks we do throughout the day.

 

The minutiae that eat up our time, but bear no importance to our conscience.

 

Pulling back the polka-dot cardboard piece to open the window atop the tissue box.

 

Placing items in the corner of the bottom step to fill shelves upstairs later.

 

Milk in fridge.

Bags in plastic column to be pulled out as needed.

 

A picture frame smashing to the floor, its glass front smashing into tiny pieces.

 

One clear shard a tiny scimitar slicing the terracotta tile.

 

There is life to be lived, but the slivers must be vacuumed.

 

And then the hose sniffs the crumbs just around the corner,

the detritus tracked in from outside –

grass clippings and unidentifiable pieces of bark

or dried stalks from dead flowers.

 

Stop.

 

There is always a mess to be cleaned up.

 

But time is limited.

 

We must be sure not suck our precious moments into the vacuum canister, lost forever.

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anxiety, Living, Spirituality

The Moment

I’ve been trying.

I’ve set aside novels (temporarily) for the beautifully poetic spiritual tome I was too young to read the first time around.

I’ve felt the wideness of my collarbones and my elbows hanging directly below my shoulders.  I felt my head float above my neck and my thoughts detach.

I’ve felt the taut string of the universe pulling me forward, rushing past the green leaves of trees, toward the white billowy clouds against the brilliant blue sky.

I’ve heard the hypnotic rhythm of the acoustic guitar goading me on.

I’ve tried to speak new words rather than the tired routine trod into my brain.

I'm trying to embrace my monkey mind

I’m trying to embrace my monkey mind

I feel the vacillation.

Between the old and new, the positive and the negative, the healthy and the easy monotony.

It always seems to be one or the other.  Never both.  Never a balance.

Or maybe it is both at the same time.

Maybe it is everything all at once and I can’t be one thing at one time and something different at another.

The older you get, the more you carry with you.

It’s a special moment when you can set it all down and float freely through the universe – if only for a moment.

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