Monday, November 26, 2012

Conscious

I hold no delusions of “roughing it” in the mountains this weekend even with absence of television and computer.  I hiked mildly rugged terrain wrapped snuggly in a coat and shod with warm leather boots.  I welcomed winter cold air that filled my lungs and chilled my nose pink knowing the loop trail would return to a cabin with electricity and hot water.  I am conscious of myself and my thoughts as I left urban surroundings for isolated higher elevations. 

The adjective conscious is defined at dictionary.com.
1.  aware of one’s own existence, sensations, thoughts, surroundings, etc.
2.  fully aware of or sensitive to something;  conscious of one’s faults
3.  having the mental faculties fully active:  conscious during an operation
4.  known to oneself:  conscious guilt
5.  aware of what one is doing:  a conscious liar


Mice are part of mountain trips.  We don’t ever actually SEE the creatures just their rice-sized droppings in a corner, beneath pillows, and under a sink cabinet collaged with bits of torn toilet tissue.  Some sweeping and bicker-banter about the inconvenience typically initiates my family to a mountain weekend. 
 
Not so this past weekend.  After the typical poo patrol we enjoyed a simple day capped off with cocoa.  While we slept, a rascally rodent climbed to my coat (an unsolved mystery since the coat was hanging on a wall hook far from the ground).  That little scamp found the fluffy lining of my coat’s hood, just as I do, compelling for comfort.  The mouse chewed a hole through the exterior and the lining then excavated pats of white fluff!  When I found the scene in the morning my words were full of fury.  I love that coat!  I’ve only had it one season!  Evil mouse! 
 
As I swept the mess I meditated on my surroundings and the situation.  I brought thoughts as questions.  Can I feel angry?  Yes.  Is a mouse criminal for being a mouse?  No.  Was the mouse conscious of destroying something that does not belong to him?  No.  Was I letting a mouse with no conscious thought ruin my morning?  Yes.  Could conscious watching of self identify the real problems:  assumption and attachment?  Yes.
 
Because we humans are conscious beings, we can watch ourselves.  My reaction sprang from attachment to a “perfect” coat.  My reaction was also rooted in assumption:  that ten noisy feet scared such critters away.  The mouse not only gnawed a hole in my coat but in my self-soothing false belief that mice only roamed the home when people were not in it. 
 
The truth:  I will uncomfortably accept cohabitating with mountain mice.  I will mend the coat and find it warming despite imperfection.  I embrace the tiny lesson in living as a conscious being.  Every self-watching moment serves us on a path to mindful, conscious living.  As we learn clear seeing of our own self, however small each glimpse might be, we become more aware of and sensitive to our actions. 

 
 
After Vexation

limbs stretch through a hole
sentient animal finds true
light shines on what is
 
 
 
 

Monday, November 19, 2012

Lucky

Counting blessings may lead to thoughts about lucky.  I feel lucky to have electricity, water flowing from indoor spigots, clean clothes.  I consider myself lucky to be married to a faithful husband whose love and commitment allow me to securely reciprocate my own love and commitment.  I feel lucky to have been born in the United State of America.  I am lucky to have good friends, bright children, the opportunity to practice yoga, a pile of food to look forward to Thanksgiving Day.  Some of these things are in my life by chance, some involved past and continued determination on my part.     
Lucky is defined at dictionary.com as an adjective meaning
1.  having or marked by good luck; fortunate
2.  happening fortunately
3.  bringing or foretelling good luck
We might admit there is randomness to every person’s life.  Events, people, resources, and options arrive or depart without our conscious choice. I’ve read versions of the following Chinese Folktale that address events as good or bad.  This one is from "The Power of Mindful Learning," by Ellen J. Langer.
A man who lived on the northern frontier of China was skilled in interpreting events.  One day, for no reason, his horse ran away to the nomads across the border.  Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, "What makes you so sure this isn't a blessing?"  Some months later his horse returned, bringing a splendid nomad stallion.  Everyone congratulated him, but his father said, "What makes you so sure this isn't a disaster?"  Their household was richer by a fine horse, which his son loved to ride. One day the son fell and broke his hip.  Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, "What makes you so sure this isn't a blessing?"  A year later the nomads came in force across the border, and every able-bodied man took his bow and went into battle.  The Chinese frontiersmen lost nine of every ten men.  Only because the son was lame did the father and son survive to take care of each other.  Truly, blessing turns to disaster, and disaster to blessing: the changes have no end, nor can the mystery be fathomed.
We each know the moment we are in and perhaps recall some we have passed through.  Often hindsight gives perspective only cumulative events can offer.  Knowing, like the Chinese father, changes have no end nor can the mystery be fathomed is a challenge when life seems not lucky.  Never can it be said that it is lucky to be ill or sad or lonely or in poverty or abused.  The grand mystery of it all seems truly incomprehensible.  But, when I reflect on my life, never has a truer statement been made than the Dalai Lama XIV’s words, “Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.”   
Columbus didn’t get his path to India.  Generations later we celebrate American Thanksgiving.  In its tradition, I wish abundance to all this week and always. 
 
 
 

Monday, November 12, 2012

Meals

My fridge often fails to offer successful meals.  Never mind that it only extends to me things I have put into it. I embrace an external entity to blame for mediocre meals I’ve offered of late.
 
The noun meal is defined as any of the regular occasions when a reasonably large amount of food is eaten, such as breakfast, lunch, or dinner or the food eaten on such an occasion.
 
My daughter attended a talk to volunteer with a group providing meals for the homeless.  The organization offers a magnanimous 4,500 meals a week on a budget of $2,000.  Her group will provide 260 persons one dinner.  These were the guidelines to the youth:  offer a protein, starch, vegetable, dessert.  Make it healthy.  And give from your heart.  Do not provide merely food but also love and compassion.  The homeless kitchen’s mission makes my lamenting feel like the squeaks of an ungrateful mouse living in a cheese factory.  On the other hand, listening to kids brainstorm ideas illustrated that they had no idea what it really takes to put together meals.
 
I am deeply grateful to have plentiful food.  I thankfully procure fresh, green stuff and avoid sugar and empty, processed carbs.  Healthy food and nutrition have been my hobby for years but somehow, regrettably, my sizzle fizzled.  I’ve lost the emotional satisfaction once mingled with making meals, perusing recipes, plotting perfect pairings.  I miss the joy it used to bring.  I don’t remember how to offer my heart alongside a lightly salted chicken breast and its steamed friend, broccoli. 
 
Meals can indeed serve self and caloric sustenance.  People gather at table to offer and receive.  Through emotional eating, baby nutrition, snacks and sippy cups, my meals evolved in phases both fulfilling and frustrating.  I now find myself squarely seated at the helm of family meals for five.   Sandwiched between work that I adore and kids’ activities they enjoy, volunteer commitments and household management, a reasonably large amount of food for breakfast, lunch, or dinner often feels like a distraction instead of a mission.  My mind voice is screaming, “You cannot be burned out.  This is important stuff!”   
 
I need recharging, maybe from a tradition honored as people sit to sup:  find gratitude.  (Even for cheese toast and sliced fruit for dinner?)  My knowledge about the science of food in the body won’t disappear.  But maybe I can release the “perfect meal” and lower the temperature on the pressure placed on meals.  Sounds delicious.  But like many delicious meals, rejuvenation might take more time than I want.
 

Leftovers

ho hum lunch munch meal fare
past time, prepared titanic pot
same yet today not so yummy
seated similar chummy bench
served hot, chewed, swallowed
simultaneously divided due
two big bowls sit after through


tastes changed as body slept
cells crept up, stirred to death
from the surface sloughed off
washed away, plate from goo
became new (unlike the food)
staid without change in hunger
eaten, want keeps growing alive
 
 
 

 

Monday, November 5, 2012

Sabbatical

This morning, I wavered between AWOL and sabbatical to name my thoughts.  My recent absence from musing was not deliberate but time that got away from me on one hand and was tendered from me by the demands of life on the other.  Monday morning would arrive, fill up like a bucket dropped in a swimming pool, sink into afternoon and evening, then float into Tuesday without any writing.  Today, I return from sabbatical with full fall splendor and a calendar with a bit of space left on it.
 
Among several, Dictionary.com offers the following entries for sabbatical.
1.  (adjective) of or pertaining or appropriate to the Sabbath
5.  (noun) any extended period of leave from one’s customary work, especially for rest, to acquire new skills or training, etc.


I took a one month period of leave from my customary writing to keep myself sane.  I do nurture myself with writing, but I knew if I frantically coveted bits of time by forcing the issue I would start acting mean, resentful, impatient.  That much I have learned about myself.  When I step too far away from life as a mother/homemaker I lose touch with how important those roles are for me. 
 
I remain, as we all do, an individual who must care for my own self, too.  But I know falling into unbalance (even toward positive pursuits) will topple the blocks of me.  One can become over attached to beneficial activities, too!  My life flows best with essential foundation stones in place.  Rest and suitable food are paramount followed by getting five people where we are supposed to be, prepared with what we need, in enough time to not feel frantic.  In the last four weeks that’s all I could manage.
 
We all have some version of a daily pie chart with 24 slices, each one hour.  We experience the tug-of-war it can take to keep that pie divided among life’s demands.   Let’s not trick ourselves into thinking we can squeeze 26 hours out of our 24 hour days.  Let’s also go easy on ourselves in terms of how much we should realistically expect to get done.  Rest is not a last thought, not time wasted.  Rest is essential.  In the biblical story of creation, God took time to rest – hence the origin of the word Sabbatical.  What more permission do we need?

 
 

Period of Leave

appropriate as the seventh day
look at that which is
done.
find it good

one in holy acts making should
alive in that which is
done.
know enough

actions always not essence stuff
see all that which is
done.
not over divide

in truth of Devine self-love reside
bow to that which is
done.
man made last

Maker did not say, do more fast
accept that which is
done.
day sufficient

work time tic to appropriate end
today that which is
done.
not tomorrow

let a next day not long to borrow
discern that which is
done.
offer rest