Learning to Stay

Knowing weekends are often hard for me, I made a plan last night to be more proactive. Thich Nhat Hanh suggests I put a reminder in the bedroom that I’ll see on awakening. It could be a branch hung from the ceiling. Whatever. It is to remind me to start the day with a half-smile and be aware of my breath.

I wrote “half-smile” on a sticky note on the bedside table.

This morning I watched my mind and tried to remain aware whenever it wanted to take me down a depressing path. I had dreamed of animals, lots of pets: cats, domestic rats. On waking, my mind wanted to dwell on the suffering of animals who are kept as pets by irresponsible families. Then I was thinking of the day I had to put my rat Stella down after her second stroke, when she kept having more convulsions and couldn’t clean herself or feed herself. Then my mind went to the day my cat Zelus died a very untimely, accidental death.

I called to mind some recent teachings that have found their way to me. I tried to cut loose the storyline and stay with the ball of pain energy resting in my chest and belly.

There is pain in the world.

I tried breathing in this pain energy, breathing it into my heart on behalf of all sentient beings. We all share this pain. It is part of the whole of the experience of being here.

I did my best not to run from the pain body, not to distract myself from it, not to let it generate more depressing, anxiety-creating thinking. I did my best to become aware of it and hold it with loving kindness, sit with it.

I know that I am sad. I am taking good care of my sadness. I know that I am anxious. I am taking good care of my anxiety. I know that I am fearful. I am taking good care of my fear.

I became aware of my breath and began to move about mindfully. Mindfully I drew a bath, moving slowly.

The hardest part for me is remembering to be compassionate toward myself and non-judgmental. All of the resources I’m reading and listening to now keep drilling the same message. Each of the 3 teachers I’m currently reading are telling me that these things for which I judge myself so harshly are completely human, normal things. We ALL do that, they say to me over and over.

This morning I sat with this uncomfortable energy and did my best just to observe it. One teaching that is incredibly helpful to me is to think of moods like weather patterns. You are like a mountain. Storms come and storms go across your landscape. It doesn’t make you a bad mountain. Some days are overcast all day, other days are sunny.

When I think of these moods that settle on me like passing rain clouds, it very much helps me to stop with the judging and feeling like I’m failing at something. It’s just weather. As soon as I remember that, I feel myself shift to the observer. I detach and watch and cradle myself and the pain energy with Love and compassion. Instead of recoiling from it, I try taking a step toward it with curiosity. These are some of the things my teachers are showing me now and they are enormously helpful tools.

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The smallest things can lift me up.

Sylvain and I went into a fabric store to buy velcro for a small sewing job he needed me to do. I was in one hell of a tormented state of mind that morning. There was a brown-skinned woman with black hair whose garb suggested she may have been from India, a tiny girl of about 6 or 7 at her side. The little girl turned around when we approached from behind, looked at Sylvain and announced, “I LIKE YOUR WHEELS.” That lifted my heart for hours.

The image on the box of tissues in our bathroom “speaks” to me as if it were a living angel sending a private message just to me. It’s a single gold goldfish in a field of monochromatic blue goldfish. The gold one has a white aura around it and looks as if it’s saying something and smiling. Yeah, bring on the men in white coats if you want, but all I have to do is look at this little glowing fishie and I immediately feel light, happy and in touch the basic goodness of myself and the Universe.

This post.

I was driving to work one morning and had just pulled up to the stop light. A man was crossing in front of my car on a bicycle that was a tad small for him. Suddenly a violent sneeze came out of me (I’m a loud sneezer), and the man looked over just in time to see my hand cover my mouth and nose. I couldn’t hear him, but I could read his lips as he smiled broadly, bowed briefly and offered me a “bless you.” His face stayed with me for days. He had one of those faces shaped by a lifetime of laughter and deep joy. Ebony skin and white, white teeth.