October 17, 2019 § Leave a comment
“A well-known teacher was asked to describe the modern world. He answered: Lost in thought.” I’m currently taking a 30-day online mindfulness course from Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach—a series of short guided meditations—and this was how the third session began. Lost in thought: a modern epidemic. I’ve thought about this observation multiple times since, always with sadness and identification. How much of my daily life is spent worrying, planning, remembering, regretting, being somewhere other than where I am?
When we’re lost in thought, Kornfield notes, we’re missing out on what’s in front of us, perhaps on the very parts of life we cherish most. He quotes from the great poet Khalil Gibran: “…and forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.”
This is my third attempt in the last eighteen months at developing a regular mindfulness practice. I’ve never lasted more than ten consecutive days. This month has been a mixed bag, too. October has thrown me a number of curve balls, and the pull to become lost in thought—mourning, stewing, deliberating—often eschews the discipline of sitting for a guided meditation.
I want to be better at this. To be more present in my senses, to more fully embrace the adventure of life. To feel the warm sun on the back of my neck, the hard earth beneath my feet. To smell the crispness in the air. To notice my daughter singing in the bathroom.
I want to be better at this for my kids. The ones watching me model being lost in thought as if my life depends on it. When my son experiences an emotion, I wish for him to notice how it manifests in his body, instead of ruminating on it or wishing it away. When my daughter walks home from her violin lesson, I wish for her to notice the shifting beauty around her, even while she plans which games she’s going to play with her waiting friend.
Author Julia Denos has teamed up with illustrator E.B. Goodale to produce another beautiful picture book (I regret not making time on this blog for their first, Windows) which is itself a kind of guided meditation for kids. Here and Now (Ages 4-8) gently and effectively brings children’s attention to the present moment. It grounds the reader in her own bodily sensations, while also connecting her to the wider world. It prompts parent and child alike to think about what might happen if we turn towards, instead of away from, the present moment, with all its beauty and mystery and wonder.
December 1, 2016 § 10 Comments
On the day before Thanksgiving, in the late afternoon, my daughter and I took a walk to a small nature reserve near our house. In anticipation of our extended family’s impending arrival and the holiday weekend before us, our hearts were full. We held hands, belted out “This Land is Your Land,” and skipped our feet. I tried to push aside the inevitable pangs of nostalgia, since it is never lost on me that it won’t be long until my little girl grows past the age of holding hands and singing in public with her mother.
There we were, making a racket and coming upon the entrance to the park, when Emily suddenly stopped and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Shhhh, Mommy, listen.” She paused. “It’s completely still.” I stopped mid-verse and joined her in listening to what indeed seemed like a total absence of sound. For a moment, it felt like we were the only living things in the world. Under a colorless sky, the light was dim, the fallen leaves had lost their luster, and the landscape around us seemed to be holding its breath. « Read the rest of this entry »