Category Archives: Lilacs

Day of Rest

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When Eric and I were coming to the end of our walk with the dogs this morning, he asked if I wanted to stop at the grocery store on the way home, “or are you going to still try and make it to yoga?” I told him, “I haven’t decided if I’m going to yoga or meditation at the Shambhala Center.” He asked, “How do you decide which one you are going to do?”

This is my dilemma every Sunday morning: 9:30 – 11 a.m. yoga class, or 10 a.m. – 12 p.m. meditation. Sometimes, I go to yoga and sneak in late to meditate at the end, but I’m usually a little sweaty, not dressed for it, feeling kind of gross and tired, and really want to go home, shower and eat, so usually I don’t. I usually pick yoga, since it’s one of the only classes taught by one of my favorite teachers, and because I sit whether I go to the public time or not. If I skip yoga, I skip yoga for the day, but if I skip the public sit, I’ll still meditate on my own.

I explained to Eric that yoga is intended to synchronize body and mind, is sometimes seen as preparation for sitting practice, and as a writer/reader/thinker who spends so much time in my head, as a disembodied mind, that what I usually need more is to mindfully move my body.

But if my brain is especially discursive or troubled, when I’m avoiding thinking about something, denying some reality, yoga can end up being a way to avoid, a method of denial or distraction. It’s times like these when I need to meditate, to calm and train my mind, to face reality, to connect with what’s really going on, to work with it on its own terms, as it is and as I am.

That’s what I needed today, to work with my mind, meet it where it’s at, try to give it some space. I’m thinking, or rather trying not to think, about someone I love who is suffering–more than one someone, actually. I woke up last night and worried instead of sleeping, and feel sick to my stomach, heartbroken about it. Each update about the situation feels like a knife, a sharp cut, and yet I can’t seem to look away. My mind rushes between “what should I do? what’s going to happen? what should I do?!” and “I’m not going to think about it, just ignore it, numb out, avoid it,” neither of which is a healthy state of being.

 

So today, my mind needed meditation, more than it needed mindful movement. And it also needed writing and dog (both of which I got plenty while I sat in the back yard drafting this post, a dog lounging in the grass on each side of me).

I’m not having an entirely restful day of rest, but I am doing the best I can, and that’s really all any of us can ever do.

Gratitude Friday

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This post is a mashup of The Little Bliss List and Joy Jam, and as such is meant to celebrate: the little things that brought me hope and happiness this week, the sweet stuff of life, those small gifts that brought me joy this week. By sharing them, I not only make public my gratitude, but maybe also help you notice your own good stuff and send some positive energy out into the world.

1. The smell of lilacs on the breeze, still sweet even as they begin to fade away.

2. Spring morning birdsong. I’m not tired of this yet. It makes me so happy to hear them out there, chirping and singing and fluttering, even when it’s still dark, before the sun rises.

3. Avocado and figs. There are some foods that I actively hated as a kid (brussel sprouts being one) that I am loving now, and these are two of them. So rich and creamy and satisfying.

4. Sick days. Getting to read a new, whole book that I’d been looking forward to, being able to finish it in just two days; watching an entire disk of Downton Abbey episodes, one after the other while in my pjs and purple bathrobe on the couch; taking long naps; cuddling with my dogs who were so sweet and calm; having Dexter (who hasn’t slept in the big bed with us for months and months, maybe more than a year) bring his Little D in and cuddle next to me for almost the entire night; and Eric making me breakfast for dinner, including pancakes. When you can’t do anything else, you are forced to be gentle and take care of yourself, and even as wrong as sick during a beautiful spring can seem, it can also be a gift of sorts.

5. Brave Intuitive Painting: Let go. Be bold. Unfold. This book is gorgeous, precious. If you are a creative type or an artist of any kind or just a lover of all things beautiful, I recommend you get a copy. What’s so wonderful about the book is that it’s an invitation to anyone who wants to create. You do not have to be a painter. Just bring your open heart, desire to make something, and willingness to get messy. I suspect that especially if you are feeling blocked, stuck, stale, bored, or cramped, this book is just the magic you need to start moving again, to let go, be bold, unfold. Just looking, doing nothing more than gazing at the pages, not even reading or painting, makes me soften, feel giddy with grace and warm with joy. The riot of color and play that fills these pages is inspiring.


Bonus joy: I was gifted so many kind words, so much generous feedback this week about my writing. My husband in the kitchen, a friend in the locker room at the gym, two emails on facebook, comments on various posts, feedback on my pieces for the Telling True Stories class I’m taking, and an email from a dear friend. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for all the love, the validation. I know I shouldn’t need it, but it’s so nice to hear that what you are doing touches others, helps them in some way.