8:45-9:30 tonight.
The sky still held a bit of light as I sat tonight, a hint of Maxfield Parrish blue. The trees and bushes were still barely visible against the earth, even without the moon up yet.
I moved quietly up into the tree, having to duck under a small, thin, dead branch I did not remember, hanging directly in front of the branch I sit on. It was still securely attached to the tree, so it had not recently fallen or broken, but it bent down almost vertically within the path I generally move, restricting the space I had to navigate.
I was not quite as tired as I usually am at this time of night, and was coming down after a day of new relief: my husband completed his last day of grad school yesterday, and already today he had more energy to help with our boy, preparing meals, all those household things I've been holding down since our son was born. Perhaps this relief is what supported the sacred sit I had tonight.
Perhaps, also, the spirit of my dog was lending his love. His last full day in that life, his last good day in that life, was a year ago today.
Regardless of what good energy uplifted me tonight, I sat in the tree like an animal. I first realized what a grounded place I was in when I recognized that I had no fear whatsoever of animals being in the tree with me. On my first night out, I carried with me a strong fear of the unknown in the tree, of what harm could befall me from placing myself outside in the night in the forest. Tonight, I just sat in the tree like everyone else - the birds, the insects, any animals sharing it as well. It occurred to me to check in with the spider-web indicator: if I am one of the holding points of a spider web connecting me to all other beings around me, am I holding it gently, in balance, as nature does, or am I pulling it, twisting it out of shape with my human-centered cockiness, my irrational fears, my addiction to thinkingthinkingthinking?
And I saw, with quiet celebration, that the web conformed perfectly to the shape of the tree, the way some spider's webs are cupped, curving over several planes, based on the spider's design and the anchors available. I was a small, helpful anchor point for the web tonight, and I was grateful.
When thoughts did come to me, I pushed them on one by one, using the image of pushing images past while scrolling on an Ipod screen (I apologize). As one came up and hollered for me to focus on it, I just gave it a little stroke, pushing it on its way, making room for the next one and the next one, letting them all go, keeping me right there in the tree in the dark night.
I thought of the baby growing within me, so tiny yet, just at the beginning of its life in human form, if it decides to continue on this path. And I thought of all the other mother birds, mother animals, mother insects around me in the forest, on the land around us, who also sat in the still night, their babies growing silently and intently within them.
I was ready to spend all night in the tree, to sleep in the branches with everyone else. There wasn't really an aversion to going back inside, there simply wasn't any reason to go in. Everything I needed was there: fresh air, strong branches, darkness with just a couple of stars twinkling through the upper branches, spring peepers lulling us all into the night.
I climbed down when it felt time. As I began my descent, I had a strong feeling that I would do better to hold still than descend just at that moment, so I paused for a few minutes. I wasn't aware of anyone or anything changing around me, but suddenly the feeling lifted and I felt pushed to move then, so I followed the guidance and went out into the yard.
I paused a couple of times on the way to the house, kneeling on the wet grass, touching it with my hands. Still no reason to go in. Why would I go indoors? Why? It was the most natural thing in the world to be outside with all the other creatures, to get to be in the dark night, on the growing earth. Why discard this gift of belonging?
I followed my guidance as it continued to flow, and found myself led to kneel down on the ground. The choice we faced a year ago tomorrow regarding our dear little dog came washing over me, as it does when it gets a chance: To keep him alive through the excruciating two days of pancreatitis until he healed, and pay money we did not have readily available, or choose to end his life, sparing the future episodes he would likely experience, keeping our money in our hands, ending forever our days of holding him, giving him our love, the chance to make up for having withheld our compassion that his old, blind self so dearly needed?
We chose to end his life.
So tonight I knelt down, and I said for the first time that I believed we may have made the wrong decision by choosing to end his life that day. I believe that it may have been better if we had helped him to heal through that episode, pay the couple, three thousand dollars, and bring him home with us, healthy and vigorous as he was. When he died last year, it was after months of coldness from us because of his blind clinginess, our irritation with and crushing of his joyful singing when it happened to coincide with putting the boy to sleep. If we had helped him heal last year, we could have had another chance to love him, to help him to know his worth, to gentle his life of near-blindness and near-deafness, to take him on the walks he delighted in, to catch our frustrations with him and instead show him the patience and compassion we show our son. This may have been the better choice. Then, when another time came, if it did, to face these choices again, at least we would have filled him with love before sending him on.
It was immensely freeing to confess finally what I have been unwilling to face for this year, that we may have done an awful thing that cannot be undone. I don't know for sure whether we did, but just facing the possibility was real and good and strong, and freed me from the fear of it.
It felt good to say all of this in the night, and I felt complete after sharing it. I had said what I needed to say, and I knew I had been heard. I headed once more in the direction of the house, once more paused and drank in the night, my place in the night, and then felt a calling to go in and write.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 18
Sat out in the afternoon today, with the suggestion to carve something at my sit spot.
Day has been drizzly. A cozy, still, eternal day. Just dripping here and there by the time I went out for my sit, and the birds were in a flurry of activity. A red-winged blackbird in our apple, calling and singing. Goldfinches were rocketing here and there in song, robins rounding out the chorus.
I took up a couple of old, dead pine branches from below the tree, but none felt right. Climbed up into the arms of the tree, where I was spoken to by a dead, broken limb I always duck my head under in my ascent. I asked the tree for it, felt a wave of love and happiness flow through me, and gently, quietly broke it off. Sat in a lower spot on the tree than usual to ensure stability for carving, and began to scrape the layer of green (fungus?) off the stick with my knife.
Pure heaven. Loads of avian companions singing their music, the misty air imbued with the lush scents of spring, a blessed, beloved tree holding me gently, and the time and permission to pursue an art I've been yearning to try for years.
Day has been drizzly. A cozy, still, eternal day. Just dripping here and there by the time I went out for my sit, and the birds were in a flurry of activity. A red-winged blackbird in our apple, calling and singing. Goldfinches were rocketing here and there in song, robins rounding out the chorus.
I took up a couple of old, dead pine branches from below the tree, but none felt right. Climbed up into the arms of the tree, where I was spoken to by a dead, broken limb I always duck my head under in my ascent. I asked the tree for it, felt a wave of love and happiness flow through me, and gently, quietly broke it off. Sat in a lower spot on the tree than usual to ensure stability for carving, and began to scrape the layer of green (fungus?) off the stick with my knife.
Pure heaven. Loads of avian companions singing their music, the misty air imbued with the lush scents of spring, a blessed, beloved tree holding me gently, and the time and permission to pursue an art I've been yearning to try for years.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 17
Sat out tonight, 11-11:30 p.m.
Being with the trees and plants in the yard tonight was like gathering with family, easy togetherness. It's a still night, no wind, no appreciable cloud movement even. Only the sound of cars on the roads and the faint chirping of spring peeper choruses in the distance. The moon waxes full, floating, lost, in the cover of thin clouds.
The air was moist, delicious with the smell of cut grass. One bird - a warbler? - sang out a little tune from the trees across the field, across the dark night holding us all together.
Yes, Kate, I did have expectations of how this month would be, though they were, in fact, conscious. My memory of my monthly sits from two years ago is of a profound waking up to my senses. As I understand that the sense meditation is a big part of the sits, I'd wanted to accomplish this again this year. Thank you for helping me to re-evaluate these expectations, however, because I had become entrenched in my disappointment of not acheiving them. Tonight, coming at it with a fresh perspective, I was able to harness all of the energy I've been reserving for my disappointment and put it, instead, into simply using the sense meditation - this time, finally, without any preconceived notions of exactly how I was going to feel. I stopped trying, and this freed me up to experience what came along fully.
Raven, thank you for sharing about your own struggles at your sit spot, and especially for sharing so frankly about your sit yesterday. Sometimes we need to hear the stories of failure more than the stories of success, to remind us that failure is simply a portion of success. And yes, it seems as though our schedules are quite in synch. Knowing that there is at least one other soul out there in my shoes (and I know there are more of us who simply haven't written...yet) bolsters my faith in the existence of alert, weary sits!
Being with the trees and plants in the yard tonight was like gathering with family, easy togetherness. It's a still night, no wind, no appreciable cloud movement even. Only the sound of cars on the roads and the faint chirping of spring peeper choruses in the distance. The moon waxes full, floating, lost, in the cover of thin clouds.
The air was moist, delicious with the smell of cut grass. One bird - a warbler? - sang out a little tune from the trees across the field, across the dark night holding us all together.
Yes, Kate, I did have expectations of how this month would be, though they were, in fact, conscious. My memory of my monthly sits from two years ago is of a profound waking up to my senses. As I understand that the sense meditation is a big part of the sits, I'd wanted to accomplish this again this year. Thank you for helping me to re-evaluate these expectations, however, because I had become entrenched in my disappointment of not acheiving them. Tonight, coming at it with a fresh perspective, I was able to harness all of the energy I've been reserving for my disappointment and put it, instead, into simply using the sense meditation - this time, finally, without any preconceived notions of exactly how I was going to feel. I stopped trying, and this freed me up to experience what came along fully.
Raven, thank you for sharing about your own struggles at your sit spot, and especially for sharing so frankly about your sit yesterday. Sometimes we need to hear the stories of failure more than the stories of success, to remind us that failure is simply a portion of success. And yes, it seems as though our schedules are quite in synch. Knowing that there is at least one other soul out there in my shoes (and I know there are more of us who simply haven't written...yet) bolsters my faith in the existence of alert, weary sits!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 16
Sat out in the morning. We had a rare spell today when my husband had a lot of free time to spend with our child, which meant I had a rare dose of time outside by myself without any constraints. What a gift.
I went to the tree but felt called to explore a little sunny area beside it, in the middle of our mini backyard forest of white pines, maples, and apples. The burnt orange pine needles are thick on the ground there, and I sat down in them and drifted into a reverie of plants, sunlight, breezes, birdsong. I was surrounded by Springtime, growth, everything pushing toward life.
Sat still for the minimum 20-minute sit duration, then, considering the option of going inside to do chores or taking a nap in the forest, I lay down on the needles. They provided such a cushion, and the earth beneath them was also so soft, that I was in complete physical comfort. The pine branches above me swayed in the breezes, and the sun that skirted them was hot on my face. I closed my eyes and focused only on the sounds around me, and felt my ears grow out like a deer's, amplifying and directing my sense of hearing threefold. There was a sudden, loud, active rustling in the leaves three feet away, but during the time it took me to slowly turn my head for a look, all became still and quiet.
Robins, cardinals, and others sang. A plant stood beside my head (Indian paintbrush?), long, silvery, hairy leaves holding the sunlight like a sculpture of light. The scent of the pine needles was heavenly, bringing back beloved memories of younger days of free wandering, endless days with the Earth.
My sit pine eventually began to shade most of the forest floor, and when the chill was sufficient to motivate me to move, I walked out onto the lawn in the sun and lay back down on the grass, now soaking the full heat of the sun into my skin and clothes.
It seemed I was being transported back to a morning in my younger years, when I was blessed with an infinity of moments free to spend outside. There was nothing but the sun, the warmth, the earth, the birds singing, and the gift of witnessing it all.
I went to the tree but felt called to explore a little sunny area beside it, in the middle of our mini backyard forest of white pines, maples, and apples. The burnt orange pine needles are thick on the ground there, and I sat down in them and drifted into a reverie of plants, sunlight, breezes, birdsong. I was surrounded by Springtime, growth, everything pushing toward life.
Sat still for the minimum 20-minute sit duration, then, considering the option of going inside to do chores or taking a nap in the forest, I lay down on the needles. They provided such a cushion, and the earth beneath them was also so soft, that I was in complete physical comfort. The pine branches above me swayed in the breezes, and the sun that skirted them was hot on my face. I closed my eyes and focused only on the sounds around me, and felt my ears grow out like a deer's, amplifying and directing my sense of hearing threefold. There was a sudden, loud, active rustling in the leaves three feet away, but during the time it took me to slowly turn my head for a look, all became still and quiet.
Robins, cardinals, and others sang. A plant stood beside my head (Indian paintbrush?), long, silvery, hairy leaves holding the sunlight like a sculpture of light. The scent of the pine needles was heavenly, bringing back beloved memories of younger days of free wandering, endless days with the Earth.
My sit pine eventually began to shade most of the forest floor, and when the chill was sufficient to motivate me to move, I walked out onto the lawn in the sun and lay back down on the grass, now soaking the full heat of the sun into my skin and clothes.
It seemed I was being transported back to a morning in my younger years, when I was blessed with an infinity of moments free to spend outside. There was nothing but the sun, the warmth, the earth, the birds singing, and the gift of witnessing it all.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 15
My struggle during this challenge has been to get out to my spot, get outdoors, with any kind of awareness at all.
I love to share the experiences I have at my spot, and I appreciate the responses I get from folks, but I feel like the only thing I'm really aware of when I'm at my sit spot is my lacking awareness. So as I reflect on how my sits have been so far this month, this is what comes up for me. My pattern of sleeping-mind-that-resists-awakening (coupled with feeling too physically drained to make myself wake up anyhow).
I love to share the experiences I have at my spot, and I appreciate the responses I get from folks, but I feel like the only thing I'm really aware of when I'm at my sit spot is my lacking awareness. So as I reflect on how my sits have been so far this month, this is what comes up for me. My pattern of sleeping-mind-that-resists-awakening (coupled with feeling too physically drained to make myself wake up anyhow).
Friday, April 23, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 14
Nighttime sit.
In the spirit of having fun, I plopped myself down on the earth tonight rather than climbing the tree. The grass was wet with dew, which almost always drives my comfort-driven decision-making away, but tonight I summoned the memory of my playful child self, my bold, reinventing-the-world teenage self, and just sat right down in it, dryness be damned. I discovered that I barely took on any of the dew anyway.
The moon was floating on a long cloud kayak, and casting sure shadows on the land.
Our chicks arrived in the mail today from across the country, having hatched and been shipped off two days ago. One of them had died en route, packed in a box without its mother, stillness, or most other comforts. As I lay down on my back in the grass, I gave thanks for freedoms - clean air, the gift of feeling the ground beneath us, and the simple sky, the limitless sky above us, stretching into oblivion, giving us endless space, freedom.
In the spirit of having fun, I plopped myself down on the earth tonight rather than climbing the tree. The grass was wet with dew, which almost always drives my comfort-driven decision-making away, but tonight I summoned the memory of my playful child self, my bold, reinventing-the-world teenage self, and just sat right down in it, dryness be damned. I discovered that I barely took on any of the dew anyway.
The moon was floating on a long cloud kayak, and casting sure shadows on the land.
Our chicks arrived in the mail today from across the country, having hatched and been shipped off two days ago. One of them had died en route, packed in a box without its mother, stillness, or most other comforts. As I lay down on my back in the grass, I gave thanks for freedoms - clean air, the gift of feeling the ground beneath us, and the simple sky, the limitless sky above us, stretching into oblivion, giving us endless space, freedom.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 13
Sat 9:45-10:15 tonight. Cloudy night, no stars visible. The clouds reflected the lights of the surrounding towns back down on the land, illuminating everything faintly.
Stalking past the chicken coop, I suddenly became aware that someone was watching me. It was as if there was a thick bubble all around this other being, and I was about to bump into it. I stood very still for a few minutes, and after a while I heard rustling in the compost bin about 15 feet away from me. I listened for a bit - skunk? rat? mole? The sound was intermittent and fairly quiet, so probably a small rodent, but at certain noises my mind began to generate images of a small rabid mammal seconds away from running at my ankles. I watched during these episodes of fear as my adrenaline rushed, and I imagined waves of vibrating energy moving out from me, probably alerting every other creature around that I was fearful.
Then a tool came to mind that sometimes does at opportune times. I imagined a perfect, flat spiderweb in the air connecting me to the creature in the compost and the trees and plants and everyone else around. We all were its anchor points, so we all needed to hold it in place properly. When I am in a frightened state (or, more often, a self-centered, mindless state), I am pulling and yanking on the part of the web I am supposed to be supporting, throwing it all out of balance.
Once this image of the communal spiderweb came to me, it instantly helped me to quiet my roaring thoughts and remember my responsibilities toward everyone around me - not just to my own faulty drive for self-preservation. My fear subsided quickly, and I felt myself growing smaller and quieter, almost becoming invisible, becoming part of the landscape.
I often shy away from this tool when it returns to me for exactly this reason - it never fails to remind me that I am not as significant as I like to imagine myself to be. It is this reminder in particular that jolts me out of my tornado of circling thoughts and plops me right into whatever moment I happen to be in. Because if I am not the center of everything, if I am only one small part with a shared responsibility toward everything else, that means that I have to actually pay attention to what others are doing around me, and ensure I am maintaining my proper place in the community.
I took my shoes and socks off and stalked back towards the house when I was done, but felt a pull to stop at the apple tree. I looked up in the misty night, and felt once again that sensation of being a tree rooted in the ground, arms lifted out and up to the sun. What a pure expression of life, a direct expression of everything we have to offer! I could feel my feet rooted in the earth, imagined my arms, my whole being, lifted up in love and celebration and gratitude toward the sun.
What would the world be like if humans could live as trees do? Sending our roots down through whatever kind of soil we find ourselves in, accepting all the nourishment available to us, and directing all our life energy toward that which nourishes us, be it the sun, creator, community, humanity....toward what we most cherish?
Stalking past the chicken coop, I suddenly became aware that someone was watching me. It was as if there was a thick bubble all around this other being, and I was about to bump into it. I stood very still for a few minutes, and after a while I heard rustling in the compost bin about 15 feet away from me. I listened for a bit - skunk? rat? mole? The sound was intermittent and fairly quiet, so probably a small rodent, but at certain noises my mind began to generate images of a small rabid mammal seconds away from running at my ankles. I watched during these episodes of fear as my adrenaline rushed, and I imagined waves of vibrating energy moving out from me, probably alerting every other creature around that I was fearful.
Then a tool came to mind that sometimes does at opportune times. I imagined a perfect, flat spiderweb in the air connecting me to the creature in the compost and the trees and plants and everyone else around. We all were its anchor points, so we all needed to hold it in place properly. When I am in a frightened state (or, more often, a self-centered, mindless state), I am pulling and yanking on the part of the web I am supposed to be supporting, throwing it all out of balance.
Once this image of the communal spiderweb came to me, it instantly helped me to quiet my roaring thoughts and remember my responsibilities toward everyone around me - not just to my own faulty drive for self-preservation. My fear subsided quickly, and I felt myself growing smaller and quieter, almost becoming invisible, becoming part of the landscape.
I often shy away from this tool when it returns to me for exactly this reason - it never fails to remind me that I am not as significant as I like to imagine myself to be. It is this reminder in particular that jolts me out of my tornado of circling thoughts and plops me right into whatever moment I happen to be in. Because if I am not the center of everything, if I am only one small part with a shared responsibility toward everything else, that means that I have to actually pay attention to what others are doing around me, and ensure I am maintaining my proper place in the community.
I took my shoes and socks off and stalked back towards the house when I was done, but felt a pull to stop at the apple tree. I looked up in the misty night, and felt once again that sensation of being a tree rooted in the ground, arms lifted out and up to the sun. What a pure expression of life, a direct expression of everything we have to offer! I could feel my feet rooted in the earth, imagined my arms, my whole being, lifted up in love and celebration and gratitude toward the sun.
What would the world be like if humans could live as trees do? Sending our roots down through whatever kind of soil we find ourselves in, accepting all the nourishment available to us, and directing all our life energy toward that which nourishes us, be it the sun, creator, community, humanity....toward what we most cherish?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 12
Sat in the pine, 8:30-9:00 a.m.
Still growing accustomed to how early the sun rises these days.
Many different kinds of birds were singing in the pines around me and beyond. Robins sang the only song I recognized.
Went through the body awareness scan, head to foot, then tuned in first to my vision and then to my hearing.
The world offers so much to us, such an infinite array of sounds and sensations and sights all in one moment. When I have been asleep, living in amongst my thoughts, as I have for months now, it requires such deliberate, hard work to let go of the thoughts and just open up to what is around me. And when I do, as I was able to for a few minutes today, I am simply overwhelmed by the cacophany, the chaos of sensations. I know from past experience that it is peaceful to live in a state of awareness most of the time, but from my current perspective, that "dull, vapid mindstate" (perfect description, Kate), there is simply too much to behold all at once.
I've been ignoring all of it for such a long time - the shifting sunlight on the pine needles, the different birdsongs all dancing through the air simultaneously, the nuances of light and shadow on the pine bough, the awareness of my own breathing body in the midst of it all - that to open up to all of it is to feel like my mind is exploding, like I'm going into a tidal wave too immense to survive.
Still growing accustomed to how early the sun rises these days.
Many different kinds of birds were singing in the pines around me and beyond. Robins sang the only song I recognized.
Went through the body awareness scan, head to foot, then tuned in first to my vision and then to my hearing.
The world offers so much to us, such an infinite array of sounds and sensations and sights all in one moment. When I have been asleep, living in amongst my thoughts, as I have for months now, it requires such deliberate, hard work to let go of the thoughts and just open up to what is around me. And when I do, as I was able to for a few minutes today, I am simply overwhelmed by the cacophany, the chaos of sensations. I know from past experience that it is peaceful to live in a state of awareness most of the time, but from my current perspective, that "dull, vapid mindstate" (perfect description, Kate), there is simply too much to behold all at once.
I've been ignoring all of it for such a long time - the shifting sunlight on the pine needles, the different birdsongs all dancing through the air simultaneously, the nuances of light and shadow on the pine bough, the awareness of my own breathing body in the midst of it all - that to open up to all of it is to feel like my mind is exploding, like I'm going into a tidal wave too immense to survive.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 11
Attempted an evening sit on the porch tonight, but was called to walk down amongst all the plants we've planted here. Tomorrow will be two years since we lost so many of our trees to development, and I thanked the cherry and peach we planted during the development for bringing new life to the land as so much was being torn up from it.
Cool breeze, with peepers sustaining their chorus from across the street. The moon and I exchanged greetings, and then a shooting star flashed overhead.
Cool breeze, with peepers sustaining their chorus from across the street. The moon and I exchanged greetings, and then a shooting star flashed overhead.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 10
More good gatherings yesterday with the family.
I fell asleep several times last night as I completed my work, so my planned evening sit was abandoned in favor of bed, my first missed sit. I can see it in all of us, the grief exhausting our bodies, driving us to sleep. A cocoon of memory and mourning, growing into our new reality. This new version of the world without him.
Sat this morning, 8:30-8:50.
I was suprised to see the new inch of growth on what I believe to be a maple sapling growing under the pine I sit in. One of its slender blonde branches lies against the dark pine trunk that the flicker crashed into, and I had been watching the slow daily advancement of new growth rising from some leaflets on its end. During my few-days' absence from sitting in the tree, the extension has emerged entirely from the little cluster of leaflets, and has proven to actually be several new perfect little branches.
The birds were busy in song this morning, though I couldn't identify them by song alone and only got a couple of glimpses through the branches and needles.
I fell asleep several times last night as I completed my work, so my planned evening sit was abandoned in favor of bed, my first missed sit. I can see it in all of us, the grief exhausting our bodies, driving us to sleep. A cocoon of memory and mourning, growing into our new reality. This new version of the world without him.
Sat this morning, 8:30-8:50.
I was suprised to see the new inch of growth on what I believe to be a maple sapling growing under the pine I sit in. One of its slender blonde branches lies against the dark pine trunk that the flicker crashed into, and I had been watching the slow daily advancement of new growth rising from some leaflets on its end. During my few-days' absence from sitting in the tree, the extension has emerged entirely from the little cluster of leaflets, and has proven to actually be several new perfect little branches.
The birds were busy in song this morning, though I couldn't identify them by song alone and only got a couple of glimpses through the branches and needles.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 8
10:10-10:30 tonight.
Sat again on the porch, as I was home alone with the sleeping boy again.
Another drizzly, drippy night. After an exhausting day, I'd promised myself that I could sit tonight for just 10 minutes, but once I was out in the cold, dark rain, I didn't want to come in.
Feeling chilled and tired and resisting the cold dampness of the air, I imagined myself a tree who loves the rain. It suddenly dawned on me what delight there must be in gaining nourishment directly from the earth, from the rain, from the sun. What a profound connection to all other life, simply to live the life of a tree.
Sat again on the porch, as I was home alone with the sleeping boy again.
Another drizzly, drippy night. After an exhausting day, I'd promised myself that I could sit tonight for just 10 minutes, but once I was out in the cold, dark rain, I didn't want to come in.
Feeling chilled and tired and resisting the cold dampness of the air, I imagined myself a tree who loves the rain. It suddenly dawned on me what delight there must be in gaining nourishment directly from the earth, from the rain, from the sun. What a profound connection to all other life, simply to live the life of a tree.
Sit Spot, Day 7
Sat 11:00-11:10 p.m.
Sat tonight on the porch, as I had to stay near the house with my boy sleeping in it. He roused after just 10 minutes, so a short sit, as well.
Worked on tuning in to my hearing...rain drops falling in different tempos from different locations...a small, unidentified clicking sound, from where I could not tell...the whoosh of cars and trucks passing by now and then on the road...the satisfying crunch of tires on the gravel road next to our house.
A dear friend of my husband's family passed on today, and the lights in my in-law's house (behind ours) gave me comfort, knowing everyone was together there. Often I find myself wishing for more dark in the night, to let the land lie in darkness as it deserves at night, but tonight I was grateful for all the glowing windows.
Sat tonight on the porch, as I had to stay near the house with my boy sleeping in it. He roused after just 10 minutes, so a short sit, as well.
Worked on tuning in to my hearing...rain drops falling in different tempos from different locations...a small, unidentified clicking sound, from where I could not tell...the whoosh of cars and trucks passing by now and then on the road...the satisfying crunch of tires on the gravel road next to our house.
A dear friend of my husband's family passed on today, and the lights in my in-law's house (behind ours) gave me comfort, knowing everyone was together there. Often I find myself wishing for more dark in the night, to let the land lie in darkness as it deserves at night, but tonight I was grateful for all the glowing windows.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 6
Sat 9:30-10:30 tonight.
Stalked to the tree, pausing now and then as I felt directed to. Animals were all quiet save for a lone spring peeper some distance off, but night seemed active nevertheless. Well-bundled, only my hands and face fully exposed to the chill of the night air, I understood that even when humans consider winter to be over, the animals, birds, insects, all creatures living without heated homes still face the rawness that lingers in the night.
Approaching the tree, I knew I was already just waiting for the sit to be over so I could go inside and go to bed. My absence of awareness was clear to me when I recognized that I was viewing the tree two-dimensionally; I was only seeing the bare minimum of what there was to be seen. The majesty, depth, energy of the tree were completely obscured by my drive to be elsewhere, and all I was left with was the flat visual appearance of the tree - bark, needles, trunks - none of its character or strength.
This, I realized, is how I live so much of my days. Always on the quest to be someplace and some time other than when and where I am, waiting to finish work or finish cleaning the kitchen or finish making that phone call or finishing this or this or this, with the list always replenishing itself and me never attaining that illusory state of completion, when I can just rest and be. And so my relationships suffer, my every interaction suffers when I am not present, because I only behold portions of the people I'm around; their fullness and beauty are unavailable to me.
Tonight, facing my seemingly permanent state of sleep, I realized I should work on awakening my senses. And in the moment when I felt the cool, moist air moving across my face, saw the darkness all around me, heard the quiet night sounds, I was instantly in touch with the being of the tree. It can be a great struggle to open awareness up, but once called on, awareness opens paths for us to sense more than just sight, sound, etc. The senses, when awoken, share so much more of the world with us.
Stalked to the tree, pausing now and then as I felt directed to. Animals were all quiet save for a lone spring peeper some distance off, but night seemed active nevertheless. Well-bundled, only my hands and face fully exposed to the chill of the night air, I understood that even when humans consider winter to be over, the animals, birds, insects, all creatures living without heated homes still face the rawness that lingers in the night.
Approaching the tree, I knew I was already just waiting for the sit to be over so I could go inside and go to bed. My absence of awareness was clear to me when I recognized that I was viewing the tree two-dimensionally; I was only seeing the bare minimum of what there was to be seen. The majesty, depth, energy of the tree were completely obscured by my drive to be elsewhere, and all I was left with was the flat visual appearance of the tree - bark, needles, trunks - none of its character or strength.
This, I realized, is how I live so much of my days. Always on the quest to be someplace and some time other than when and where I am, waiting to finish work or finish cleaning the kitchen or finish making that phone call or finishing this or this or this, with the list always replenishing itself and me never attaining that illusory state of completion, when I can just rest and be. And so my relationships suffer, my every interaction suffers when I am not present, because I only behold portions of the people I'm around; their fullness and beauty are unavailable to me.
Tonight, facing my seemingly permanent state of sleep, I realized I should work on awakening my senses. And in the moment when I felt the cool, moist air moving across my face, saw the darkness all around me, heard the quiet night sounds, I was instantly in touch with the being of the tree. It can be a great struggle to open awareness up, but once called on, awareness opens paths for us to sense more than just sight, sound, etc. The senses, when awoken, share so much more of the world with us.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 5
9:00-9:20 sit tonight.
Still find myself resisting the effort to be actively aware at my spot. The mindlessness and state of waking sleep I've been existing in for months now are holding me strong, and for the moment I am succeeding in going to my sit spot but not in sitting in awareness once there. It is suprisingly easy for me to keep to my daily sit spot routine, as though some part of me at least is committed to taking on this practice.
Having work to complete tonight, I knew I needed to keep my sitting time to the minimum of 20 minutes. I decided to forgo the slow stalk to my tree and instead to stalk only to the grass near it. This way, I could take the whole 20 minutes to just be still and work on awareness, and not risk moving quickly and flushing the birds from the tree, especially in this season of nesting.
The scent of pond wafted in at me as I approached the tree. I know this smell well, as one of my brothers and I wallowed many a summer day in a tiny frog pond a little distance from our house as children. The earthy, wet smell of adventure. I was reminded of the knowledge that humans can smell when water is nearby; this was certainly a wonderful example.
Very still evening. No wind, no frog calls. Just the occasional rustling in the briar bushes and one squeak. Memories of the night noises I heard in my youth from the mice I kept caged in my bedroom.
Still reluctant to follow my intuition, my guidance all the time. Where is the switch to throw that will give our will and ego over to the creator so we can just walk as we are guided every moment, all our lives? This sleepiness, dullness of my senses feels a direct response to the challenge of coming into my awareness. What I have to lose is the focus on and fulfillment of my personal desires, preferences and conveniences. What I have to gain is connection to every being in this world, connection to my core. What I have to gain is clarity of action, intent, and purpose.
Still find myself resisting the effort to be actively aware at my spot. The mindlessness and state of waking sleep I've been existing in for months now are holding me strong, and for the moment I am succeeding in going to my sit spot but not in sitting in awareness once there. It is suprisingly easy for me to keep to my daily sit spot routine, as though some part of me at least is committed to taking on this practice.
Having work to complete tonight, I knew I needed to keep my sitting time to the minimum of 20 minutes. I decided to forgo the slow stalk to my tree and instead to stalk only to the grass near it. This way, I could take the whole 20 minutes to just be still and work on awareness, and not risk moving quickly and flushing the birds from the tree, especially in this season of nesting.
The scent of pond wafted in at me as I approached the tree. I know this smell well, as one of my brothers and I wallowed many a summer day in a tiny frog pond a little distance from our house as children. The earthy, wet smell of adventure. I was reminded of the knowledge that humans can smell when water is nearby; this was certainly a wonderful example.
Very still evening. No wind, no frog calls. Just the occasional rustling in the briar bushes and one squeak. Memories of the night noises I heard in my youth from the mice I kept caged in my bedroom.
Still reluctant to follow my intuition, my guidance all the time. Where is the switch to throw that will give our will and ego over to the creator so we can just walk as we are guided every moment, all our lives? This sleepiness, dullness of my senses feels a direct response to the challenge of coming into my awareness. What I have to lose is the focus on and fulfillment of my personal desires, preferences and conveniences. What I have to gain is connection to every being in this world, connection to my core. What I have to gain is clarity of action, intent, and purpose.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 4
8:30-8:50 a.m. sit today. Even though I had nothing pressing waiting for me after my sit as last night, my awareness only remained active for a few minutes before I started "waiting" to be done and get on with my day. I assume I am in a spell of resisting this new habit.
Little bird activity today, far different from the nuthatch and flicker sightings a couple of days ago. Is it because I sat out an hour earlier today? Are birds not up and active at 8:30 in the morning?
Little bird activity today, far different from the nuthatch and flicker sightings a couple of days ago. Is it because I sat out an hour earlier today? Are birds not up and active at 8:30 in the morning?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 3
Sat this evening in the tree. Awareness and presence were a struggle for me today, as my mind clung to the knowledge of how much work I had to accomplish tonight in so little time. I found the evening to be rather disappointing, as there was little bird activity, and the mourning dove calling over and over above me actually irritated me, showing me exactly how caught in my mind I was.
I remembered Tom Brown's reminder that to be aware, one needs 1. Physical comfort, 2. Relaxation, 3. Passive thoughts (meaning not following the train of one thought or another but just letting them all come and go as they will), and 4. A point of focus (breath, sounds, etc).
So I made an effort to physically relax and let my thoughts become passive. After some minutes, I was rewarded with a momentary flash of how absolutely marvelous it was to simply sit in a tree in this world. What a gift to be able to see the variations in pine bark, much less get to hear a dove calling. My underlying tension returned, but only after the gratitude had helped shift my focus.
I remembered Tom Brown's reminder that to be aware, one needs 1. Physical comfort, 2. Relaxation, 3. Passive thoughts (meaning not following the train of one thought or another but just letting them all come and go as they will), and 4. A point of focus (breath, sounds, etc).
So I made an effort to physically relax and let my thoughts become passive. After some minutes, I was rewarded with a momentary flash of how absolutely marvelous it was to simply sit in a tree in this world. What a gift to be able to see the variations in pine bark, much less get to hear a dove calling. My underlying tension returned, but only after the gratitude had helped shift my focus.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sit Spot, Day 2
Stalked out to the tree early this morning, gloriously sunny daybreak full of bird activity. The birds were silent and absent when I first arrived, despite my attempted stealth. After a few minutes, two nuthatches began flitting about the tree, one feeding the other with his finds. Within a minute, he swooped down to investigate something just behind me, then appeared a moment later a foot from my head, hopping about and searching for food. He was so close I could see how disheveled some of his tiny feathers were. The two of them got the party going, and within a few minutes the tree was alive with movement and song.
At one point, it seemed that a large bird had suddenly careened straight into the far side of one of the pine's massive trunks, about 15 feet above my head, but afterwards there was no movement. I considered craning my neck around to try and determine what had occurred, or if I had imagined it, but decided it best to stay put. A minute later, the flicker who had made the spectacle hopped (or rather lumbered, compared to the nuthatches' daintiness) out from behind the trunk. It came out into view above me and looked about the tree, never looking down, then flew off and spent some time in the next tree over. Perhaps looking for a nesting area? I'll have to read up on them to see what their nesting habits are. But the possibility that the flicker was considering nesting there gave me immense motivation to stalk even more carefully from now on.
At one point, it seemed that a large bird had suddenly careened straight into the far side of one of the pine's massive trunks, about 15 feet above my head, but afterwards there was no movement. I considered craning my neck around to try and determine what had occurred, or if I had imagined it, but decided it best to stay put. A minute later, the flicker who had made the spectacle hopped (or rather lumbered, compared to the nuthatches' daintiness) out from behind the trunk. It came out into view above me and looked about the tree, never looking down, then flew off and spent some time in the next tree over. Perhaps looking for a nesting area? I'll have to read up on them to see what their nesting habits are. But the possibility that the flicker was considering nesting there gave me immense motivation to stalk even more carefully from now on.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
30 Days of Sit-Spots
I am again participating in the Wilderness Awareness School's 30-Day Sit Spot Challenge, in which folks commit to sitting outside in one spot for at least 20 minutes a day for one month. Today is the first day.
Day 1, 9:30 p.m.
I'd been wondering where to do my sits up until a few days ago. I was given a precious and rare couple of hours to myself by a babysitting relative, and had planned to use them to run some errands. But as I prepared to leave the house, I felt in no uncertain terms that I should instead be using the time to be outside. Not to do any particular thing, simply to GO OUTSIDE, not on errands. I tried and tried to reason my way into the shopping trip, so I could call it done, but eventually sat down for a minute and acknowledged that my inner voice always knows what is best for me, though more often than not its directions are in conflict with what I plan and what I want to do.
So out I went, weaving my way around the yard as I felt called, and after a bit found myself perched joyously and perfectly in the strong arms of a great white pine in the backyard. The very tree under whom I sat for the Sit Spot Challenge two years ago, but whom I hadn't considered for this challenge, having brought home two deer ticks from the brush around it in the past.
So tonight, out I went with a certainty that I was going to the spot that I had been directed to. I stalked through the yard, following my guidance as to which path to take, intent on leaving the mourning doves in the pines I passed undisturbed, having flushed them many a time as I've moved mindlessly through the yard at dusk. It was a roundabout path I was pulled on, and I trust that there were solid reasons for it, though these reasons may never come clear to me.
The branches of the pines I passed formed a visual framework between me and the sky, framed the glowing windows of my house, framed the moving lights of the cars on the road. I wondered who was asleep, or awake, in the trees above me. Was I moving quietly enough to keep the birds asleep, or was the whole forest awake and alerted to my presence? The songs of a few spring peepers danced from afar. Why so few tonight, when often they are in grand chorus?
I stalked closer to the tree, awkward in my hiking boots. I could feel the pressure of larger twigs under my boots as I moved to place them on the ground, but I couldn’t judge with any certainty that the ground I shifted them to didn’t have smaller twigs or leaves, waiting to snap or crunch, and several times I announced my presence to everyone within earshot.
I had an unease about being in these woods at night, small as this cluster of trees is, and familiar as the yard without it is. The external appearance of this little patch of woods is an everyday sight for me, but I don’t often venture into it, and never at night. Ringed on all sides by moderately-mown yards, many would scoff at the thought that it is “wild,” but it certainly held a wildness for me tonight. Who is asleep in the trees above me? Who nests on and under the ground around me? I’ve heard many a creature descend the trees around here at nightfall, the scraping of their claws on the bark calling out across the grass to my porch. Were any of them in my sit spot tree? If I were still for long enough in the lower branches, might they descend and become angry upon discovering me in their path?
As it turned out, I spent much of my 20 minutes stalking within a few feet of the tree, such was the quantity of twigs on the ground around it, and only made it up into the tree for a couple of minutes before it was time for me to go back into my house. As I slowly began my stalk down from and away from the tree, my sense of alertness and caution quickly ebbed, and I found myself re-writing my experience there: It wasn’t actually frightening at all – it’s just a tiny forest! Why would I think I could possibly get hurt?!
How much of the intensity of life do we obscure through our untruthful paintings of the past?
I stalked back through the yard toward the house, still listening and following the guidance as to when to step, when to pause, which direction to take, where to look.
While at the tree, I had heard a tiny chipping/gnawing sound from time to time a couple of yards from the base of the tree, and a few sounds much like a rabbit makes when moving in tall grass. It had occurred to me yesterday that I’ve never seen a rabbit on any of the land around our house in the few years we’ve lived here. Perhaps I will learn through this month of sits that they do share this land with us, after all.
As I came inside and moved quietly past the conversation and in to another room to check for ticks, I felt the confinement of the walls around me. How much of the world they block out! The sky, the breezes, the sounds of the night animals, the sense of weather and moon and sun…we lose them all by living in these houses, completely divorced from everything but humans and those things that human hands or machines have made. Is physical comfort, the consistency of temperature and humidity and space to store our hoards of belongings worth the loss of these gifts?
Day 1, 9:30 p.m.
I'd been wondering where to do my sits up until a few days ago. I was given a precious and rare couple of hours to myself by a babysitting relative, and had planned to use them to run some errands. But as I prepared to leave the house, I felt in no uncertain terms that I should instead be using the time to be outside. Not to do any particular thing, simply to GO OUTSIDE, not on errands. I tried and tried to reason my way into the shopping trip, so I could call it done, but eventually sat down for a minute and acknowledged that my inner voice always knows what is best for me, though more often than not its directions are in conflict with what I plan and what I want to do.
So out I went, weaving my way around the yard as I felt called, and after a bit found myself perched joyously and perfectly in the strong arms of a great white pine in the backyard. The very tree under whom I sat for the Sit Spot Challenge two years ago, but whom I hadn't considered for this challenge, having brought home two deer ticks from the brush around it in the past.
So tonight, out I went with a certainty that I was going to the spot that I had been directed to. I stalked through the yard, following my guidance as to which path to take, intent on leaving the mourning doves in the pines I passed undisturbed, having flushed them many a time as I've moved mindlessly through the yard at dusk. It was a roundabout path I was pulled on, and I trust that there were solid reasons for it, though these reasons may never come clear to me.
The branches of the pines I passed formed a visual framework between me and the sky, framed the glowing windows of my house, framed the moving lights of the cars on the road. I wondered who was asleep, or awake, in the trees above me. Was I moving quietly enough to keep the birds asleep, or was the whole forest awake and alerted to my presence? The songs of a few spring peepers danced from afar. Why so few tonight, when often they are in grand chorus?
I stalked closer to the tree, awkward in my hiking boots. I could feel the pressure of larger twigs under my boots as I moved to place them on the ground, but I couldn’t judge with any certainty that the ground I shifted them to didn’t have smaller twigs or leaves, waiting to snap or crunch, and several times I announced my presence to everyone within earshot.
I had an unease about being in these woods at night, small as this cluster of trees is, and familiar as the yard without it is. The external appearance of this little patch of woods is an everyday sight for me, but I don’t often venture into it, and never at night. Ringed on all sides by moderately-mown yards, many would scoff at the thought that it is “wild,” but it certainly held a wildness for me tonight. Who is asleep in the trees above me? Who nests on and under the ground around me? I’ve heard many a creature descend the trees around here at nightfall, the scraping of their claws on the bark calling out across the grass to my porch. Were any of them in my sit spot tree? If I were still for long enough in the lower branches, might they descend and become angry upon discovering me in their path?
As it turned out, I spent much of my 20 minutes stalking within a few feet of the tree, such was the quantity of twigs on the ground around it, and only made it up into the tree for a couple of minutes before it was time for me to go back into my house. As I slowly began my stalk down from and away from the tree, my sense of alertness and caution quickly ebbed, and I found myself re-writing my experience there: It wasn’t actually frightening at all – it’s just a tiny forest! Why would I think I could possibly get hurt?!
How much of the intensity of life do we obscure through our untruthful paintings of the past?
I stalked back through the yard toward the house, still listening and following the guidance as to when to step, when to pause, which direction to take, where to look.
While at the tree, I had heard a tiny chipping/gnawing sound from time to time a couple of yards from the base of the tree, and a few sounds much like a rabbit makes when moving in tall grass. It had occurred to me yesterday that I’ve never seen a rabbit on any of the land around our house in the few years we’ve lived here. Perhaps I will learn through this month of sits that they do share this land with us, after all.
As I came inside and moved quietly past the conversation and in to another room to check for ticks, I felt the confinement of the walls around me. How much of the world they block out! The sky, the breezes, the sounds of the night animals, the sense of weather and moon and sun…we lose them all by living in these houses, completely divorced from everything but humans and those things that human hands or machines have made. Is physical comfort, the consistency of temperature and humidity and space to store our hoards of belongings worth the loss of these gifts?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)