harvested another twenty minutes of sitting tonight.
greeted again by the busy chickens on my way to the tree, their paths following mine toward the tree and then turning to the sandbox as i ascended.
gentle wind on my face as i sat. something in its quality made it feel just like the ocean breezes i grew up with, but the scent was bland, lacking the distinction of saltiness.
worked on my vision tonight, my focus dancing between the expanse of my peripheral vision to the left, right, top, and bottom of my visual field and my running list of things that need doing.
i was surprised at how easily i was able to reclaim my focus and direct it again toward my vision. as i gradually combined my awareness of all the edges of my visual field so that i was focusing attention on all of them at once, not focusing on any one point as we tend to do in daily life, the scene before me changed. first it appeared as a kaleidoscope, divisions of triangles and trapezoids in the pine branches and needles and sky. then it appeared to me as a collage that slowly became three-dimensional, each small movement of my breathing revealing the depth of the vision, the images beyond the images. every space formed by crossing branches - ten thousand bits of sky held between tiny pine branches and twigs - formed a piece of the artwork.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Drought
sat tonight, first time in a long drought of solitude.
husband spoke today of his need to have some time alone at some point today, which reminded me of my own right to claim time to myself when his presence makes it feasible.
walked out toward the tree after putting the boy down for the night, and was greeted with not just the usual one or two friendlies, but our whole dear flock of chickens running to me. hadn't been out in the yard today; were they wanting for entertainment other than each others' company? no one was missing, so i don't believe it was for protection. i knelt by them and fed the bold ones clover, then walked on.
i greeted the tree and ascended to my sitting branch, avoiding the short strips of blue/purple sap that decorated the trunks. i sat, thinking about the companionable chickens, noting the growth of the little maple and of our garden since my last sit. after a few minutes of sitting in thought, a large black and white bird, a little smaller than a crow, glided past me, just below the branch i was sitting on, presumably unaware of my presence in its flight path. i heard its body cutting through the still air, but too quick and too peripheral to my vision to get a clear sighting. it brought to mind the flicker who careened into the tree when i was first starting the 30-day challenge this spring; a big treat right at the start of my sitting. it motivated me to continue on, but i expected a treat every few days and was disappointed when it turned out to be a one-time deal. glad to have the memory of that lesson, reminding me to temper my excitement and keep an even keel in my expectations of sits.
the baby moved, a soft little jerk of a feeling in my abdomen.
started to tune in to all the sounds i could hear, then my mind drifted around: perhaps i can give myself 20 minutes a night on the porch to practice fire by friction, after the boy goes down every night. a month's commitment to this should get me somewhere with this practice i've longed to pick up for years. but i'll need to finally find myself a good set of tools, which is always what slows me down...
remembered that i'd been tuning in to my hearing, and closed my eyes again. a cricket to the south, as well as a bird chirping away at some distance and another singing intermittently close by. the neighbors' mower, and cars on the road. a constant insect buzz, one i hear in tall grasses in the summer and used to assume were crickets until finally realizing it doesn't actually start and stop like crickets, leaving me at a loss after three decades of sharing the summer with these insects close by.
the baby moved again.
opened my eyes. wondered what time it was, how soon i could stop trying to be alert and just go inside. felt a fleeting frustration about my resistance to attempting to stay awake, then remembered writing about this frustration during the challenge. how after two or three weeks of effort this spring, i suddenly moved into a state of much more active awareness.
it is achievable.
husband spoke today of his need to have some time alone at some point today, which reminded me of my own right to claim time to myself when his presence makes it feasible.
walked out toward the tree after putting the boy down for the night, and was greeted with not just the usual one or two friendlies, but our whole dear flock of chickens running to me. hadn't been out in the yard today; were they wanting for entertainment other than each others' company? no one was missing, so i don't believe it was for protection. i knelt by them and fed the bold ones clover, then walked on.
i greeted the tree and ascended to my sitting branch, avoiding the short strips of blue/purple sap that decorated the trunks. i sat, thinking about the companionable chickens, noting the growth of the little maple and of our garden since my last sit. after a few minutes of sitting in thought, a large black and white bird, a little smaller than a crow, glided past me, just below the branch i was sitting on, presumably unaware of my presence in its flight path. i heard its body cutting through the still air, but too quick and too peripheral to my vision to get a clear sighting. it brought to mind the flicker who careened into the tree when i was first starting the 30-day challenge this spring; a big treat right at the start of my sitting. it motivated me to continue on, but i expected a treat every few days and was disappointed when it turned out to be a one-time deal. glad to have the memory of that lesson, reminding me to temper my excitement and keep an even keel in my expectations of sits.
the baby moved, a soft little jerk of a feeling in my abdomen.
started to tune in to all the sounds i could hear, then my mind drifted around: perhaps i can give myself 20 minutes a night on the porch to practice fire by friction, after the boy goes down every night. a month's commitment to this should get me somewhere with this practice i've longed to pick up for years. but i'll need to finally find myself a good set of tools, which is always what slows me down...
remembered that i'd been tuning in to my hearing, and closed my eyes again. a cricket to the south, as well as a bird chirping away at some distance and another singing intermittently close by. the neighbors' mower, and cars on the road. a constant insect buzz, one i hear in tall grasses in the summer and used to assume were crickets until finally realizing it doesn't actually start and stop like crickets, leaving me at a loss after three decades of sharing the summer with these insects close by.
the baby moved again.
opened my eyes. wondered what time it was, how soon i could stop trying to be alert and just go inside. felt a fleeting frustration about my resistance to attempting to stay awake, then remembered writing about this frustration during the challenge. how after two or three weeks of effort this spring, i suddenly moved into a state of much more active awareness.
it is achievable.
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