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.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
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?
Friday, January 1, 2010
Tracks and Histories
Sat out tonight on the front porch. Car and snow plows gliding by, nearly silent on the snowy road. Tracks we made playing on the front lawn today are muted by the new inch of powdery snow upon them. Today's tracks, the tracks of this lifetime, covered by changes, time, the happenings of the present.
Felt the cold seep past my clothes to my skin, and thought of how many creatures and people have died on cold, snowy nights. If humans died en masse, not only our individual lives would be lost,but also our particular community, our family culture.
As animals pass over, do they see their family's history ending, or only their own lives?
Felt the cold seep past my clothes to my skin, and thought of how many creatures and people have died on cold, snowy nights. If humans died en masse, not only our individual lives would be lost,but also our particular community, our family culture.
As animals pass over, do they see their family's history ending, or only their own lives?
Monday, November 2, 2009
Frost
Four lessons tonight, under what looks like a full moon.
I reflected on being a member of a species that can rest unconcerned about predators. I imagined that the only other creatures that might have this privilege are those at the top of the food chain. But then, doesn't a mountain lion have to beware of other mountain lions? Yes, just as we humans have other humans to fear.
Kneeling on the ground, I imagined a raccoon near me. I didn't want to stand (in this imaginary scenario), lest I frighten the raccoon. Yet what if it were rabid and posed a danger to me? Likewise, why do we crouch around others, hide our full strength and stature, when doing so may invite unpleasantness upon us?
Didn't want to pray tonight, so late already that I just wanted to get into bed. But a feeling came to me of my relationship with my body, with having birthed my son, and how sacred that is to me. How sacred that must be to all women, to their own degree, and how so many women in Africa and around the world have been raped by men, had that precious history of their bodies overwritten by violence and degredation. This reminded me that my selfish desire for sleeping sooner rather than later is not as important as it feels to me sometimes, relative to others' needs and the importance of me doing the work that I can do through prayer.
I prayed for gentle but firm guidance so that I may do what I can to help women, especially in southern Africa, where so many men are committing rapes that it is being referred to as an "epidemic." The question then came to me: "If I were in their shoes - if I were one of the women experiencing this cultural trauma, what would I want someone in my shoes to do?"
I reflected on being a member of a species that can rest unconcerned about predators. I imagined that the only other creatures that might have this privilege are those at the top of the food chain. But then, doesn't a mountain lion have to beware of other mountain lions? Yes, just as we humans have other humans to fear.
Kneeling on the ground, I imagined a raccoon near me. I didn't want to stand (in this imaginary scenario), lest I frighten the raccoon. Yet what if it were rabid and posed a danger to me? Likewise, why do we crouch around others, hide our full strength and stature, when doing so may invite unpleasantness upon us?
Didn't want to pray tonight, so late already that I just wanted to get into bed. But a feeling came to me of my relationship with my body, with having birthed my son, and how sacred that is to me. How sacred that must be to all women, to their own degree, and how so many women in Africa and around the world have been raped by men, had that precious history of their bodies overwritten by violence and degredation. This reminded me that my selfish desire for sleeping sooner rather than later is not as important as it feels to me sometimes, relative to others' needs and the importance of me doing the work that I can do through prayer.
I prayed for gentle but firm guidance so that I may do what I can to help women, especially in southern Africa, where so many men are committing rapes that it is being referred to as an "epidemic." The question then came to me: "If I were in their shoes - if I were one of the women experiencing this cultural trauma, what would I want someone in my shoes to do?"
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