Up to a Challenge

I know that January is usually the month of new beginnings, but I'm taking on a couple challenges for February, namely daily letter-writing and daily meditating.  I will write and mail something--a letter, a card, even a postcard--each day through snail mail.  That's 23 pieces of mail.  I was a wonderful pen pal as a child, sending hundreds of letters to my Greek pen pal Martha Bitsopoulou, in addition to correspondences with Lambeth, my Aunt Sis, my great grandmother, and other pen pals from camp, a Star Wars fan club, and such.  Nowadays, I send a ton of email and make some phone calls, but very few letters.  Though, I have sent my Aunt Sis approximately a letter a week since her illness.

And I'm also joining Sharon Salzberg's 28-day meditation challenge, which means meditation everyday.  I'll breathe in and out, do lovingkindness meditation, listen to some of my meditation CDs.  I'm really looking forward to the month to jump-start my practice, which had fallen behind with Mama's surgery and recovery and then the holidays and then even the flu, which kept me from the meditation workshop.

Lastly, though it's not specifically a February challenge, I've pledged on my Goodreads account to read a book a week and I'm making good progress.  It's time actually read all the books I own!

I'll keep you updated on these challenges--it'll be a busy if short month!

Meditation Pledge: Sunday Sounds

When I walk, I focus on the sights, sounds, and sensations of being outdoors. I had tried to concentrate on the feeling of walking, to make it a true walking meditation, but I find that walking is so challenging for me--I can feel the way I wobble along, with my muscles and bones just not working in concert to move me along, and know that I've always found walking a challenge. That's not to say it always hurts, though sometimes it does, but that I don't walk smoothly or easily. Not only trained doctors and physical therapists notice it right away, but people have asked me why I limp all my life. Now I know why. And if I concentrate on my movement--the feel of my left foot dragging, my right hip pulling, my upper back tightening, my knees slipping backwards, and the way I can never walk straight and can easily stumble on twigs--I start to get stressful, depressed, self-critical. That is not meditative or mindful.

And so I watch and listen. And today I noticed that walking on a Sunday is so different from my weekday walks, when children are being ferried to school and houses being emptied of inhabitants heading off to work; there are lots of waves and quick hellos, maybe a longer conversation with the few stay-at-homers. But otherwise, the neighborhood is still and quiet. Well, of people. Because there are squirrels scurrying around preparing for winter, water flowing in our creek, wind blowing down the leaves. By myself, I notice these things. And how one day it was so muggy that the air was almost visible, and on another how the wind came in refreshing spurts making it almost cold in the shadows of the trees despite the warmth of the sun. And then there's that tree that is gradually turning a wonderful red, and a yellow tree right behind it now. But also a tree--I'm not sure what it is--with it's almost spring-like pink balls of flowers.

But on Sundays, I don't notice nature as much. I see people in their yards, fewer cars going back and forth, kids wandering looking for other kids to play with, adults doing household chores in the garage, families preparing to go out for the day. There was even a chorus of various dogs singing to one another because they are happy to be out in the yards. And then all these disembodied voices coming from open windows--the sound of a mom yelling at her child to get ready, the theme song of a tv show starting, a couple searching around the house trying to find some lost thing, a general murmur from kitchen windows as the breakfast dishes are cleaned.

I like hearing the neighborhood alive.

But I like being alone too. And I'll miss it this week because it looks like it's going to rain for five days straight.

But, who knows, that'll be something new and I might enjoy walking in the rain. I wonder how that will change the neighborhood?

Meditation Pledge: Falling for Fall

As I try to spend more time moving, most of my meditation these days takes the form of walking medtiation--I have had enough of lying down and just can't yet sit. This morning was beautiful, cool at 61F with a breeze wiggling the green leaves in the maples that form a tunnel through which I walk. But there is one tree in our neighborhood that is already turning colors, just a little bit, at the top, where the tree faces east. It's always the first tree, probably because it is the tallest and first to greet the morning light and thus first to realize that the days are growing shorter.

Meditation Pledge: Walking on Sunshine

I'm supposed to walk 30 minutes everyday. That's my main exercise and only physical therapy right now. I had been doing some of it in the house, out of convenience but also nervousness to be too far from where I could lay down.

But I've been feeling stronger, even sans brace, and it is such a gorgeous day. So, while the kids played outside with Babysitter, who is visiting from college and came by to say hi (so exciting!!), I walked back and forth on the sidewalk beside our house.

It's a glorious spot, shaded by two maples and a dogwood tree, with a straight and flat sidewalk. I can see our house and yard, our neighbors down the street, and cars going down our streets. So, with my R2-D2 in my pocket, I slowly, deliberately, somewhat timidly, began my walk, going back and forth about 50 feet, concentrating on each step, my balance, my posture.

Then I started to notice the light--the still green leaves haloed with bright yellow light, the sidewalk dappled with light and dark spots. I was reminded of a Gothic cathedral, of the light glowing through the stained glass casting prismatic patterns on the marbled floors. I thought of the Cathedral of St John the Divine, the philosopher of light Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis, even Pillars of the Earth.

My spiritual path only leads through Gothic cathedrals aesthetically; instead, I realized I was practicing a Buddhist walking meditation: going back and forth over a short distance, concentrating on my body's movement, clearing my mind to focus on the present.

Mind, body, soul. The boundaries of the traditional Western duality (trinity, I guess) broken down in one short walk. And it feels so good.

And it's good for me, too.

Healing in more ways than one . . . .

The Power of Meditation

Two days before I injured my back I had made a new pledge to meditate everyday. I haven't forgotten that pledge; indeed, it's what's gotten me through the last 4 weeks.

First, I find it both nearly impossible and entirely necessary to meditate through pain. When the spasms were at their worst, I would just breathe, recognizing my in and out breaths, unable even to count. When I did try to count, a spasm would hit and I'd just forget where I was and have to start over. But trying to count and to breathe was essential--it allowed me to recognize and be in the pain, instead of trying to ignore it. In other words, I'd be thinking, "whoa, that spasm really hurt. But I'm meditating here. So back to breathing." It kept me from getting scared--why did it hurt? when was it going to stop? how could I make it stop? will it ever stop? Sure sometimes, I had to keep telling myself to count with every breath. Pain is very diverting sometimes. But meditating seemed to make it less so. Especially after 4 weeks of practicing. Especially because I was practicing several times a day, through and then outside of the pain. There is a parable by the Buddha, mentioned in an article on pain and meditation in this month's BuddhaDharma magazine, about the two arrows: the first arrow is the sensation of pain but the second arrow is the fear, anxiety--the suffering--of pain. If you are mindful, you only need feel that first arrow. And apparently now, scientific studies of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR, that book I'm reading called Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn) which focuses on mindful meditation, particularly a scan of the body, has proven that meditation can actually decrease the pain of that first arrow. In fact, it happened to me today. In the second that I sit before I lie down, I must have compacted that herniated disc and felt a surge of sharp pain very very briefly. So I lay down, acknowledged what I had felt, and then did some breathing. And I realized later that the ensuing "aftershocks," while uncomfortable, were not actually painful. And that even while that first "arrow" hurt, I didn't actually mind.

Second, I've learned that the "how-tos" of meditation aren't that important to me right now. If I'm focusing on the moment, being mindful, I'm meditating. I've let go of all the "shoulds." I'm not meditating sitting up, obviously. I'm not even meditating with my eyes open, especially when I hurt. And yes, sometimes I even meditate myself right to sleep. I am not meditating so my pain will lessen, so I can take fewer drugs, so I'll be relaxed, I'm meditating because I like to meditate. I need to meditate.

One of the most inspiring meditation practices this month was on the couch a few days ago. I was counting my breaths and the sun burst through the clouds through my living room window onto the couch where I lay. Now, up to that point, I hadn't really been in the sun, for weeks. And the warm on my face felt so good. And the light behind my closed eyes was so yellow and beautiful and comforting. And I lay there feeling and seeing and embracing that light. And also hearing the birds, feeling the wind through the window, noticing the cars on the main road and a few neighbors walking by. And I was breathing and counting. And being. I think I understood, in that instance, the power of light.

And of meditation.

Sitting Down: Meditation Pledge, Day 3

I'm waking up at 6:30 to meditate. Without my alarm clock. Coincidence? Some kind of subconscious need? Yesterday, I sat in my desk chair, not wanting to stray to far from the bedroom because the creaky upstairs floors will wake the kids who look for any sound in the morning to announce morning. But, even though I counted my breaths, I spent the whole time thinking how tight my back was without a pillow. Still, I made about 8 minutes before I stopped, without clock-watching (or Droid-watching, in this case. See how useful that phone is?). Today, I realized I forgot my pillow to make the chair palatable and so I assumed the back neutral position my PT likes, in bed, and meditated there. Judgement time: I know I'm not supposed to meditate lying down in bed, but until I get a comfortable position between my lumbar and thoracic and now cervical spine constantly arguing with each other, all things are possible. And for today it worked. Tomorrow, we're hoping to free my glider--yep, those pregnancy chairs can have a second life!--and I can use that. Lots of support.

Speaking of support, I felt this amazing, glowing enveloping of support from Karen Maezen Miller, the Zen priest and author whom I've referenced here numerous times, who linked to my first meditation pledge post on her own blog. I first noticed it when I had a comment from someone I didn't know, which almost never happens. Then another and another. Four altogether. People who don't know me who came here from her and were supportive of and inspired by my efforts, which in turn inspired and humbled me. By then, I'd read her post and caught the link. It was quite a warm, fuzzy feeling all day. And I am grateful.

While I think it's too early to evaluate this practice, I am having a pretty good few days. Coincidence? I'm not sure it matters.

Meditation Pledge

The "How to Meditate" issue of Shambhala Sun arrived just in time: my practice has lagged; my stress is on the rise with the upcoming departure of Babysitter and the beginning of school; and my back/neck/shoulders are bothering me. Related? Most definitely. And so, with the desire to meditate firmly in place but the will lacking somewhat, I was (again) motivated to practice by reading Norman Fischer's article on "Getting Started:" ". . . the main difficulty we have with self discipline: we are ambivalent. We both do and don’t want to do what we think we want to do in our own best interests."

Sound familiar? That sums up my often lackadaisical approach to much self-improvement, from dieting to exercise, NVC to meditation. I'm a good starter but then lose focus even though I think I want it, know I should. And then I wonder if I'm doing it right, though I've been assured that really there is no "right." Fischer, too, says:

Better to assume the Soto Zen attitude that meditation is what you do when you meditate. There is no doing it wrong or right. That is not to say that there is no effort, no calm, no focus. Of course there is. The point is to avoid falling into the trap of defining meditation too narrowly, and then judging yourself based on that definition, and so sabotaging yourself. You evaluate your practice on a much wider and more generous calculus. Not: Is my mind concentrated while I am sitting? But: How is my attention during the day? Not: Am I peaceful and still as I sit? But: Is my habit of flying off the handle reducing somewhat? In other words, the test of meditation isn’t meditation. It’s your life.

So, as with many things, I pick up and start again. And since pledges work well for me, as we saw this spring with the bread pledge and my continuation of baking our bread, I'm pledging here to meditate every morning for the next 40 days, getting up before the kids to do it or at the least, doing it when they are in school. First for 5-10 minutes each day, increasing each week by 5-10 until I can do 30. I'm following Karen Maezen Miller's writings on how to meditate, as I was first introduced to zazen through her: start small (just a few minutes), count my breaths, realize that the brain thinks and so it is impossible to turn off thoughts, better just to acknowledge them and let them go.

Fischer says to ask, “How was that? Was it pleasant or unpleasant? What impact did it have on my morning, on the rest of my day, on my week?”

So far so good, today. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.