Important nothing-special moments

Mindfulness means attention. It means that when you are washing your face in the morning, you actually feel the slippery soap and the warm water splashing in your hands. All too often, direct experience of the real-time present is replaced, forgotten, hastily bypassed. In our rush to get to the next moment, we substitute a fantasy life, an imagined life in the future for the actual life we are living. I’ve washed my face thousands of times, and I’m bored with it, so instead I am already caught up in planning and rehearsing what I need to say later in the morning at the 9.30 meeting. Which is more real – my presence at the sink or my ideas about this mornings agenda? Mindfulness lets us reclaim the lives we are actually living. 

Gaylon Ferguson, Natural Wakefulness

 

 

Giving up some positions

We tend to personalize everything. Why everything gets at us and makes us so angry is because of something our mind is doing – but to acknowledge that entails giving up some position of “me” and “my emotions” that are right and justified. Now, I’m not saying that abandonment means not feeling anything – that attitude really drives people into dangerously repressed places. The way is about seeing how things get under our skin ad chafe our heart. It’s about abandoning the action of taking in dukkha. We widen our perspective into being aware of how we are feeling and with that clear and steady awareness, we can watch the mental process very carefully.

Ajahn Sucitto, Turning the Wheel of Truth

Some simple words for today

Mindful breathing brings your body and mind back together. In our busy society it’s a great fortune to be able to sit and breathe consciously from time to time. Paying attention to your breathing is a way for your body to relax. As you continue breathing with awareness, your breath naturally becomes slower and deeper. As you breathe, you can say to yourself:

“Breathing in, I’m aware of the tension in my body.

Breathing out, I release all the tension in my body”.

Thich Nhat Hahn, Making Space

In touch with the experiental body

Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche talked about mindfulness meditation as a process of “touch and go.” “Touch” means really acknowledging, really appreciating, the texture of a particular mental content, not just bouncing off of it. It is the difference between a gentle squeeze and a superficial tap. This touching, acknowledging, appreciating, is the seed for developing insight — a way of being present to phenomena that invites fresh meanings to emerge. Because Westerners tend to be more split off from the experiential body than people in more traditional cultures, the practice of Focusing can facilitate our ability to touch genuinely what arises in the mind-heart in a non-discursive way. As Pema Chodron recently advised a questioner with doubts about her meditation practice, “There is a secret ingredient — direct, nonverbal experience.”

David Rome, Searching for the Truth that Is Far Below the Search

A new way of looking at the week

Looking aroundEveryone wants to use happiness as a fix for problems, yet happiness is its own, very big thing, and it is selling happiness short to make it a fix for problems. To be happy is to experience life not as a series of struggles but as a gift, one that has no known limit. When you get the hang of being more interested in life than in agreeing with your thoughts, then you will get the life you get. And you will be able to have as much happiness as you want with almost no effort whatsoever. When you stop believing your thoughts, you look around just for you, just because it is interesting to look around. Some people call that enlightenment. But you won’t call it that. You’ll be too interested in the new view.

John Tarrant, The Paradox of Happiness

Noticing the ordinary

or·di·nar·y/ˈôrdnˌerē/ Adjective: With no special or distinctive features; normal.

The Catholic liturgical tradition has long divided time in two:  There are two kinds of days in life and two periods of the year. The days were either feast days or ferial days. The year was divided into “ordinary” time and …well, “extra-ordinary” time, I guess. This second segment of the year, come to think about it, I never heard anyone name at all. It was a number of times: Advent, Lent,  the Christmas, Easter and Pentecost seasons. This kind of information may be boring stuff but it’s important stuff, too. Ordinary time, you see, was the longest period of all. It was the time when life went its long, dull way, predictable to the ultimate. Monday, we did the laundry; Tuesday, we did chapel, altar breads, and house-cleaning; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday we did it all again. More of the same. Same old, same old. Week after week, month after month, year after year.

 Every once in a while, of course, life was punctuated by a feast day with its special meals and polyphonic liturgies but, in the end, the normal, the daily predominated. As it does for all of us yet. The commute, the paperwork, the housework, the school run, eat up day after day with mind-numbing regularity. And yet, it is in “ordinary” time that the really important things happen: our children grow up, our marriages and relationships  grow older, our sense of life changes, our vision expands, our soul ripens. No doubt about it, [my father’s] prayer card was right: To lose the glory of ordinary time is to suffer the loss of the greater part of life.

Joan Chittister, Ordinary Time