Always commenting, observing, judging

It continually strikes me how difficult it is just to allow things be, and not add on a layer of commentary or anticipation about them. Maybe it is because our brains are disposed toward negative experiences and are always vigilant for possible threats, as Rick Hanson’s excellent book, The Buddha’s Brain tells us. So we are disposed to have a background hum of anxiety, and find it hard to just relax.  This means we create scenarios about potential futures, some of which never actually happen. Whatever the reason,  I was made aware of it this morning in a phonecall which left me troubled.

Afterwards I went for a walk in the beautiful woods near the source of the Allondon river. As I sat and listened to the sound of the water I was struck by how nature just does not worry about the meaning of life or the implications of its actions. It is not continually analyzing or counting. It is just faithful to its being. The river flows, the leaves fall, the seasons pass without the need to stand outside and observe their action. It is harder for us. Our minds are continually seeking active involvement with something. One instant, they run outward toward something, the next moment, they turn inward and away. Our practice is to try and develop stability and constancy in the mind, our capacity to simply be with life, and not always to think about it. As Pema Chodron reminds us, we cannot be in the present moment and run our storylines at the same time.

We tend to run our whole life trying to avoid all that hurts or displeases us, noticing the objects, people, or situations that we think will give us pain or pleasure, avoiding one and pursuing the other. Without exception, we all do this. We remain separate from our life, looking at it, analyzing it, judging it, seeking to answer the questions, ‘What am I going to get out of it? Is it going to give me pleasure or comfort or should I run away from it?” We do this from morning until night.

Charlotte Joko Beck

As close to real as we can be

Things that are real pose no danger to the mind. The real dangers in the mind are our delusions, the things we make up, the things we use to cover up reality, the stories, the preconceived notions we impose on things. When we’re trying to live in those stories and notions, reality is threatening. It’s always exposing the cracks in our ideas, the cracks in our ignorance, the cracks in our desires. As long as we identify with those make-believe desires, we find that threatening. But if we learn to become real people ourselves, then reality poses no dangers.

This is what the meditation is for, teaching yourself how to be real, to get in touch with what’s really going on, to look at your sense of who you are and take it apart in terms of what it really is, to look at the things that you find threatening in your life and see what they really are. When you really look, you see the truth. If you’re true in your looking, the truth appears.

Thanissaro Bhikkhu

In between

One practice which I find very useful in helping me stay mindful is to draw my attention to the importance of the times between times. Every day we have innumerable transition times, between the more formal or defined activities that take place. We can be tempted to see these moments as wasted, as having little value while we are anxious for the next thing to happen. For example, we can be waiting for a client who is late or for a meeting to start, waiting for someone to come back from the Post Office, waiting at the airport for a delayed flight or stuck at unexpected traffic works.

The suggestion  is to see these moments as invitations to stop and drop into ourselves before the next activity begins. In other words to create space between activities. The word I use to remind me to do this comes from the Christian monastic tradition, the word statio, meaning the practice of pausing between activities.

This latin word originally came from the Roman Army and meant a state of readiness or alertness.  The soldiers were fully aware because of possible danger. Therefore they stood  on watch, waiting. In the early Christian community, it became associated with a period of fasting in preparation for something important, the pause to prepare a space for what was to come. They compared their fasting to the guard duty of soldiers, seeing their actions as something to be approached with a similar seriousness and alertness of purpose.

Over the centuries this practicve evolved in the monastic communities to mean that we pause and remind ourselves beofre we start new activities. In other words, we create gaps between different activities or different parts of the day. Before we go into a meeting, or as we ring the elevator bell, we pause and form our intention to be aware. Or, for example, when we get home in the evening after work, we pause before entering our house or our apartment. We draw attention to the fact that we are chaging rhythms, from work to home, and we become conscious that we are about to come into contact with those whom we share this space. We wish to be fully present to them so we leave behind, as much as possible, the unfinished work of the workplace in order to be atttentive to them.

It is the time between times. It is a cure for the revolving door mentality that is common in a culture that runs on wheels.The practice of statio is meant to center us and make us conscious of what we’re about to do . . . Statio is the desire to do consciously
what I might otherwise do mechanically.  Statio is the virtue of presence.

We have learned well in our time to go through life nonstop. Now it is time to learn to collect ourselves from time to time so that God can touch us in the most hectic of moments. Statio is the monastic practice that sets out to get our attention before life goes by in one great blur …

Joan Chitchester, Wisdom distilled from the Daily

Being aware, a way of knowing without words

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think.

Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.

A. A. Milne, The House on Pooh Corner

Seeing the Space

Between stimulus and response, there is a space.

In that space lies our freedom and power to choose our response.

In our response lies our growth and happiness.

Viktor Frankl

Starting mindfulness: Walking helps

In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;

when I walk I see
that it consists of
three or four hills and a cloud.

Wallace Stephens, Of the Surface of Things