Archives for posts with tag: breathe exhale relax

This morning I am reflecting on beauty. Thoughts and recollections of beautiful sights are one useful strategy to manage pain; if my mind is focused on beautiful recollections, it is not preoccupied with the experience of pain in that moment. Simple, right?

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Like a lot of simple ideas, it is more complicated than it sounds and requires steady practice to be really effective – but today my thumbs don’t hurt. I have been feeling deeply inspired lately, and it makes thoughts of beauty easier to focus on. I can explore inspiration in real depth, for a long while, and the pain seems to recede, no longer dominating my awareness. When my thumbs, specifically, are also hurting it becomes difficult to think about beauty and art, because the thoughts themselves redirect my attention back to my pain.

… Not this morning…

This morning I walk down the path more or less comfortably (less, much less), and the morning is slightly warmer. I’m dressed for it, that helps. Knee pain on the right, and a painful little hangnail on my left foot that I only noticed after I stepped out of the car to begin my walk. Arthritis pain up and down my spine. Nerve pain down my left hip. Rough morning for pain and pain management, so… I distract myself from it with thoughts of beauty, and paintings not yet painted. It works, mostly. My results vary.

Fall colors

Autumn colors excite me, and I enjoy the scent of autumn on the chilly breeze: fallen leaves, damp earth, and somewhere a warm hearth and the hint of a crackling fire last night. I am eager to be in my studio again, painting scenes of autumn. As I walk I think about recent sights. Beautiful sunrises. The glimmer of the setting sun across the ripples and slow currents of Siletz Bay. The vineyards becoming neat rows of yellow under cloudy skies. The oranges, rusts, and reds of deciduous trees mingling with the deep dark greens of various evergreens and pines. It is an outstanding season for painting.

I get to my halfway point and stop awhile. No starry sky this morning. Cloudy. Chilly. A quiet reminder of how vulnerable we are, as human beings. We have no fur, no claws, no savage fangs, no poison. We are fleshy and naked to the elements, and only our intelligence and adaptability keep us at or near the top of the food chain. I’m glad dressed warmly. I think awhile about humanity inventing clothing, and continuing to improve it over time. I shiver a bit in the cold in spite of my warm fleece over a warm fleece lined Henley.

I breathe the chilly autumn air and exhale it as a visible breath. I let my body relax. I repeat the simple practice for several minutes. I’m feeling pretty good, now, although chilly. Oh, look, it’s not meditation carrying the weight on this, as good as that sounds. I also remembered to take my meds on time and the Rx pain relief picks up where meditation leaves off. Sometimes ya gotta do both.

I gather my thoughts and get to my feet. I note happily that I’ve managed to stay focused on my own thoughts without giving any thought to work at all. That feels like an achievement, but acknowledging it feels like I just lost the game. 😂 I stretch and feel tension leave my body. It’s a good beginning. I wonder where today will take me?

Music is funny stuff. It’s not just pleasing to the ears, it’s also a sort of a “time machine”, after a fashion.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I woke this morning with a song in my head, which persistently tried to carry me back to a moment on a hot summer day in Texas, in 1986. I’ve nothing to do there/then, and resist the pull of that long ago moment in favor of this one, here, now.

As I walk down the trail in the dark, I do manage to “change the channel”. My “inner playlist” cues up something a bit moodier, still tugging my attention towards the past.

Hmph. No time for time machines this morning. I stop on the trail and open a music app. I pick out a “mood resetter” and walk on. That’s better. In the darkness the beat powers my steps. I don’t have any experiences or emotions paired to this track, either, and my thoughts return to the moment I’m in.

… Sometimes “the Wayback Machine” is handy, other times less so…

I get to my halfway point and take a few minutes to relax in the peaceful predawn darkness. The weekend was a pleasant one. I sit smiling to myself, thinking about the time spent in the studio and time spent with my Traveling Partner,  and an excellent stir-fry on Saturday. Pleasant and ordinary and wholesome, and a beautiful memory worth savoring.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a comfortable routine at this point; get up early, walk, meditate, write, then begin the work day. I sit quietly under the starry sky. This feeling right here is one that I worked a long time to be able to experience. Worth it. Contentment and a soft quiet joy are worth making changes for, and worth all the practicing of practices.

… Your results may vary…

I sigh to myself. Contentment is an amazing feeling. Curious that we don’t talk about it more – we’re too focused on chasing happiness to notice more subtle (and potential lasting) emotions like contentment. I sit with my thoughts, watching a curious mist gathering. It hangs in a distinct layer above my head. Hints of daybreak appear. I stretch and get to my feet. Of course, it’s time to begin, again.

I’m okay, for most values of “okay”. It’ll have to do. It’s honestly not worth the effort to bitch about anything going on with me. Mundane stuff. How are you? I care and I’m curious. (Comment if you wish.)

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I’m sitting at the halfway point on this hike, and probably life as well (if I’m lucky enough to be around to see 120-ish). I have felt as though I’ve been living life “at the halfway point” for awhile now, 15-20 years maybe. It has been a time of struggle, change, healing, and growth. I’ve made some good friends in this time, I’ve probably lost more.

…There’s never a guarantee that life’s scale would balance for me as an unremarkable individual human primate, one of many…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The cycle is a simple one. My day begins. I do my best. I survive the experience. I sleep, wake, and begin again. And again. And again. Eventually, the sands of time will run out on this one mortal experience. I’ve no idea what’s after that – no one has come back to say. I sit with that thought awhile. Uncertainty. Impermanence. Change. Big ideas that seem smaller under the black night sky. Doesn’t matter. My time. My thoughts.

I meditate. Enjoy the mild autumn morning. Watch for daybreak. Write a few words. I’d rather be setting up my easel for another piece, but it’s a work day. I think ahead to the weekend. Soon.

This is one of those mornings that feels almost like a throwaway moment, “nothing to see here”, as if it were a rerun, and not because I have a routine. It’s more that the moment is unremarkable, which is true in all but one way; the very ordinariness itself. The gentle mundanity is so spectacularly strange feeling to me sometimes, I find it remarkable. Very little of my life has been gently ordinary. I don’t really know whether (or quite how) to enjoy it. I wonder how many such moments I have undermined with unnecessary drama or emotional bullshit in the past simply because I didn’t know how to deal with the ordinary?

I sigh to myself and notice the trees seem more obvious, silhouetted against the sky, than they did moments ago. Daybreak soon, I suppose. Another sigh. I get to my feet and stretch, looking down the path. It’s only a moment. I begin again.

Just saying, I have bad days, too…

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

… Some days I don’t sleep well and I really feel it. Sometimes chronic pain is more than I feel like I can manage. Sometimes love isn’t a merry playground. Sometimes I burn dinner, or stub my toe, or get my stupid hair brush tangled in my damned hair before I’m quite awake in the morning.

… Some days it just feels like a lot to deal with, this whole “being human” thing, and it’s definitely not “fair“. Some days it just fucking sucks from end to end for no obvious reason…or at least it feels that way in the moment.

I put my head down on my desk, where I’m co-working, and I just start crying. It’s nothing particular, I’m just feeling the weight of the world and circumstances, and very much wishing my resilience wasn’t born of endless effort and constant practice.

It’ll pass, I know that. It’s only a moment. A very human moment to be sure, but it’s still only a moment. I sniffle back the last few tears and use my last tissue to dry my eyes and blow my nose. I still have hours of work ahead of me, and it’s time to begin again.

Morning. Another one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to see another sunrise. Life gets complicated sometimes, though, and it is a lot to take. It’s rarely “all on me”, or even about me (in many cases it’s nothing to do with me at all).

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

It’s not even daybreak yet. It’s quite dark on the trail this morning – clear starry sky, the full moon overhead.  I walk down the familiar trail with a measure of confidence, the bobbing circle of light ahead of me from my headlamp is plenty to see by. I walk with my thoughts, enjoying these moments of peace and quiet reflection; they may be the only such moments in a busy complicated day.

I get to my halfway point and take a seat on the nearby bench.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Chilly morning. I’m grateful for the warm sweater and cozy cardigan I threw on over it. I can see my breath this morning. Fall. The potential beauty of the morning is thrown off by concern for my Traveling Partner. I find myself wondering whether I should call out from work to take care of him today? For the moment my own pain takes a back seat in my awareness. I breathe deeply, and exhale slowly, working to stave off my stress before it can become a panic attack. My partner needs me to be capable and to provide care. I remind myself that I did it for two years, and I can resume doing so capably, now, when my beloved needs me.

Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Sometimes shit gets complicated. That’s just life. We all go through shit, and it is sometimes the worst we’ve ever been through. Resilience is built over time, but it can sure feel like it can be used up in an instant.

I sigh to myself feeling restless, and for a moment a little trapped and hopeless. I remind myself that change is, and very few moments last. Most things are pretty impermanent, actually, so I take another breath, exhale again, and do my best to relax. I’ll keep practicing.

Still not daybreak yet, but there is the faintest hint of something more deep dark blue than utterly black about the sky. A new day. I keep working to quell my panic (an inner voice snarls at me, “no one has time for this weak ass shit, knock it off”). Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Repeat as needed. I struggle to get comfortable with myself this morning. My mind refuses to settle down or focus, like hearing a fire alarm I know is a test, and still feeling it is urgently necessary to leave the building. This is absolutely not a test – it’s life. Sometimes it’s complicated.

I sigh to myself and hope I get through the day with my perspective intact, and able to provide any caregiving my partner needs. I stupidly look at my watch in the dark. Pointless. I do know it’s time to begin again… I get to my feet and turn to head on down the trail and back to the car.