Yesterday was a beautiful and fulfilling excursion into a single prolonged moment of self-reflection and wonder. Meaning to say, it was a lovely day spent mostly in my own head.
What enlightenment looks like.
I walked miles of beach at low tide, close to the water’s edge where the sand is most firm and walkable. I ventured across slipping loose sand to explore rocks piled at the foot of steep erosion prone cliffs. I peered into tide pools ankle deep in waves as the tide turned. I walked, and wondered as I wandered.
I saw empty limpet and crab shells on the beach, and pebbles tumbled smooth by ocean waves. I saw anemones and starfish clinging to the rocks exposed at low tide. I saw a variety of sea plants uprooted and tossed along the beach, and even corals torn from wherever they had been, and carried to the chilly Oregon beach on which I spent the morning. Name it? Nah. Go find your own. lol The adventure and satisfaction are not about the specific location, they are more to do with how I spent the time and where I turned my attention; inward.
What you see is often a matter of where you look. This is a picture of a starfish.
I enjoyed the day. I feel more rested than I have in a long while. I sit now, alongside the local trail I’ve been walking most mornings lately, enjoying a few minutes of quiet reflection as the sun rises. Today is an ordinary work day. I feel easy in my skin and comfortable with myself. I’m in a ferocious amount of pain, which is neither surprising nor particularly consequential. It’s just a “feature” of this mortal life.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This morning, the world’s stress and chaos, the violence, the bullshit, and the jockeying for power by the already powerful is nothing to do with me, directly. I’m here, now, in this moment, in this local place. My heart feels light. It’s enough.
I look down the trail, as the eastern horizon turns a bold orange. A new day begins. I smile and get to my feet. It’s time for me to begin, again, too.
It is the fall equinox. I took the day off from work to reflect, and to find balance. It’s the equinox, after all. It is a time for balance, day and night briefly the same length, a reminder that balance can be found, but not held static. Balance is not a permanent condition.
Lincoln City, at Road’s End, before sunrise.
I sip a hot coffee. The paper cup is warm in my hands. The morning is chillier here on the coast. I’m grateful for the foresight to have worn a warm sweater. I listen to the roar of the waves and the sea breeze, watching the sky begin to lighten, as daybreak, then dawn, each arrive in turn. As the dawn lights the horizon, I begin watching the waves roll in, in rows, stretching along the now-visible beach. The horizon itself is obscured by morning fog or dense clouds. I hear sea birds taking flight, calling to each other.
Where do I find balance? I guess anywhere that I create it, from whatever chaos is handy in the moment. Balance is in the choices I make. Same with “finding my center”. I create that center, that firm foundation, that moment to pause, to reflect, to breathe, and to simply be. I know that I’ve made it sound too easy. It’s not reliably easy. I sometimes choose poorly, or attempt to snatch a sense of balance from a moment that wanted something else of me entirely. As with painting, composition matters – just because a sight exists, doesn’t make it visually beautiful, worth putting on canvas – and so too with moments and seeking (or finding, or creating) balance. It’s not always “time for that”.
Moments later, same location, different perspective.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a good place for meditation, and a good moment for it. I take time for that as the sun rises, watching the waves, listening to the sea breeze, letting my thoughts float gently by, observed but not engaging with them. I focus on my breath, and the waves, and the distant horizon. There is time later for other things. For now, this is enough.
… Time passes. What’s left of my coffee is now cold. So are my hands. Curious gulls stand very near the car, eyeing me curiously. The misty western horizon has taken on a delicate shell pink hue, and the waves are steely gray edged in frothy white as they reach the shallows along the shore. Beautiful.
After meditating, before walking on the beach.
Certainly there is enough daylight now to easily see the steep path down to the beach. It’s quite chilly this morning, but I’m warmly dressed, appropriate for the chill of an autumn walk along the ocean beach early in the morning. I’ll take my time and enjoy the sights. The morning is mine, for finding or creating balance, on a lovely fall equinox. Later, I’ll return home and prepare a lovely meal and celebrate at home. It’s nothing particularly fancy, and doesn’t need to be (although the recipe I’m following is complex, and the dish suited to a celebration). I’m simply observing the change of seasons my own way.
In spite of the heat I spent some time in the garden yesterday (before it got too hot, in the cooler morning hours). I happily watered and weeded, and reflected on the chaos that has arisen over weeks of hot weather, busy work days, and other shit that just had to get done. Time is a limited resource, and so is the energy I’ve got available to get things done with.
I found myself doing what I tend to do when I observe chaos creeping further into my day-to-day experience; I made a list. I took some notes. I contemplated the varying levels of urgency and the considerations driving that.
The chaos in my garden.
There are peas dry on the vines ready to harvest for next year’s planting. There are carrots ready to harvest, and favorite salad greens that bolted in the heat (may as well harvest those seeds, too). The deer were haphazard with their “helpful” pruning of tomatoes, but I’ve still got a few tomatoes ripening, hidden in the greenery. Thirsty roses want deeper watering, and need a bit of pruning. There is so much weeding to do. Work had gotten busy, and I had gotten tired with other every day tasks on top of that, and I fell behind on several of the things the garden needs to thrive and be beautiful and productive. Our choices have consequences. Now I’m faced with those; I put my attention on work (for a job that I won’t be doing any longer) and let the garden go a bit wild, and the weeds remind me that my own choices allowed them to thrive.
I’m neither mad nor frustrated. The garden manages to be lovely regardless, and I enjoy my time spent there, even on a muggy summer morning before the heat of the day sets in. There are roses blooming at the edge of the lawn (at least one of which does not know the meaning of “winter” and will likely bloom all year) and it delights me to pause along the walk to see them there in the sunshine, drops of water glittering on the edges of colorful petals after morning watering.
“Baby Love”, blooming in the summer heat.
I spent the day contentedly creating order from chaos. I find it a useful practice for reducing background anxiety and stress. Chaos in my environment tends to result in chaos in my thinking. Tidying things up, clearing out clutter, and working down a list of tasks that need doing has proven to be a really good practice for managing my stress and anxiety. When those tasks are specific to supporting my own needs as an individual, it also feels like self-care. Conveniently enough, there nearly always seems to be something to do that meets those needs. lol Laundry. Dishes. Hanging up the various pairs of earrings that have managed to find some random resting place here or there in the house. Putting books away. Filing paperwork that has stacked, waiting to be filed. Dusting. Pulling weeds in the garden and from the flower beds as I pass by on my way to some other task or destination. It quickly becomes a form of meditation, when I stay engaged with the task and present in the moment, and don’t allow myself to “wander off” in my own head.
All along the way, task by task, hour by hour, there are moments of wonder, delight, and beauty that turn up to be savored and enjoyed. A colorful display of flowers. A lingering romantic hug with my Traveling Partner. A beautiful blue sky. I make a point of really enjoying these (and so much more) whenever they occur. Another sweet way to reduce stress and anxiety; really being present for moments of joy and beauty and savoring them. It matters so much to allow myself to be delighted, even for an instant.
A colorful display of flowers in the summer sun, at the grocery store.
I am never too busy to enjoy something beautiful. (I find myself wondering when I’ll next be in the city… maybe I can work in a trip to the art museum?)
Change can feel so incredibly chaotic. The loss of familiar routines feels disruptive. Managing the stress and the anxiety that can come with change can feel overwhelming – until I break things down into smaller pieces, and create order from the chaos one task at a time. Breathe, exhale, relax – like any practice, there are steps, and I’ve got to do the work myself to experience the results (otherwise, we’re just having a conversation about it, eh?).
I sip my coffee as the sun rises. I won’t be watching that from this office window much longer… Change is. Jobs end. We are mortal creatures, and however tightly we cling to some experience, or person, or moment, we will face the reality of impermanence sooner or later. The plan is not the experience. The map is not the world. Reality will be what it is without regard to our thoughts or feelings about it. Practicing non-attachment has tended to make me more practical about change – and chaos, and I no longer take such things so personally. I’ll take a new breath, and I’ll begin again. Really, what else is there to do?
For now, I sit with the quiet, and this good cup of coffee, and I look over what needs to get done today. I make a plan. I smile when the thought of my beloved Traveling Partner crosses my mind for no particular reason; he is a steady presence in my life whether we’re in the same room or not, and I am grateful to be so loved and supported. I reach out to a friend via email wondering if they have time to get together for a coffee sometime soon? It’s the relationships that matter most, in work and in life.
A hazy dawn, a row of birds gathered on a powerline.
I sigh to myself, feeling this contentment and practicality like a firm foundation beneath my feet. I’m okay right now, for nearly all values of okay, and that’s enough. The future is unwritten, and I can’t see where this path leads… but this feels like a good place to begin, again.
I drove to the trailhead watching the sunrise. The sky was strange violent hues of pink, red, and magenta, reminiscent of the florid edges of an infected wound. This moment of beauty is only so colorful because of the wildfires burning far to the east. As I drove I looked at the scenery along the familiar route “with new eyes”, enjoying the experience of a new moment, however small the differences between this moment and recent similar moments. Arriving at the trailhead, I again enjoy the familiar-but-also-strange scents of the summer meadow that becomes winter marshland when the rain returns. What is this fragrance? I wonder every time I catch this particular scent – which plant is that? I still don’t know. I have wondered for years and never smelled it anywhere but the dry summer meadows of Oregon.
I “took yesterday off”. It was a Saturday, but aside from the grocery shopping, done frugally with considerable care, I didn’t do any notable amount of housekeeping stuff. I made dinner in the evening, and took the day easy. I knew the household chores could wait a day, and giving myself a day of rest to bounce back from the stress of the week made sense. I have learned to put more time and attention into self-care when times are stressful, rather than allowing myself to get all spun up over shit best handled with calm, and measured thoughtful action, or failing to take care of this fragile vessel. Self-care doesn’t necessarily make stressful things less stressful, but it definitely improves my resilience. The day was pleasant, spent in the good company of my Traveling Partner.
I stepped onto the trail feeling comfortable and merry, enjoying the scents of summer and the fading sunrise. I walked with my thoughts, letting them carry me wherever they may. I found myself reflecting on my Dear Friend. It was at about this age, as I recall, that she worked her last job, teaching online for a college. One year they simply didn’t renew her contract. She was taken by surprise, hurt, and worried about the future. I sigh to myself and walk on. Maybe not yet, for me, but it’ll eventually come, and I walked with that thought awhile. How best to prepare? I kicked a random rock on the path and listened to it tumble away.
… Some asshole brought his small yapping dog to the nature preserve (there is signage everywhere that dogs are not permitted here), and I find myself annoyed, for a moment, as he passes…
Be present in this moment, now.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The phrase “each time for the first time, each moment the only moment” has been in the background of my thoughts all morning. It was there when I woke. I sit at my halfway point letting it turn over in my head. I don’t wonder where it comes from; I’ve worked a long time to embrace it and understand how finite and temporary our experiences can be. How unrepeatable. “Ichi-go ichi-e” – it has been worth the time to cultivate an understanding and build a practice. I amuse myself for a moment thinking about the thinkers who helped to lead me here over a lifetime: Henry David Thoreau, James Baldwin, Thich Nhat Hanh, Elkhart Tolle, Rick Hanson, Jon Kabat-Zinn… others. I’m grateful. Life is better lived through a lens mindful perspective, non-attachment, and sufficiency. I smile at a squirrel crossing the trail. She eyes me with some suspicion as she passes. I sit quite still and hope not to startle her.
Another hot summer day ahead. The sky is a lovely pale blue, swept by soft white clouds, streaked with shades of gray here and there. The air is pleasant and fresh, and for the moment the air is still. “From the inside” I don’t feel the weight of my years, and this morning the challenges of aging are not vexing me. Contentment can be practiced and cultivated, and it can more easily endure hard times than “happiness”, which is seldom lasting. I’m okay right now for all the many common values of “okay”. Feels good to be in this place, in this moment. A little brown bird joins me on the fence rail I am seated on. We sit together awhile before she flies off to do bird things.
The sky is still blue.
I think back to a harder time. I was mired in despair, and a friend asked me “is the sky still blue?” Useful perspective at the time, and his question reminded me that non-attachment is a practice, and that impermanence is part of the human experience.
I take a deep breath of the fragrant summer air, and get ready to begin again.
This morning I am waiting for the sun. Well, I’m at least waiting for enough light to easily see the trail. It’s a gray cloudy morning that hints at rain. I arrived at the trailhead before dawn this morning, feeling quite a lot better and eager to walk. On some other morning, the early hour wouldn’t stop me, I’d just grab my headlamp and go…
…I took my Traveling Partner’s truck this morning, and forgot to grab my headlamp…
Parked and waiting for the sun.
No headlamp, no walking (only waiting). 😆
So, I’ve got this moment of stillness and waiting, and a head full of noise (and it isn’t just my tinnitus!) – seems like a good opportunity to meditate and reflect. No pressure to perform, no time-sensitive tasks facing me, just this quiet moment before a walk on a summer morning. Useful. I approach the moment with gratitude; it can be difficult to find a moment of real stillness to pause and reflect. Time well-spent, when used thusly.
I sit with my thoughts, letting them pass through my consciousness, noted, observed, but without clinging to any one thought. I breathe, exhale, and relax, allowing myself to appreciate my own presence for some little while, simply breathing and being. I make room for life’s questions to surface in my thoughts, one by one. I allow them each to move on, some answered, some “for another time”.
I write for some little while, sharing these thoughts and practices.
The sky lightens as minutes pass. The oaks along the trail are silhouetted against the gray sky. Definitely looks like rain… but it doesn’t smell like rain, and my arthritis is not griefing me in any noteworthy way this morning. Maybe it won’t rain? I look down the trail and wonder if I will regret not grabbing my rain poncho? I shrug it off as a concern; the temperature is quite mild and even a drenching downpour would only mean a shower and a change of clothes after I return home. Inconsequential. I’d just be a bit uncomfortable as I finished the walk, and that’s not that big a deal.
I swap boots for shoes, happy that I didn’t turn back over the lack of a headlamp; there is no reason to hurry through this moment. It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please. I look out at the gray hills on the western horizon and wonder again if I have been over there, looking back at this place, ever. It’s just another thought that drifts by, and I let it.
A new day, a new moment, a new beginning.
I can definitely see the trail now. I stretch as I get to my feet and grab my cane. Even the most familiar path may have more to share, if I approach each new beginning with open eyes and a calm heart. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin.
Evening Light 