Archives for posts with tag: meditation

One very useful thing about yesterday is that it is reliably in the past. We can let that go, when we’re ready to.

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

I look down the path, back the way I came. The trees along the path, a strip that runs along a creek bank, are tossing about wildly. My choice of “halfway point” seems potentially regrettable, given the violent winds. I look down the path in the other direction, and contemplate the rainy hours in the forecast, ahead. I’m not wearing, nor did I bring, my rain poncho – another potentially poor choice. I sigh to myself, wondering what will come of it.

There’s a weather alert this morning; high winds. Yep. I see that with my limited human eyesight. The wind is definitely blowing quite ferociously. The trees near me are swaying. From somewhere nearby I hear the kind of cracking noises that suggest one or more of these trees may be felled by the wind. The sound makes me uneasy.  This seems reasonable.

… I somehow manage to doze off briefly, sitting here, upright, wind-buffeted, phone in hand. I wake with a start when my head begins to pull me forward as I nod off. Am I tired? I’m not certain of that, but my sleep has been interrupted and of poor quality for a few nights now. The lack of deep restful sleep since I returned home from the coast is already wearing me down. I’ll feel better after some coffee, I reassure myself. The wind keeps blowing, without comment.

“Seeing Red”, 2026

I sit awhile listening to the trees creaking and groaning as they sway in the wind. The work day yesterday was …fine. Predictably busy. The evening after work was mostly a whirlwind of errands, followed by a serious failure to connect with my beloved Traveling Partner in a meaningful way. The evening fell apart in a cascade of misunderstood remarks, hurt feelings, and not feeling heard. I went to bed early with minimal attention to self-care. At that point I just wanted to be alone with my pain and irritation, feeling peculiarly invisible, and having nothing leftover to deal with any of that.

Detail from “Emotion and Reason” 2012

…At some point my beloved stepped quietly to the side of the bed in the darkness, and touched me softly. He tenderly stroked my cheek with a favorite soft plush toy, a tiny kitten, and placed it near me.

Sometimes this can feel a very lonely journey; we are not alone. ❤ Detail of “Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic, 2011

Later, when he woke me because it sounded like maybe I wasn’t breathing comfortably, the little stuffed kitten was still in my hand. He said something about my fist being clenched around the hose of my CPAP mask. I mumbled something and got up to pee without ever really waking up, and taking an allergy pill as I went back to bed. It wasn’t surprising that I might have been struggling with breathing easily (and it wasn’t allergies); my clenched fist had covered all the little holes that help with exhalation. I do wonder a bit what I might have been dreaming about.

This morning I feel okay. Yesterday is in the past. I linger on the memory of my Traveling Partner’s tenderness.

The rain begins to fall. I wrap my fleece tightly around me, zipped up, and pull the hood over my hair. It’s no rain poncho, though.

…I get to my feet and head back to the car, quickly, taking a shortcut through the vineyard, by way of the agricultural road, to the parking lot…

I am not quite soaked when I reach the car, and I’m grateful for the towel in my gear bin, and my other hoodie, clean and dry. I towel my hair dry in the car, and change into the dry hoodie.  I’m glad it’s Friday. I’m glad I was prepared for the rain, in spite of being too stupid this morning to wear (or bring along) my rain poncho. I’ve managed to avoid most discomfort. My jeans are wet, but not so much that I’m in misery, and they should dry pretty quickly. I blot them with dry sections of towel, rather ineffectively, and without concern. I listen to the wind and rain, feeling the car rock, as I warm up. I’m okay for nearly all values of okay. It’s enough.

Weather changes. Storms blow in, and blow over. Very little in life is permanent – or personal. The world can be a callous and indifferent place. We have these few precious mortal moments, and each other. I listen to the rain awhile longer, reflecting on life and love, and feeling grateful that nightmares fade so quickly..

Every moment of growth is as a rainbow in a stormy sky; a promise of better things.

…A few more quiet minutes listening to the rain, then I’ll begin again…

My homecoming was lovely, although I arrived in what turned out to be the middle of my Traveling Partner’s work day. I did my best to stay out of that, and to respect his work day.

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

I’m still thinking over experiences and lessons learned from my coastal getaway. Sometimes the processing takes more time than the lived experience. The thoughts come in waves, glimmering with the reflected light of many little fragments and impressions, the way the afternoon sunshine sparkles on the rippled surface of the sea.

It’s a metaphor.

There’s time for all that. I yawn as the sunrise begins to develop color. I drink in the autumn air on the edge of the marsh. A little chime goes off on my phone, reminding me to take morning meds. I stupidly attempt this simple feat without water, and choke on a tiny dry tablet that wants to stick dangerously near my airway. I cough several times, hard, and get relief, but now there’s a spot in my throat that just feels wrong, somehow. Annoying.

Like a moment on fire.

As I sit watching the sky, it lights up in hues of pink, magenta, lavender, and raspberry. So beautiful! No picture would really do this justice, and if I painted it just as it is, I feel certain it would be criticized for lack of realism. It’s quite fantastic and splendid, and I feel fortunate to see it. Wow.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about the day ahead. He has appointments. I have an errand to run. Later, we’ll catch up with each other at home. He proposes we do something together. I agree that sounds nice. No idea what that will mean when we get there… but I’m looking forward to it. It’s easy to forget that today is a work day. I’m glad I took it off, instead of immediately diving back into work!

I sit with my thoughts and this beautiful sunrise. Soon enough it will be time to begin again.

It’s a foggy morning. On the other side of a short list of errands, I’ll head to the coast for a few days for some solitary time, painting. I’m eager, but not anxious. There’s no hurry. I planned with care and stayed mindful of my current capabilities and limitations when I did so.

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

I’m sitting at a favorite trailhead, waiting for the gate to open. A short walk will be enough this morning. I want to leave myself enough energy at the other end of the day to easily enjoy hanging out with the ghosts of Claude (Monet), Vincent (Van Gogh), and Peter (Max). I’ve already got my pastels packed up, ready to load into the car.

… Definitely eager…

When the time came to end the work week and pull my head out of the spreadsheets and tool portals, yesterday, I found it difficult. I’m definitely for sure over that, already! My thoughts now are of colors, hues, shades, tones, and the challenges of bringing light into pigment, and giving life to an image on paper. I am expanding into the sense of self that feels the most me. It’s comfortable and familiar, and natural; there’s no need to mask anything or operate from some pretense of whatever is defined as properly professional this year, for this or that industry. It may take hours to really sink in, that the next three days are wholly about where inspiration might take me. This is my time.

I breathe, exhale, relax. Some things don’t change. Some practices have value no matter what may be on the calendar. Meditation. Writing in the morning. Enjoying a pleasant walk. We become what we practice. Taking myself to some other physical place to paint doesn’t change what I need to do to care for myself, manage symptoms, and preserve my emotional resilience. I reflect on the successes and failures of various practices over the years. They don’t all work out, and there’s been some trial and error to “finding my way”.

… Shit… I already miss my Traveling Partner and I’m not even gone yet! 😆 Well, I knew that would be a thing. I adore him. We’re deeply connected. Our lives are intertwined. I feel obvious “separation anxiety” when we’re apart – but there is value in the reminder not to take love for granted. We get the benefit of perspective from a chance to miss each other, and reconnect more deeply when we reunite.

So much of life is about love and loving.

At the halfway point of my walk, I sit with my thoughts of my beloved, sleeping at home. I could have set things up to take off for the coast at first light. I didn’t set up my plan that way specifically to run these couple of errands and take the time to hold each other a moment before I go, and do some little things to make him more comfortable and less inconvenienced by my absence. This doesn’t just feel like the right thing to do for him, it meets needs of my own, to support my partner. Without these courtesies, I’d be distracted the whole time I’m away, wondering about his experience, instead of living mine.

… I think about that for a little while…

Daybreak comes. The fog muffles the sound of traffic on the highway adjacent to this nature preserve. The darkness lifts slowly, revealing more fog, and the dark silhouettes of the grand oaks on this hillside. It seems a good setting for self-reflection and meditation. Inspiring. Lately I have been feeling so deeply inspired to paint, it spills over into other things. I’m looking forward to giving in to it for a couple days.

Daybreak comes.

I hear voices, approaching from up the trail. When they come into view, I wave and call out a good morning greeting, to avoid startling two photographers, approaching preoccupied with their conversation and their gear. They return my greeting and walk on past, towards the photographer’s blind out on the marsh. It’s a good time of year for it; migratory birds are passing through, and the weather hasn’t turned shitty yet.

I sigh to myself and bring my thoughts back to my own experience. Here. Now. Nice moment to be. I sit with my thoughts a short while longer, finding it a luxury to do so. I consider my pain, and pain management. Look over my shopping list one more time, before admitting to myself that it’s probably time to begin again. I smile like I know a secret, as I get to my feet, stretching.

… Travel tissues! I add them to my list and get going.

I’m perched on this bench in the gloom of predawn darkness, just before daybreak. The world seems quiet, from here. I could pick up my phone and eliminate the darkness, and wreck the peace of this moment immediately. I like the quiet, and choose to enjoy it, instead.

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

I’m tired this morning. The last handful of nights have been interrupted. I sigh quietly. It could be worse. My anxiety used to wreck my sleep over a ticking clock, or the quiet drip of a faucet.

My relationship with sleep has been problematic since childhood. Sleepwalking at 3 years old became, over time and additional life experience, nightmares, night terrors, sleep paralysis, exploding head dreams, and insomnia. I could probably clean up on a sleep disturbance-themed bingo game. My difficulties with sleep peaked with an aversion to sleep that eventually developed out of the terror of domestic violence. That was a lifetime ago, in another place, and in the context of a relationship that is long gone and behind me. (I’m grateful to have survived.)

Sleep disorders and difficulties with sleep are pretty common for people.

In still another relationship, a threesome of us cohabitating, my sleep was commonly wrecked by OPD (Other People’s Drama). My two partners argued (loudly) often during the wee hours of the night, and the way the floor plan was designed sort of funneled all of the sound directly towards my room. When I complained,  I was told firmly that my sleep problems were my own problem and to deal with it. Rude. Also unkind, unsupportive, and one hundred percent without any regard for their actually terrible behavior, yes, I get that. The view from here is very clear. 😆 I knew the relationship wasn’t going to work, in the long run. We weren’t all on the same page about the sanctity of each other’s sleep.

… One nice thing came out of that; I got an aquarium, and enjoyed nurturing a thriving planted freshwater community tank for many years, that looked amazing in my apartment after I walked away from that unpleasant situation.

… One necessary thing (urgently so at that point) also developed out of my difficulty sleeping, and the degradation of my mental health that progressed quickly from that point; I got into therapy, and began making real progress (such that I did walk away from that abysmal and destructive relationship). My sleep improved quickly from there.

I already had the keys to unlock good sleep “in my hands”, once I was in a safe environment. My current Traveling Partner (and longtime friend) had pointed out to me early in our relationship that my anxiety and frustration about not sleeping was making my insomnia worse, and as I went without good quality restful sleep longer and longer, everything else got much worse, too. What if I could give up the stress about not sleeping and start with being okay with being awake? I would lose the same amount of sleep maybe, but wouldn’t my overall experience be much improved? He definitely turned out to be right about that.

These days, my sleep is not sufficiently poor to bother getting up and doing anything, but for a long time it was, and I did, and that worked out nicely. Even when I was short on sleep, that was no longer compounded by seething fury, resentment, anxiety, or fear of consequences, although I might still be cross about being tired, my days were less affected. It was a major improvement.

These days? Oh. Yeah. My Traveling Partner was right about my apnea, too, and I sleep with a CPAP mask. It has made a huge difference in my quality of rest and ability to actually sleep. (If your partner is griefing you about your snoring, get a damned sleep test, stop being a dick about it, and don’t make them endure a decade of poor quality sleep over your refusal to accept that your snoring is a problem. I promise you it is.)

…My beloved is right about a lot of things. 😂 It can be a little irritating sometimes…

One other suggestion? Don’t make your wakefulness during the night everyone else’s problem. Find something to do, quietly, and let the world sleep. It doesn’t improve anything to disrupt sleep environment of others in your life, and doing so will generate anger and resentment over time. Seriously. If you are seething with frustration, anxiety, dread, or anger during the night, you are compounding the problem of poor sleep with negative emotions that can linger, or worsen your outlook on life needlessly. It doesn’t help you, or anyone else. Learn to calm yourself, then tackle the issue of difficult sleep with a calm mind.

… Definitely don’t wreck a peaceful night with a lot of loud bullshit or drama for fucks sake (anything one might wish to discuss contentiously can wait for the light of day, I promise), literally no one benefits from that, and it is exceedingly unpleasant…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful to have benefited from my partner’s wisdom.  I’m tired this morning, after several nights of interrupted sleep, but I’m in a decent mood anyway. Progress paying off.

I meditate. Write awhile. Breathe and exist on a chilly autumn morning, grateful to see another sunrise. Gratitude is a very pleasant feeling. I lean into it, embrace it, immerse myself in it; it is an excellent start to the day. The dawn sky is a delicate seashell pink. The dark green trees silhouetted on the horizon are edged here and there with hints of autumn, gold and rusty red.

I get to my feet, looking down the path as I stretch. It’s a good time to begin again.

My morning began the usual way, with waking up. It seemed fine. My headache is pretty bad, my arthritis less so. I get going and get gone, and head to the trail along the river. Seems like a good morning for it.

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

I had the trail to myself when I got started. That’s a nice treat, for me. The morning was off to a lovely start. (Do you hear that sound? A metaphorical shoe dropping…)

I set off in the darkness, headlamp on. Cloudy morning, and the darkness is thick, the air is still. I walk, alert and present, watching for hazards within the bobbing circle of light ahead of me. The trail is muddy and slick. I skid sideways a couple times, losing my footing in some bit of mud. I slow down. Take my time. Even late in the summer, the Willamette River is very cold. If I did fall in, it’s quite likely I would drown. I keep my steps cautious, grateful for my cane.

My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting. The “good” part of that doesn’t last much longer, which sucks. There’s not much point breaking it down any further. Humans being human. (And that other shoe drops.) A missed opportunity to communicate yesterday becomes a problem today. I sigh to myself. What a shitty development. Feels as if this beautiful morning was wrecked over coffee beans, which strikes me as really peculiar, since we didn’t run out, and there was a new bag of good quality coffee beans available.  My recollection is that we hadn’t yet used up the last batch. Doesn’t matter.

In any case, this morning the magic eightball says… “Go fuck yourself.”

… Fucking hell, being human is complicated…

What matters is that my Traveling Partner started his morning with frustration and annoyance, and I lack the personal discipline to ignore the notification when he pings me while I’m occupied with other activities, and as a result, my morning peace is also wrecked (or at least interrupted), and my safety is at risk because I try to walk and text at the same time. Human. Fairly stupid, to be sure, but also very human.

So… This morning all is not well in paradise. I hurt too much to deal with anyone else’s crap this morning, even my beloved, so I’ll have to find something to do that puts plenty of distance between me and everyone else. Maybe that sounds “antisocial”, I look at it as self-care on a difficult day.

Right about now 100% of everyone who isn’t the woman I see in my mirror can fuck right off. It isn’t personal, I just don’t have enough in reserve to take care of anyone else, presently. I’ve got shit of my own to do, a great mountain of which I’ve allowed to pile up unattended over the two years of intensive care my partner needed then. He reminds me regularly these days to put more energy into my self-care, and that he’s doing much better. I know he’s right – about both those things. 

I sigh to myself, sitting in a quiet glade along the trail, alone (and enjoying that). There are chipmunks playing in the berry thicket. Robins are scratching in the muddy soil looking for a convenient breakfast snack. The air smells like autumn, and the leaves are beginning to turn. The clock ticks on. The season is changing. The sunlight of a new day catches the treetops. Whatever else I may do today, I’m definitely going to begin again.