Archives for posts with tag: Vita Contemplativa
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

The Plan Is Not The Experience

March 20, 2025 //
0

The map is not the world. The plan is not the experience. I’m chuckling to myself over my iced coffee, hastily prepared on my way out this morning. I woke at my usual time, but ahead of my alarm. I woke from a sound restful sleep that followed a deeply relaxing day of self-care and creativity.

… I woke thinking it was Monday, and that I was “running late”…

I rushed through my morning routine, quickly made coffee, and quietly left the house (very much in the usual way). I was heading to the office in dense traffic and a drenching rain before I remembered that I’m off work today (and tomorrow… and next Monday…), and that I’ve got very different plans than work. It is, however, raining quite hard, too hard for unfamiliar mountain roads in darkness, too hard for plein air painting with soft pastels, later.

…I hope the rain stops…

I head to a nearby familiar local park with a favorite trail to wait for daybreak, and (maybe) a break in the rain. I’ve got plans, sure, but I’ve also got backup plans (mostly amounting to alternate destinations). Rather than frivolously wasting fuel going all the way to one location then to another, I give myself some time to wake up properly, get my bearings, and wait for more daylight while I think things over. The whole point of this time off is to do with relaxing and indulging artistic inspiration. There’s no need to rush at all. No rules imposed on my decision making beyond being safe. No “timeliness requirements”, no “KPIs” or “SLAs”. If I wanted confirmation that I need this break from work, this morning’s somewhat panicked wake up certainly provided that!

It’s still quite early. The rain pauses long enough for a quiet walk in the pre-dawn gloom along the well-maintained partially lit trail. I gather my thoughts and consider the various locations I’d identified as being of particular interest this week. (Damn, yesterday was such a lovely day! Such a beautiful place!) I’m still inclined to head to the view points I’d selected (already a backup for my original plan, which is at high risk of snow and difficult to access under such conditions), but it’s not a route I care to drive in the dark on a rainy day. I sit with that thought awhile.

One point of view, and a pleasant recollection. Mt Hood in the distance, yesterday.

At some point, a spirit of adventure and eagerness to explore becomes a careless disregard of safety. At some point, a strict focus on safety becomes a fearful reluctance to experience something new. There’s a path between those choices. That’s the path I’m looking for, and hoping to find fulfillment, inspiration, and joy along the way. The “destination” may not actually be important to the experience. The journey is the destination.

I sip my coffee, grateful for the time I’ve taken for myself. Grateful to have recognized the need and acted upon it. Grateful for a partnership that supports and nurtures me. Grateful to see another sunrise. The sky slowly begins to lighten. Soon it will be time to begin again… I wonder where this path leads?

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Are We There Yet?

March 14, 2025 //
0

I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about Spring. This is not one of those rare years when I could afford to be careless or casual about resources as Spring approached. My thoughts are in the garden, but I can’t be eager or easy-going about spending money on the garden. I have plenty of seeds – do I have the patience to wait for seedlings to sprout? The new raised bed I want? That comes at a cost (in money and labor). The time is, perhaps, not now. I’m planning with more care, with an eye on the near and long-term future. I’m making a plan. The clock is ticking. Other things are, maybe, more important. What matters most? I sit with my thoughts and my coffee, gazing out into the early morning sky through the office window.

A new day, a new beginning.

Thinking, planning, daydreaming – the future is a playground, but it isn’t real, yet. The future is all possibilities, opportunities, and choices. We can make it what we want it to be – with some effort, and some careful decision-making, and some luck. There are verbs involved. Chance and change will call some of the shots. The path is not reliably clear, or reliably smooth. We make our own way, each having our own experience, each having to clear the hurdles of unanticipated circumstances, and the consequences of our actions. I’d like to be in the garden right now. I could walk away from work and go do that, but… consequences. I sip my coffee, breathe, exhale, and relax.

When did chicken become almost $10 per pound?!

I’m in considerable pain this morning (it’s just my arthritis, and there’s nothing much to be done about it besides endure with some measure of grace). I’m thinking about that distant future… if I hold out and don’t retire before I’m 70, and keep this job, my social security retirement will pay about half what I make, working. That’s livable, especially with my VA disability compensation, my Traveling Partner’s income (whatever it may be then), and the potential for having paid off the mortgage (a goal) and keeping other bills low (another goal). So many choices and verbs – so much potential, so little certainty.

What is blooming in your garden? What have you planted?

I sigh to myself and look out at the sky, thinking about the primroses blooming in the garden. It’s a rainy morning. There are probably raindrops clinging to the petals. Maybe the deer have come to the garden to look around for a tasty rose to nibble on? The roses are doing well this year, so far. I smile at the thought – it doesn’t take much to make me “happy”, for most values of happiness, now that I understand better what it is I need from life to thrive and be well. I’ve learned to rely on building lasting contentment and savoring small joys to get me through difficult times – because those things are easily within reach, can be practiced, and are enough. I’ve learned to avoid “chasing happiness” – it’s a trap. Happiness will find me when it finds me, and most often when I’m not looking for it. That’s enough.

I sip my coffee, and think my thoughts. Lavender to keep the deer away from the roses, maybe? Scented Geraniums to discourage insects? My Traveling Partner confirmed with me that he would be okay with that (allergies can make a person’s life a living hell, so I check in with him about flowers and such). I’m eager to do something about that. The ideas tickle my imagination and distract me. I’m grateful that it is Friday. I’m eager to finish the work day and begin again on other things, and to walk a path in Spring time. There’s a garden to tend and a future harvest to plant. (Yes, it’s a metaphor.)

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Roses, Spring, The Art of Being

As If In Another Life

March 10, 2025 //
0

I’m sipping my coffee thinking about a strange dream from which I woke this morning, groggy and unprepared for a new day. (I really don’t like the change to DST at all; I’ll be groggy in the morning for days to come.) In this dream, I’d somehow made my way into the basement of a large modern museum, and from wainscot to rafters that space was hung with my art – but only that difficult-to-access basement space. lol Large work, small work, framed, unframed – crammed along the walls, a chaos of color, mostly unsigned. I recognized all of it – even the pieces I haven’t yet painted – and I could examine each one clearly, and recall when (and why) it was painted. I walked through the space, eyes wide with wonder to see it all – so much! There were other things to this dream, a shared living space elsewhere, other artists (with whom I am not yet acquainted), friends (some of whom had slyly snatched a favorite piece from the walls of that place to take along for their own personal joy). What had my attention was the art – so much of it! The pieces I hadn’t yet painted drew my attention most often, and most clearly. I examined them closely, hoping to understand the journey ahead of me more clearly… “When will I paint that?” I wondered as I walked.

Waking up was a bit disappointing; I wasn’t finished looking yet, and had just gotten into a deep discussion with an old friend about a particular piece he was making his own. I wanted to tell him all I knew about it, but he stopped me. “I want to keep the mystery of it,” he said smiling, “I want to love the work in spite of anything to do with the artist”. When I woke, the thought that lingered was “how much of an artist’s signature is simply ego, nothing at all to do with the work? What might the signature take away from the work?” A lot of my work happens to be unsigned, not for any lack of intention to sign it but only because it’s generally the thing I do last – after the piece is entirely finished, the paint dried, and the work ready to sell or to hang, and because I’ve more or less lost interest in continuing to work on it at that point… I forget to sign it, until it’s necessary because the piece has sold. lol Now I’m wondering if there may be value in not ever signing some pieces, at all, and leaving that mystery intact? I sign quietly to myself, and a bit cynically; if I took that approach, sooner or later someone else would likely claim some particularly good or interesting piece as their work… and my ego rebels. There’s something here to think about… maybe later.

I sip my coffee quietly. This morning it feels… medicinal. I’m so damned groggy. Head still foggy from my dreams, feeling not quite awake, yet, though it’s been nearly two hours since I woke. Everything seems to take longer, and feels somehow less “fluid”, less routine, and taking more than usual concentration and effort. Putting words together feels a bit cumbersome and awkward. My morning oatmeal is an exercise in will; it is 100% quite disgusting this morning, and I wonder why I bother. Nothing “sounds good”, and I am noise-sensitive, and a bit cranky – I’d rather be painting. lol I have in mind a particular piece I saw in my dream… my fingers itch to put it to canvas or paper, to see it come alive in front of my eyes. (Was I actually using the heads of thumb-tacks in that composition – or were those sequins? Where did I get so much gold dust??) I chuckle softly; now is not that time. Even as the thought crosses my mind, I recognize that trying to create that piece today would only be a dim copy; it is not of this moment. I don’t work in that style or with those materials, these days. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let the dream fade away as I sip my coffee. This coffee is so good this morning, and I am grateful to have it.

I look at my reflection in the window, a mirror in the predawn darkness. I look tired. (I feel tired.) I watch myself stretch, and gently rub the frown lines from my forehead. This too will pass, I remind myself. It’s already time to begin again, anyway…

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Art, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Perspective, Spring, The Art of Being, Words

It’s the Change, Not the Time

March 9, 2025 //
0

The clock says 06:14, and I’m sitting at the trailhead waiting for daybreak. Daylight Savings Time began, again, today. I dislike DST fiercely. I don’t think that is unreasonable; twice yearly my timing and my body are given an additional helping of chaos and discomfort for no good reason. The seasons are what they are. DST doesn’t actually change the length of a day. The change to the clocks, though, is legitimately disruptive.

I set my alarm this morning, rather cleverly I thought, for 05:45 – an hour later than usual, so, for the usual time. It’s a Sunday, and I have no need to be up earlier. Figured I’d give myself a break from the chaos and start dealing with it on the other end of the day. The clock said 05:00 when I woke to… a noise? The sound of a voice, puzzled or bewildered? Something. Shit. Okay, I went ahead and dragged myself through my routine, although my body and brain insisted it was only 04:00 and I could have tried to sleep a bit longer. I was awake, for most values of “awake”. (Ah, DST, my old nemesis, you got me again!)

… I don’t actually care that I’m up so early. I often am…

I’ve got plenty of time.

As I drove up the road, I caught a glimpse of the moon half full, low on the horizon and quite huge. Beautiful and strangely golden in hue, I was tempted to pull over and watch her set, but chose to drive on. I regretted my choice almost immediately, it was just that beautiful and rare a sight to see. The morning is peculiarly spooky at the trailhead. There is a clear sky overhead, planets twinkling, shining brightly enough to be visible in spite of the glare of urban lights below, and there’s a dense mist clinging low to the ground here at the edge of the marsh. It’s an interesting effect. Chilly morning. I sit waiting quietly, feeling sort of sleepy, thinking thoughts.

I sit with my thoughts, sipping the coffee I picked up on the way, grateful to have it. Grateful for the quiet moment. Grateful generally, if I’m being honest. I’ve got a list of things to do later, but none of it needs my attention now, and I’m not in much pain today, so far. Win. I meditate. Sip my coffee. Let these quiet minutes tick by gently. I watch the sky begin to lighten ever so slowly as the mist thickens, obscuring other details.

Daybreak comes.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Soon enough, it will be time to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Frustration, gratitude, health, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

An Interesting Coincidence

March 8, 2025 //
0

I’m watching the sunrise, preparing for my walk, boots on, between moments, when I am struck by an interesting coincidence in timing. It is Lent for many Christian observers. It is also the time of year many gardeners know as “the hungry gap”, that time between the last of the winter crops, and before the earliest Spring crops are ready, and during which there is little fresh produce available. (I pause to appreciate what an amazing thing a global supply chain and supermarket produce actually is for humanity.) It’s interesting timing that Lent happens to occur – with its ritual fasting – right at the time when the food supply is likely to be at its least plentiful. I don’t have anything to say about that. I just think it’s interesting.

Sunrise

I set off down the trail, walking with my thoughts. There’s work to do in the garden. The neighborhood feral cat that menaced my garden for the past four years died during the winter. My Spring garden (so far) is undisturbed by constant digging and cat shit, for which I am grateful. It vexed me having to deal with that. It bodes well for the flower beds, too. I proposed putting in a second raised bed this year and my Traveling Partner seems open to the idea. I mentally calculate the cost of the lumber, and the soil to fill it… These are times when there is profound benefit to growing as much of our own food as we can. I’m grateful to have that option.

I sit with my garden thoughts at the halfway point of my walk, enjoying the chill of a Spring morning and the solitary luxury of having the trail to myself. A small herd of deer step past me quietly. I pretend I don’t see them, and avoid sudden movements. This is a lovely moment and I savor it. I’m not in any hurry. The overcast morning sky is streaked with blue-gray clouds. It’s doesn’t feel like rain, it’s just a rather gray morning, now. Geese and ducks drift quietly on the marsh ponds. Nutria go about their business at the edges.

I walk on.

I stop later, it’s a longish walk, and sit for a little while on a fallen oak. It’s a nice spot to rest. Not much of a view; scrub grass cluttered with sparse oaks, horizon obscured by nearby trees and brambles. I’m near the river, but I don’t hear it as it flows by quietly. I only hear the geese overhead, and the sound of distant traffic on the highway at the edge of the park. Robins ignore me, as they pick through the leaves left behind by autumn, looking for a bit of breakfast.

I sit quiet, aware, observing. Sometimes it’s enough to simply be, here, now. I don’t really need more. This is enough. I sigh quietly, contentedly. I enjoy the moment, the birdsong, the soft breeze, and the feeling of contentment and joy. I linger here awhile, understanding that moments are fleeting, and this one will pass. That’s okay. Still worth being here for it.

I’ve got a list of things to do, later. I get up, stretch, and brush off my jeans. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »