Tag Archives: connection

Journal & Blog

Lots of my studying lately has been bringing up evolution of consciousness.

I spent over 20 years writing my thoughts in journals read only by me.

Somehow I imagined blogging would be even better, inviting new perspectives to shine their unique light on my own point of view.

Despite the rare meaningful encounter, I have arrived at total disillusionment.

This medium appears to be all flash, self-promotion and tediously predictable argument.

I no longer know how to approach it.

That’s all for now.

Facebook plug

This is why I shouldn’t look at stats.

Yesterday I had 151 hits. WordPress says it links to a Facebook plug, but it won’t show me exactly where. So surely it must be someone I don’t even know, or else it would show up on my Facebook feed?

Anyway, my stats go from around 10 per day to 151. But resulting in only a couple of comments, and those are from 1. A dear fellow blogger who comments all the time and 2. A wonderful blogger on whose blog I just commented yesterday. Absurd.

I hate numbers sometimes. I like people, face to face, talking, sharing, laughing, mulling things over in a communal setting. Ideally over food.

I have come to like math though, don’t get me wrong. I have come to appreciate the poetry of it, the tidy organized reality of how numbers fit together like a puzzle.

But statistics? The thing that makes students cry when forced to study it? The thing that rules our lives, that we beat each other over the head with to prove that we are right and they are stupid?

Not much love there.

I want to be read. I want to be heard, but also to be commented on and challenged. Tell me where my logic fails, tell me how I made you feel, tell me if I have spoken the words you wanted to say or if I am just blowing hot air.

Go on. I can take it.

Trusting Connection

Have there been times of wordless understanding between you and your child? I think it happens for a lot of us pretty naturally when they are pre-verbal, but once they learn to talk, the emphasis becomes on the parent explaining everything and the child responding in a way that shows they have listened and will comply.

There is a great blog post called walking with at hakea- reflections on living and working with kids that deals with this idea of connection through silent presence.

With wisdom and insight, she recounts an interesting story of an American family visiting an African village and their young son making a huge mistake.

Instead of anger, punishment or lecturing, the chief handled it by taking the boy for a walk.

The family asked the chief if that’s how he sorts out problems in the village, and he replied that he takes people for a walk in the desert, saying something like “we go out and come back”.

Definitely a thought-provoking read.

Do we make enough wordless contact with our children?

Do we trust our connection with them enough to simply be there with them while they process feelings or events internally, without us interrupting?

Is there a point where we have “explained” enough, and we allow the world to speak for itself to the child?

What power does our simple, silent presence have? A hand-holding, a hug, a smile, a connection of gazes?

Can you recall a time that you and your child, or you and your parent, experienced a wordless understanding develop between you, where a difficult situation was transformed simply by the other’s silent presence?

The Thirsty Fish

“I laugh when I hear that the fish in the water is thirsty.” — Kabir

from Essential Sufism edited by James Fadiman and Robert Frager

Are we not fish surrounded by waves of life energy at all times? Do we not swim in the atmosphere of exactly what we need at every moment? One deep breath gets us where we need to be to take the next step.

At times I feel thirsty, desperate for cool, soothing relief, cut off from the Source of blessing.

Then I catch my reflection in the mirror – a little wave swelling into its own unique form, riding my own path to the shore.

But what’s that holding me up, providing the matter and momentum of my individual wave? The immensity of the ocean. I cannot exist or move without it. This seemingly limitless Source is so much a part of my existence that I forget it’s even there. All I see is a separate wave over there, some up that way, one over yonder, and me here, “by myself.”

I must use a bigger mirror.

I am Water made wave. I thirst only to realize the Connection that always is.

At a Standstill

I am currently in a place where all the irons I had in the fire have gone cold. No one wants anything more from me than a well-trained monkey could do. I am trying to use this quiet time to accomplish some things that need doing, like organizing areas of the house in detail and finishing the quilt I started years ago. I want so desperately to sink my teeth into something.  I want to feel that deep connection to action and purpose.

Why am I writing this here?  Writing used to be a means of connection for me.  The more disconnected I feel, the harder it is to reconnect.  Perhaps if I reach out blindly, bravely, forcing my foot forward, the next step will become obvious and come easier.

Quiet Times

I think about this blog every day. I have a million reasons why I don’t actually post anything. A lot of them have to do with the fact that there is no quiet time in my real world, thus all is quiet in my cyber world.

When I get on the computer I waste time on Facebook and some assorted parenting gathering sites, always hoping I will walk into some deep connection or learn something new. Almost unfailingly disappointed. The only times I feel satisfied is when I’ve posted something or I read the wonderful posts on the blogs of those people I’ve found who have something I need to hear.

This was supposed to be the space where, if nothing else, I can connect deeply with my own self, arranging my thoughts on “paper” and trying to make sense of “it all.”

Here are some posts that I am officially promising myself that I will post in the very near future:

— my recent dream about my Grandma
— my relationship with my new neighborhood
— my longing for spiritual companionship
— my relationship with my faraway family members
— progress (or the lack thereof) on my quest for a career/vocation

That’s all that’s coming to mind right now. It’s enough to start with.

Meditation on Breathing

I wrote this ten years ago- luckily breathing is still in fashion, so it isn’t too terribly dated!

There’s one thing I know about you, even if I’ve never met you: you have just taken another breath.  And so have I.

This air we inhale exists as one atmosphere stretching from where you are to the plains of the Savannah where a giraffe even now exhales with a bad case of leaf breath.

Approaching storm clouds lighten the atmospheric pressure on our knee joints almost imperceptibly, though some people “know” when rain is coming.  I whistle “Camptown Races” and sound waves of “doo-dah!” vibrate into my son’s ears in the other room.  As I write this, the carbon dioxide I exhale is enriching the air for the aloe plant in my living room, which might someday return the favor by healing my skin the next time I accidentally burn myself on the toaster oven.

In countless ways, every second, we swim through a sea that encompasses us all, bringing us new things on its diverse currents while carrying the energy and bi-products of our own selves into another’s space.

My interaction with this obvious, yet invisible, sea is perpetual, eternal in the brief span of my life.  Between my first newborn inhalation and my last, hopefully well-aged expiration, there is rarely an interruption to my breathing.  But unlike our other automatic, lifelong functions – heartbeat, digestion, hormonal function – I can have immediate influence over my breathing with no training or chemical interference; I can hold my breath, breathe deeply or pant myself into hyperventilation.

We can manipulate this natural flow like we try to dam a river or build a jetty into the sea.  We assume control for a while, but still the earth and moon pull the water with greater force; the tide will overcome – the breath will fall back to its own rhythm.  If we pay attention, we can move with the natural forces, ride the wave if it’s the right size or dive beneath it like a surfer who decides, this one is too big!  Inside the breath/wave, we discover the calm below the everyday, where we exist as swallowed by the One.

As well as manipulating my breath, I can choose “not-control.” I can sit quietly, not interfering, just watching my breath come and go. “Inspiration,” according to Webster,  means both “the act of inhaling” and “the act or power of moving the intellect or emotions.” Just as my blood uses the influx of oxygen to give my muscles power and regenerative health, my mind and heart can use the inspiration of energy from all around me to good purposes.

Between “in” and “out,” there is a moment of quiet unmoving.  This space between is the nothing that contains the Everything, like the cold emptiness of space contains the swirling hot star dots.  As the Taoists say, it is not the substance of the cup but the nothing inside that makes it useful.  It is the silence of the room which allows a voice to be distinguished.  The restful pauses of my breath teach me to value what is not there as the context of what is.

“What is” consists of in-out as the bellows of my lungs open-close, air rushing cold-warm past my nostrils, draw-push, my ribcage feeling light-heavy, in seesaw duality.  I am defined by a spot on a continuum somewhere between beautiful and ugly, rich and poor, right and wrong.  The in-out of my breath teaches me that neither pole of a spectrum exists without its opposite, and thus the world is divided by our distinctions.

But my breath does not stop at in-out.  It circles in-out-in like the cycle of day-night-day.  These circles do not meet exactly end to end but spiral into the future so that each inhalation, each sunrise happens at a unique point in time.  To find the special power of the moment, I must be inside it, follow it as I embrace, then let go of each breath, not with effort but attention.

Many of us are not in the habit of paying attention to the Now.  We are always rushing past the present moment, plotting far up the freeway or career ladder for the next strategic maneuver.  Our attention runs on ahead of us as we live out our belief that power and pleasure exist in tomorrow.  When we do this, then the power is truly lost to yesterday, its value already spent like the next year’s worth of paychecks would just about cover the average person’s debt.  Yet, with each breath we can own where we are, right now.  We can accept our daily bread as the pleasure of being alive: of tasting food, of watching today’s sunrise, of taking another breath.

By giving our attention to the breath, even just a few breaths a day, we develop the habit of paying attention to today and all the riches it has to offer.  We remain mindful of the invisible sea that connects us all, of our fundamental Oneness and of the power available to us, you and me right this minute, because of this connection.

Do you pay attention to your breath?  Do you use your breath to connect to Oneness, to find the power of Now?