Come back to square one, just the minimum bare bones. Relaxing with the present moment, relaxing with hopelessness, relaxing with death, not resisting the fact that things end, that things pass, that things have no lasting substance, that everything is changing all the time – that is the basic message. Pema Chodron
Changes are popping up in my life like the flipping figures on a foosball table. I hear talk of returning to square one and wonder how to get there, where it is. Maybe it’s like Monopoly when I draw the card or land on the square (honestly, I can’t remember which it is) that tells me to go back to start, the first square of the board game. The game of four-square comes to mind, when you try to out play your opponents by advancing to server, heading back to square one whenever you miss the ball or hit it out. Perhaps square one is the center of a labyrinth, or could it be each turn in the labyrinth that sends me in a different direction - here I am at square one again, and again, and again, and again . . . I wonder, should I keep moving to the center, or stop at each turn and simply be still? Is square one a destination or a process?
Changes are popping up in my life like the flipping figures on a foosball table. I hear talk of returning to square one and wonder how to get there, where it is. Maybe it’s like Monopoly when I draw the card or land on the square (honestly, I can’t remember which it is) that tells me to go back to start, the first square of the board game. The game of four-square comes to mind, when you try to out play your opponents by advancing to server, heading back to square one whenever you miss the ball or hit it out. Perhaps square one is the center of a labyrinth, or could it be each turn in the labyrinth that sends me in a different direction - here I am at square one again, and again, and again, and again . . . I wonder, should I keep moving to the center, or stop at each turn and simply be still? Is square one a destination or a process?
I heard a poem by Rumi last Sunday that called us each to "return to the root of the root of your Self." In another poem by Rumi he coaxed, "Even if you don't see the water, artfully, like the blind, bring the jug to the river an dip it in." Both poems appear to suggest reliable routes to square one.
Last week I sat still in meditation for so long that my left leg went entirely asleep. Not once did my mind quit racing, but regardless, the mere physical stillness while fully awake was deeply soothing. Was it an experience of square one?
I lie in bed each morning and cast forth prayers like pennies in a wishing pool. Dear God, take this day and take me, and combine the two for goodness however you see fit. May I feel your presence in all my doings and my way of being. May I feel what is greater than my worries or gripes, arriving at a place of peace with whatever is. This place could very possibly be square one.
When a day runs its course and the winter light fades into evening, sometimes I look at what I’ve done since early morning: emails, surveying what the day holds, driving, listening and watching teachers, writing and writing, reading, walking, answering calls, talking and talking, pondering problems, preparing food, washing dishes, looking at what tomorrow holds and days to come, planning and planning, finally feeling like enough has been done, a sufficient number of things crossed off a to-do list or applied to a new list and there I am, back at square one.
Suddenly it occurs to me that square one isn’t a square at all but my heart. Let me go from there and return there off and on all day, over and over, again and again, arriving and leaving from that place of honor, hope and patient love, like the blood coming and going through my beating heart, coursing tirelessly throughout my entire body.
Last week I sat still in meditation for so long that my left leg went entirely asleep. Not once did my mind quit racing, but regardless, the mere physical stillness while fully awake was deeply soothing. Was it an experience of square one?
I lie in bed each morning and cast forth prayers like pennies in a wishing pool. Dear God, take this day and take me, and combine the two for goodness however you see fit. May I feel your presence in all my doings and my way of being. May I feel what is greater than my worries or gripes, arriving at a place of peace with whatever is. This place could very possibly be square one.
When a day runs its course and the winter light fades into evening, sometimes I look at what I’ve done since early morning: emails, surveying what the day holds, driving, listening and watching teachers, writing and writing, reading, walking, answering calls, talking and talking, pondering problems, preparing food, washing dishes, looking at what tomorrow holds and days to come, planning and planning, finally feeling like enough has been done, a sufficient number of things crossed off a to-do list or applied to a new list and there I am, back at square one.
Suddenly it occurs to me that square one isn’t a square at all but my heart. Let me go from there and return there off and on all day, over and over, again and again, arriving and leaving from that place of honor, hope and patient love, like the blood coming and going through my beating heart, coursing tirelessly throughout my entire body.
When I saw the heart image heading your page, I made the February connection; little did I think that your post would settle right into the vulnerable center of that vibrant heart. Reading your list of what fills a day made me feel both tired and connected, made me think of the arranging and rearranging that orders and reorders us dawn to dusk. In many ways, our lists are similar -- yet I think of others who lists would be different...those in developing nations, those with critical health issues, those with layoff slips or their last paychecks in their hands.
ReplyDeleteAs I approach the present moment these days, I can't help but think of "the other" and all of the experiences of life that are beyond mine. I am in awe more than ever of the sanctity of my singular experience of the moment as sacred. What magic that consciousness arises in so many forms with so many potentials!
Still, the heart is the heart is the heart. And I do find a blessing in that. We step out from the solitude of our beating heart, our pulsing intention, and we meet with encounters that offer an exchange. What will gift will we give?
Stop, Stop. Stop thinking so much. Using the gifts of your rational mind will not bring anything but suffering (worrying, what is right, us and others) letting go is the only way to get clarity. sit or lie down and let everything go, thoughts..., go until there is an empty space where something else is allowed in. Sometimes thinking about who you are 100 years from now or 100 years before helps- really contemplate this It's NOT easy. but the more you do it, the easier it is to get to that space. all thinking and rationalizing comes from the human space. our adrenaline, hormones, thoughts that make us human, but we are way more than that/ we are the spaces in between and there we can feel truth that can never be described in words but it directs our life. meditation is good, but only good if it tells you something. if sitting doesn't do that and only makes your foot go to sleep then try something else. walking works for me. letting everything go and ideas pop in my head, sometimes songs. you must have TIME to be alone and really let things go, a day or a weekend alone helps. but the farther you fall into non-self, no idea what is happening, the truth will emerge. that is my opinion
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