It is important to be mindful when there is the potential of death or destruction. Although I'd never really considered it before, shooting a gun is actually a very 'mindful' activity. Today Sean took me, five guns, and a bag full of ammo to the shooting range so I could shoot a gun for the second time in my life. The first time was up at my cabin, where we have a shotgun that was only used that one day. My father wanted each of us to be able to use it in the case of a bear attack. He instructed me to shoot out into a relatively open clearing, and I immediately shot a nearby tree which began smoking and he confiscated the gun. Needless to say it wasn't my most 'mindful' moment. My experience at the gun range today was altogether different. Shooting requires finite attention to have any accuracy, and even more than that the consequences of being careless require awareness and attention to the rules of the shooting range. Number 1: always think of a gun as loaded. I like this rule because it is oddly complimentary to the thoughts I've been having about how to interact with others, particularly students (I do not mean SHOOTING them). Rather, that you should always give a student the beneft of the doubt. Not knowing where they came from that morning, or what happened to them, always have your mind open to the possibility that they are 'loaded' and treat them accordingly- with respect.
The meditative feeling of shooting targets surprised me. Each time I shot there was an intense concentration down the barrel, trying to quiet my hands, balance the gun and line up with the bullseye. I maintained that rigid posture while I simultaneously tried not to flinch before I shot, not to anticipate the kickback from the gun or to close my eyes against the noise and rapport. While I don't know if i'm a shooting range convert, I am glad I tried this, both for my increased knowledge and skill (in case of zombie attack or hunting) and because it offered me a surprising glimpse of what many of the shooting range junkies must feel- meditation via firearm.
My other most memorable mindful experience of the week was also somewhat paradoxical: Power Yoga. My sister has always disliked 'normal' yoga, which she deems yoga overly focused on sitting and stretching. Being a rather intense and physically fit person, she prefers something active, and has trouble getting her strong body to loosten up into yogic knots. Thus, she brought me along to her power-yoga class, a 75 minute relaxation-workout, which began with some light meditation in the sitting position, progressed into aggressively athletic pilates-yoga fusion, and then slowed back down into a child's pose and breath awareness. Although I was a little skeptical of the new-age-trans music playing in the background I have to admit that I loved the class. Although I wasn't sore the next day my muscles felt good- toned and used. Even more, my back was crinkling and cracking not because I had strained it, but because the muscles were actually looser- more relaxed- allowing my spine some unexpected freedom. It was a crunch to make it to yoga in time and I arrived at 6:45pm with only two pieces of toast for dinner. By the end I was smiling and in a wonderful mood- I haven't felt so good after a workout in awhile. I remember thinking to myself "I want to do this for a living"
One of my favorite parts of coming home for spring break has been the realization that there IS a mindfulness movement in Alaska, and especially in Anchorage. There are multiple meditation groups- a free meditation session monday nights, and a $5 cover on wednesday. There are lots of yoga and dance classes, countless outdoorsy activities (teleskiing is just skimming the surface of the possible), food-growing and local craft cooperatives- even Taiji and QiGong. Growing up I knew that Alaska had many "yuppie" activities like yoga or lots of hippie fair-trade stores. I never really explored any of these opportunities for myself though, and I'm learning that being an Alaskan in my 20s is way different from my high school experience. Most of my close friends here now aren't from high school, and my interests and hobbies have changed as well. Although I am worried about the financial insecurities that come with graduating from Bowdoin, I am suddenly invigorated with what new experiences and discoveries Alaska's community holds for me. I would like mindfulness to be a practice that informs, guides and balances the rest of my life, and apparently Alaska is a space that can help nurture that desire.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
ease, Alaskan mountains, family
(Written Thursday, March 17th)
When I arrived home under the stars of an early morning, exhaustion overtook me. Since returning to school in the fall I have felt exhausted many times. This is a different kind of exhaustion than I experience on the trail crew, where my body was honestly sore and begging to lay itself down. The exhaustion I find at Bowdoin comes from over-production, denying my body's needs in the face of my stuffed schedule, class syllabi and social tendencies. So arriving in Alaska, with two weeks (relatively) open in front of me, I finally gave in to that exhaustion as I haven't in months. And I slept for three days. I mean, really, I practically did nothing but sleep. Even now, although not ill, my body recognizes this respite, a period of ease which it responds to by relaxing with a spine-clicking sigh of relief. What is amazing about this “ease” is how difficult I usually find it to relax, to “let go” of my goals and needs and instead focus on the present. This semester I’ve spent an unprecedented amount of time learning how to just “be”, even if only for a few minutes of meditation or an hour of exercise and now I am more able than ever before to expand that mantra to my lifestyle. As Lao Tzu said, “fill your bowl to the brim and it will spill. Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt.” I think the lesson here is that expecting and trying to do too much will make your undoing. I know my “Bowl” had been brimming over for quite long enough before I arrived at home and finally stopped trying to fill it for a couple of days.
After three days of almost pure sleep, movies, and lounging I finally roused myself to Alaska and got away into the mountains with my sister. Fiona and I have had trouble getting along for the last year or so, but this trip has been decidedly different. We're communicating well and honestly, conversations aided by cross-country skiing beneath the majesty of snowy cliffs and ridges, or tele-skiing down slopes with a view of the ocean in the distance. I have been trying to understand what somehow allowed this sudden change in our relationship, our lack of fighting or frustration with each other. A wise professor once said "You do what you value" and this adage has been bumping around in my head recently. This spring break, for the first time in a long time, I have made a strong effort to spend time with my sister. We've made plans, communicated our schedules and needs, and found activities that are mutually exciting to both of us. Our house brims with energy. Last night the whole family walked along the frozen mudflats of the beach with our two old sled dogs wandering around in the trees. She burst into a ho-dance to her own little song, aggressively hipping me until I suddenly began a scattered harmony and some sweet sidestepping. My dad giggled at us for 10-15 seconds and then started dancing along with us up the path. We probably looked like lunatics, but it felt so good to have that kind of experience with my family, especially because we have struggled so much to connect over the last several years. Perhaps we are all getting better at letting go of the past and “being” in the present- even if that means dancing in the snow along the beach.
“In dwelling, live close to the ground. In thinking, keep to the simple. In conflict, be fair and generous. In governing, don't try to control. In work, do what you enjoy. In family life, be completely present.”
-Lao Tzu
When I arrived home under the stars of an early morning, exhaustion overtook me. Since returning to school in the fall I have felt exhausted many times. This is a different kind of exhaustion than I experience on the trail crew, where my body was honestly sore and begging to lay itself down. The exhaustion I find at Bowdoin comes from over-production, denying my body's needs in the face of my stuffed schedule, class syllabi and social tendencies. So arriving in Alaska, with two weeks (relatively) open in front of me, I finally gave in to that exhaustion as I haven't in months. And I slept for three days. I mean, really, I practically did nothing but sleep. Even now, although not ill, my body recognizes this respite, a period of ease which it responds to by relaxing with a spine-clicking sigh of relief. What is amazing about this “ease” is how difficult I usually find it to relax, to “let go” of my goals and needs and instead focus on the present. This semester I’ve spent an unprecedented amount of time learning how to just “be”, even if only for a few minutes of meditation or an hour of exercise and now I am more able than ever before to expand that mantra to my lifestyle. As Lao Tzu said, “fill your bowl to the brim and it will spill. Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt.” I think the lesson here is that expecting and trying to do too much will make your undoing. I know my “Bowl” had been brimming over for quite long enough before I arrived at home and finally stopped trying to fill it for a couple of days.
After three days of almost pure sleep, movies, and lounging I finally roused myself to Alaska and got away into the mountains with my sister. Fiona and I have had trouble getting along for the last year or so, but this trip has been decidedly different. We're communicating well and honestly, conversations aided by cross-country skiing beneath the majesty of snowy cliffs and ridges, or tele-skiing down slopes with a view of the ocean in the distance. I have been trying to understand what somehow allowed this sudden change in our relationship, our lack of fighting or frustration with each other. A wise professor once said "You do what you value" and this adage has been bumping around in my head recently. This spring break, for the first time in a long time, I have made a strong effort to spend time with my sister. We've made plans, communicated our schedules and needs, and found activities that are mutually exciting to both of us. Our house brims with energy. Last night the whole family walked along the frozen mudflats of the beach with our two old sled dogs wandering around in the trees. She burst into a ho-dance to her own little song, aggressively hipping me until I suddenly began a scattered harmony and some sweet sidestepping. My dad giggled at us for 10-15 seconds and then started dancing along with us up the path. We probably looked like lunatics, but it felt so good to have that kind of experience with my family, especially because we have struggled so much to connect over the last several years. Perhaps we are all getting better at letting go of the past and “being” in the present- even if that means dancing in the snow along the beach.
“In dwelling, live close to the ground. In thinking, keep to the simple. In conflict, be fair and generous. In governing, don't try to control. In work, do what you enjoy. In family life, be completely present.”
-Lao Tzu
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
tending and walking the labyrinth, living like weasels (or perhaps like otters)
On Monday we brought a labyrinth from the First Parish Church to Bowdoin College. Before the set-up began the labyrinth existed as an 8-hour block in my calender, a box from 3-11pm marked "LABYRINTH" right after "8:30-10:30 MiP", "10:30-12:00 Edit Paper & send" and "12:00-2:30 Robin at Jr. High + notes". Mentally, the physical presence of the labyrinth, and the mindful practice it entailed, ceased to exist. Instead, it felt like one other commitment, with hardly enough transition time to give it thought or enjoyment.
Luckily, the labyrinth proved me wrong. It surprised me, and relaxed me and awoke me. Sue, the coordinator for the church who supervised and organized the making of the 30x30' labyrinth that we used, is an incredibly positive and calming presence. She seems very wise to me, although I'm sure she'd deny this, and to be filled with patience and understanding. Over the course of the event she came to the BOC no less than 4 times, first to move the canvas, then to fetch brooms from the church for sweeping because housekeeping had not cleaned, then to bring us a boombox because the stereo did not work, and finally returning to help us re-fold and transport the labyrinth back to it's home in a church cabinet. At no point did she seem frustrated, anxious or inconvenienced. Instead she emanated peace and goodwill- I hope someday I can discover a similar stability and perspective.
Tending the labyrinth was an equally calming, mindful activity. The music, low lighting, and muted whispers all created a safe space in which to let go of the anxiety and schedules shadowing my dreams for the last week. The presence of the fire was equally felt- from the moment I coaxed it into life it emanated warmth and comfort throughout the room, and the act of kindling and feeding was a ritual. I enjoyed the level of contact shared between visitors to the labyrinth and the tenders there- because I knew many of those who came I also shared many lingering hugs, genuine smiles and squeezes to the arm. So much can be communicated through touch- I am always amazed.
After several hours I walked the labyrinth myself, comfortable leaving the tending to Katherine and Chanoong while I walked. Initially I got a little anxious because I realized that the fire had gotten quite low and didn't think anyone was aware. Although I tried to let go, this thought kept pressing back into my awareness. When I was close to the fire I stepped out of the labyrinth, placed several logs behind the screen, and then resumed my walk. By taking care of what was ruffling the waters of my mind I was then able to calm it. Although I do think meditation can be a solution for a distracted mind by providing discipline, in this case I am glad that I took the time to remove a distraction that was easily dealt with and satisfying to resolve.
My fist labyrinth walk was very centered on life and death and the paths that we each walk. Although this metaphoric way of using the labyrinth was what I needed at that time, this walk was centered around relaxation and goodwill. Walking was time to just 'be', to notice what my body was saying to me. To relax my knotted shoulders by rolling them around, and tip back my head until I hear that light 'click' that brings so much relief. I stretched my thigh muscles, sore from Teleskiing, and felt the clarity of my newly-healed lungs. Before I knew it I was at the center- the walk had flown by.
I sat and did a short loving-kindness meditation, sending love to my family members, myself, a loved one and someone who had proven difficult recently. It felt good to send these thoughts out, and I also recognized my 'limit', signaling a close to the meditation. Leaving the labyrinth was likewise very physical, focused and calming. I left the path with a sense of peace and happiness that certainly hadn't existed before.
My friend Sean sent me Annie Dillards "Living Like Weasels" essay, which really speaks to that idea of 'mindlessness' and living in the moment off of your immediate experiences. Although I think such moments need to be balances with periods of thought and introspection, her description is so lovely and apt that I thought I'd include an excerpt. I think I would choose to live like an otter instead because of their playfulness, but I suppose otters and weasels are related enough.
"That is, I don't think I can learn from a wild animal how to live in particular- shall I suck warm blood, hold my tail high, walk with my footprints precisely over the prints of my hands?- but I might learn something of mindlessness, something of the purity without bias or motive. The weasel lives in necessity and we live in choice, hating necessity and dying at the last ignobly in its talons. I would like to live as I should, as the weasal lives as he should. And I suspect that for me the way is like the weasel's- open to time and death painlessly, noticing everything, remembering nothing, choosing the given with a fierce and pointed will... I could very calmly go wild. I could live two days in the den, culred, leaning on mouse fur, sniffing bird bones, blinking, licking, breathing musk, my hair tangled in the roots of grasses. Down is a good place to go, where the mind is single. Down is out, out of your ever-long mind and to your careless senses. I remember muteness as a prolonged and giddy fast, where every moment is a feast of utterance received. Time and events are merely poured, unremarked, and ingested directly, like blood pulsed into my gut through a jugular vein. Could two live that way? Could two live under the wild rose, and explore by the pond, so that the smooth mind of each is as everywhere present to the other, and as received and as unchallenged, as falling snow?
We could, you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience- even of silence- by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn't "attack" anything; a weasel lives as he's meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity.
I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones unhinge and scatter. joosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles.
Luckily, the labyrinth proved me wrong. It surprised me, and relaxed me and awoke me. Sue, the coordinator for the church who supervised and organized the making of the 30x30' labyrinth that we used, is an incredibly positive and calming presence. She seems very wise to me, although I'm sure she'd deny this, and to be filled with patience and understanding. Over the course of the event she came to the BOC no less than 4 times, first to move the canvas, then to fetch brooms from the church for sweeping because housekeeping had not cleaned, then to bring us a boombox because the stereo did not work, and finally returning to help us re-fold and transport the labyrinth back to it's home in a church cabinet. At no point did she seem frustrated, anxious or inconvenienced. Instead she emanated peace and goodwill- I hope someday I can discover a similar stability and perspective.
Tending the labyrinth was an equally calming, mindful activity. The music, low lighting, and muted whispers all created a safe space in which to let go of the anxiety and schedules shadowing my dreams for the last week. The presence of the fire was equally felt- from the moment I coaxed it into life it emanated warmth and comfort throughout the room, and the act of kindling and feeding was a ritual. I enjoyed the level of contact shared between visitors to the labyrinth and the tenders there- because I knew many of those who came I also shared many lingering hugs, genuine smiles and squeezes to the arm. So much can be communicated through touch- I am always amazed.
After several hours I walked the labyrinth myself, comfortable leaving the tending to Katherine and Chanoong while I walked. Initially I got a little anxious because I realized that the fire had gotten quite low and didn't think anyone was aware. Although I tried to let go, this thought kept pressing back into my awareness. When I was close to the fire I stepped out of the labyrinth, placed several logs behind the screen, and then resumed my walk. By taking care of what was ruffling the waters of my mind I was then able to calm it. Although I do think meditation can be a solution for a distracted mind by providing discipline, in this case I am glad that I took the time to remove a distraction that was easily dealt with and satisfying to resolve.
My fist labyrinth walk was very centered on life and death and the paths that we each walk. Although this metaphoric way of using the labyrinth was what I needed at that time, this walk was centered around relaxation and goodwill. Walking was time to just 'be', to notice what my body was saying to me. To relax my knotted shoulders by rolling them around, and tip back my head until I hear that light 'click' that brings so much relief. I stretched my thigh muscles, sore from Teleskiing, and felt the clarity of my newly-healed lungs. Before I knew it I was at the center- the walk had flown by.
I sat and did a short loving-kindness meditation, sending love to my family members, myself, a loved one and someone who had proven difficult recently. It felt good to send these thoughts out, and I also recognized my 'limit', signaling a close to the meditation. Leaving the labyrinth was likewise very physical, focused and calming. I left the path with a sense of peace and happiness that certainly hadn't existed before.
My friend Sean sent me Annie Dillards "Living Like Weasels" essay, which really speaks to that idea of 'mindlessness' and living in the moment off of your immediate experiences. Although I think such moments need to be balances with periods of thought and introspection, her description is so lovely and apt that I thought I'd include an excerpt. I think I would choose to live like an otter instead because of their playfulness, but I suppose otters and weasels are related enough.
"That is, I don't think I can learn from a wild animal how to live in particular- shall I suck warm blood, hold my tail high, walk with my footprints precisely over the prints of my hands?- but I might learn something of mindlessness, something of the purity without bias or motive. The weasel lives in necessity and we live in choice, hating necessity and dying at the last ignobly in its talons. I would like to live as I should, as the weasal lives as he should. And I suspect that for me the way is like the weasel's- open to time and death painlessly, noticing everything, remembering nothing, choosing the given with a fierce and pointed will... I could very calmly go wild. I could live two days in the den, culred, leaning on mouse fur, sniffing bird bones, blinking, licking, breathing musk, my hair tangled in the roots of grasses. Down is a good place to go, where the mind is single. Down is out, out of your ever-long mind and to your careless senses. I remember muteness as a prolonged and giddy fast, where every moment is a feast of utterance received. Time and events are merely poured, unremarked, and ingested directly, like blood pulsed into my gut through a jugular vein. Could two live that way? Could two live under the wild rose, and explore by the pond, so that the smooth mind of each is as everywhere present to the other, and as received and as unchallenged, as falling snow?
We could, you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience- even of silence- by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn't "attack" anything; a weasel lives as he's meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity.
I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones unhinge and scatter. joosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles.
Monday, March 7, 2011
5 minutes to live.
"almost anything- all external expectations, all fear or embarassment or failure- these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important."
-Steve Jobs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w14v4vGUDdg
This 5 minutes clip is student short film for the Emory Campus music fest. Although I don't face the same daily crisis, the quote and the film reminded me that we should "do what we value", hopefully living our lives and delegating our time based on what is most important to us.
-Steve Jobs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w14v4vGUDdg
This 5 minutes clip is student short film for the Emory Campus music fest. Although I don't face the same daily crisis, the quote and the film reminded me that we should "do what we value", hopefully living our lives and delegating our time based on what is most important to us.
Friday, March 4, 2011
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