without expectation, there is no disappointment or frustration
My life changed today. This wasn't a fireworks moment, or an epiphany, just a gentle drawing open of curtains, and a revelation of the heart...
Serendipitously, I attended a day-long meditation retreat with my friend Bryan on a beautiful campus in Guelph earlier today. I've been searching for some time now for a structured form of meditation to calm the storm I realise I'm in, but instead it found me. Bryan mentioned him going there in passing last week, and I’m not sure if I invited myself, or he did me, but hesitatingly something in me knew I needed to be there. Thank you Bryan. Thank you Molly...
The first half of my silent day was marked by frustration. My attempts to focus on my body and breathing seemed futile. I was conscious of a searing pain in my neck, that more firmly seeded my lingering fears that the cancer had not left me, and this fed on itself and ferreted out my darkest fears of illness and death. The walking meditation that was inserted into our sitting sessions helped to focus on the movement of my legs and diminish the pain, but they too seemed a distraction from something else.
After lunch we had a chance to break our silence for a bit and speak to Molly. I spoke about the pain, and the hurt I felt, and my frustration with my inability to find that silence and meditate. Gently, she explained to me that I always had the pain, it was only that I had now allowed myself to feel it. We're so lost in the crazy lives we live that we never have time to listen to ourselves, and our bodies, till they grow and grow and jump up on us. She told me not to call it "pain", but a feeling, and not to focus on it, or I'd lock it in... (not in her words, but paraphrased closely) find its edges, they may be fluid, they may be fixed, find its centre, find where it is, don't push it away or pull it in, or distance what you feel and think around it, just know it for what it is and massage it, move gently over it as a wave, it, like so much of life it too is impermanent, and it is here only for now, and if you know it as that, it will be what it is, that.
A fellow traveller asked about her own pain, and frustration at not being able to meditate, to find that peace she sought... (Molly again)... expectation is the source of frustration. If we don't expect, we won’t be disappointed. (That’s true for relationships of any kind, but few of us recognise it). Accept what comes, and embrace it. If there are distractions that enter, embrace and acknowledge them, find humour and surprise in the surreal thoughts that show themselves, sometimes you will find the focus- for hours, for days, for seconds, sometimes never. Don't treat the times you do as success and the times you don't as failure or you are setting yourself up. Recognise it, and don’t even go there. Accept what comes...
The rest of the afternoon was very different. I found incredible space and silence in my mind and heart. The pain was no longer pain but something I felt, not overpowering as it had been earlier. Each breath was acknowledged, each distraction entertained, each moment felt like both a second and a lifetime.
Molly ended the day leading and guiding us to open our hearts to others, to ourselves, to the world- to offer love, support, wish goodness and take away harm and pain- by doing so we could not judge anyone because through generosity and kidness, we were one with them. I left the retreat a different man.
Those who know me well will cock and eyebrow and wonder what's happening. Just life finding its flow. Fate or luck? I do not know, but the path I walked today is one I was meant to...
p.s. a few of you have asked why I yanked the last post. C called it "maudlin", and for good reason too. It was a manifestation of the pain I've been holding in. I'll post that sad, hurting piece of text below, because it no longer matters... well it matters, but it’s not all that I feel… it too is impermanent, and I contextualise it with the recognition that I have so very much and so very many people and love in my life to be thankful for, to feel lucky for.
Do we really stand on our own, or are there hands that unknowingly hold us up? It's a strange night tonight. All the hands that have held me up over the past years are coincidentally (or serendipitously?) absent - on trips away, on distant shores, out of coverage, voice mails for proxies, or just absent.
I feel incredibly lonely and sad- and that's not a bad thing. We're meant to feel... to feel means to live. It takes a trough to know a crest.
I walked home tonight to an empty home- not because there was nobody or nothing in it, but because it felt just the way it had for the past 6 years, with just me in it. Life doesn't feel as forgiving as it used to. I'm very aware tonight of my mortality and my fears. I'm very aware that I may not have too much time left, and what have I got to show for what I had?
I wanted babies once. A family of my own to nurture. Change that comes only with sharing. Expectations that with time, some constance would replace the flux. And while life's been full and rich with each day that's peeled away, it's lacked some of those anchors of existence and allow one to root, to belong, to know oneself and be known. I feel that the wind could blow me away, and apart from grief, I'd leave little behind...
This isn't a cry for help or sympathy. Just a recognition tonight, as the moon starts to wane, that I can feel...
Serendipitously, I attended a day-long meditation retreat with my friend Bryan on a beautiful campus in Guelph earlier today. I've been searching for some time now for a structured form of meditation to calm the storm I realise I'm in, but instead it found me. Bryan mentioned him going there in passing last week, and I’m not sure if I invited myself, or he did me, but hesitatingly something in me knew I needed to be there. Thank you Bryan. Thank you Molly...
The first half of my silent day was marked by frustration. My attempts to focus on my body and breathing seemed futile. I was conscious of a searing pain in my neck, that more firmly seeded my lingering fears that the cancer had not left me, and this fed on itself and ferreted out my darkest fears of illness and death. The walking meditation that was inserted into our sitting sessions helped to focus on the movement of my legs and diminish the pain, but they too seemed a distraction from something else.
After lunch we had a chance to break our silence for a bit and speak to Molly. I spoke about the pain, and the hurt I felt, and my frustration with my inability to find that silence and meditate. Gently, she explained to me that I always had the pain, it was only that I had now allowed myself to feel it. We're so lost in the crazy lives we live that we never have time to listen to ourselves, and our bodies, till they grow and grow and jump up on us. She told me not to call it "pain", but a feeling, and not to focus on it, or I'd lock it in... (not in her words, but paraphrased closely) find its edges, they may be fluid, they may be fixed, find its centre, find where it is, don't push it away or pull it in, or distance what you feel and think around it, just know it for what it is and massage it, move gently over it as a wave, it, like so much of life it too is impermanent, and it is here only for now, and if you know it as that, it will be what it is, that.
A fellow traveller asked about her own pain, and frustration at not being able to meditate, to find that peace she sought... (Molly again)... expectation is the source of frustration. If we don't expect, we won’t be disappointed. (That’s true for relationships of any kind, but few of us recognise it). Accept what comes, and embrace it. If there are distractions that enter, embrace and acknowledge them, find humour and surprise in the surreal thoughts that show themselves, sometimes you will find the focus- for hours, for days, for seconds, sometimes never. Don't treat the times you do as success and the times you don't as failure or you are setting yourself up. Recognise it, and don’t even go there. Accept what comes...
The rest of the afternoon was very different. I found incredible space and silence in my mind and heart. The pain was no longer pain but something I felt, not overpowering as it had been earlier. Each breath was acknowledged, each distraction entertained, each moment felt like both a second and a lifetime.
Molly ended the day leading and guiding us to open our hearts to others, to ourselves, to the world- to offer love, support, wish goodness and take away harm and pain- by doing so we could not judge anyone because through generosity and kidness, we were one with them. I left the retreat a different man.
Those who know me well will cock and eyebrow and wonder what's happening. Just life finding its flow. Fate or luck? I do not know, but the path I walked today is one I was meant to...
p.s. a few of you have asked why I yanked the last post. C called it "maudlin", and for good reason too. It was a manifestation of the pain I've been holding in. I'll post that sad, hurting piece of text below, because it no longer matters... well it matters, but it’s not all that I feel… it too is impermanent, and I contextualise it with the recognition that I have so very much and so very many people and love in my life to be thankful for, to feel lucky for.
anchors of our existence...
Posted: 05 Nov 2009 07:27 PM PST
Do we really stand on our own, or are there hands that unknowingly hold us up? It's a strange night tonight. All the hands that have held me up over the past years are coincidentally (or serendipitously?) absent - on trips away, on distant shores, out of coverage, voice mails for proxies, or just absent.
I feel incredibly lonely and sad- and that's not a bad thing. We're meant to feel... to feel means to live. It takes a trough to know a crest.
I walked home tonight to an empty home- not because there was nobody or nothing in it, but because it felt just the way it had for the past 6 years, with just me in it. Life doesn't feel as forgiving as it used to. I'm very aware tonight of my mortality and my fears. I'm very aware that I may not have too much time left, and what have I got to show for what I had?
I wanted babies once. A family of my own to nurture. Change that comes only with sharing. Expectations that with time, some constance would replace the flux. And while life's been full and rich with each day that's peeled away, it's lacked some of those anchors of existence and allow one to root, to belong, to know oneself and be known. I feel that the wind could blow me away, and apart from grief, I'd leave little behind...
This isn't a cry for help or sympathy. Just a recognition tonight, as the moon starts to wane, that I can feel...
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