Coming into awareness

Sometimes it's a fleeting thought after the fact: "I must stop doing that."  After doing, saying or thinking something that does not serve a soul well.   But that's all it is; a thought.  It's not placed in front to be addressed.  It has come and gone and nothing shall be done about it until true awareness accompanies it.

For an hour and a half on a Wednesday night, I join others in group meditation.  It is a most serene thing and I love taking part with my whole heart.  We hardly say a word except to introduce ourselves and if we wish, share.  It could be how we feel, it could be about an event that affected us, anything at all.  I met a woman this past Wednesday that I connected with instantly without words.  It felt like a thin click through eye contact on a spiritual level.  It's happened to me only once before and that woman and I are still friends.  In fact, we call each other butterfly sisters.  On Wednesday, this woman shared an awareness she had come into that day of a mental habit that was not helpful to her and I admired her openness and mindfulness.

We walked out together and chatted, scratching the surface of a mutual liking and as she was talking, I could relate to what she said.  However instead of listening, I jumped onto her train of thought like an enthusiastic stowaway and interrupted.  In a second, I saw the effect of my habit:  She had to stop what she was saying and pay attention to me.  Right then and there, I came into awareness.  I was embarrassed, and wondered how many people I'd offended in varying measures with my rude sentence hopping over the years.

That I see this and I have brought it to the forefront means I am now able to work at making it less troublesome.  And all I have to do is keep my mouth shut, my eyes in focus and ears perked until it is my time to respond.  I'm happy to put this into practice going forward because it can only make me a more loving person

All New

The spirit is incredibly strong.  When the body has squeezed out its last ounce of effort, the spirit can pick it up and do its bidding. Someone asked, "How've you been?" and I replied that I had moved house.  Two words that do not convey the enormity of the event.  At all, really.  How about "I packed, lifted, dragged, hoisted, transported, hauled, carried and plopped every material thing that matters to me, from my daughter's plastic ring that she received in a party favor bag to the 60" HD television and every inanimate or living object in between, large and small."  Would that cover it?

We spread the work over three days to avoid the stressful, nerve-jangled one day of it all but it was still exhausting because it seemed that the material stuff oozed out of unseen spaces.  When I thought I'd accomplished one part, I found more overlooked crap to go into another box that I didn't  have.

The back aches and twinges upon stretching and says "If I gotta help you lift one more thing and you don't do it from the knees, I'm just gonna quit and you'll be stuck like this for days."  So I tried to be mindful of that.

Cats don't move well.  At least the skinny, nervous kind.  On top of the fatigue and the whole pulling energy from all corners of the body, I became embroiled in a hissing bloodshed escape attempt.  But again, the spirit overcame and four days into the new place, my cats are adjusting.  They still have the low-girdled, jerky-faced look of a prisoner on the run but they're coming around and it seems my skinny kitty and I have forgiven each other for the pain we inflicted.

And so life begins again.  In a new home.  A new road to take.  New places to frequent...mostly the liquor store.

I like the organizing, the finding new places for furniture, the new pathways around a house.  I like the new.  As much as I loathe moving (and this one was particularly fraught with worry) I do rather relish the Mary Poppins aspect of everything in its place and a place for everything.  It's refreshing for my soul.  And with that, certain cares have had the carpet lifted from them and their dustbunny existence has been blown from me.  It's quite freeing.

Purpose in the detour

What is purpose?  A life devoted to that which feeds the soul?  To pursue that goal in the name of love, of enlightenment and all that is true to the self?

I envy those that can do it, not with hatred; merely a coveting of the free time to pursue the actions of the heart.

Now I would not, for one second, wish my children or my life to be anything than what it is.  I could have taken the path to follow my dreams as a young girl but given the frame of mind I had then, I wouldn't have survived in such a brutal industry and most likely would have come to some unfortunate end.  I was mildly put out but followed Dad's wishes and toddled off to college to get some skillz.

I find these days, a frustration swimming below the surface; I want to do and see and take part, but I am not in a position to do so.  I find other avenues which take longer, are less nerve-wracking but are still satisfying.  Until I find that they are unsatisfying to others who would help propel my purpose forward.

There are old hands out there, my Mother included and I'm thinking that in order to really move ahead, it would behoove me to seek impartiality rather than family when it comes to my writing.  I had my first rejection and was not that fussed at first.  A week or so later my thoughts on the subject have become insidious in their jibery and pokery - You write too simply.  You are not eloquent.  Look at this writer, be more like that.  Maybe you should gear yourself toward young adult.  I counter with - I think I'm easy to read.  Being eloquent and flowery isn't me and most importantly, I love my work.

Eventually, it's easier to pile other crap on top of those thoughts because let's face it, there's plenty going on.  But sometimes, they poke through like Carrie hands from the ground, reaching, pointing, cramping any sort of creativity.  On a whim, I'll browse jobs that would take me away from writing but they require time and commitment I just don't have.

I have trouble accepting that writing is all I have time for.  I can move an entire house with pets and children and spouse, set up the new one, write a best-selling novel AND go on auditions, right?  No.  I feel like my Dad to myself.  No, Lisa.  You can't do that, you have to do this.  And I am petulant for it.

I am a crazy life-driver, veering left and right without signalling.  Sometimes I make the sharp turn only to find the road is blocked and all I can do is stare forlornly at the goings on over there.  I turn the car around and drag my wheels back to the main road that is meant for me and continue on the Highway of Life; searching, writing, doing, coveting, loving, thinking, wanting, and yet... still feeling content with my lot.

Such a strange meeting of feelings.

Mental Salmon

I do not think that in the seven months I've been meditating (give or take the last two months) that my mind has been quite so rackety with thoughts during the quiet time.  Even as a newbie last year, on the tail end of some very emotional stuff, I did not have half as many visions and scenarios that I've had recently.  And it's almost impossible not to become absorbed by each one.  I realize only when I'm in deep that I'm engaged; I have to bring my awareness back but before long another one steals in and sneaks up my skirt.

Granted there's a lot going on in the life of this Spiritual Biscuit.  We finally found a rental home and will be moving next Monday but coming up with funds for all and sundry is a gargantuan effort, helped mostly by some very good friends and by family.  Moving was not our choice; it was forced upon us and if the landlord had waited just a few more months, we wouldn't be struggling as we are.  So, we're emptying our bank account to move in, to move our pets in (because pet deposit is ridonkulous), to turn on water, to switch on electricity, to turn on cable and internet (which I might survive a while without but with two young children, my sanity depends upon it), to have trash picked up.  And don't even get me started on a moving company.

This will also be the first summer that my kids have not stayed at home with me, so we've been researching day camps too.  *cha-ching-a-ling-ding-ding*.  And beyond that, the lovely task of breaking the news that they'll be moving to another new school in the Fall.  My daughter is just like me when I was a kid - adaptable, easygoing, friendly and upon floating the subject, she's all "I'm a duck, where's the water?"  My son is like my husband, reserved, resistant to change and as evidenced by last year's switch, capable of becoming so highly emotional that he will make himself sick.  So...yay for that upcoming conversation.

Lots of external clatter makes for much internal chatter.  But somewhere through the chaos and unkempt mind, is a small still space.  I was there for a few seconds today and it cracked a teeny, tiny smile before I got sucked back into the fray once again.  I will also admit that my meditation practice, as mentioned above, has been quite sporadic.  With time and consistency and once we are moved and somewhat settled, I'm sure my mind will calm some.  It's not as if the scenarios I have are ones that need sorting out.  They are generic, every day themes that I can't recall after the fact so I'm not worried that I have inner demons to chase down right this very moment.

I'm treading water.  Doing ok for now.  Keeping busy.  And remembering that being mindful is as easy as focusing on scraping the salmon off the bottom of the pan.

Lisa...