Notice

Volumes have been written trumpeting the practical benefits of meditation, yet all too often I hear, "I can't do it. I can't quiet my mind. It doesn't work for me." Somewhere along the spiritual continuum, a lot of folks missed the point.

I don't practice to relax. I don't practice to quiet my mind. I don't practice to become a better meditator. I practice to notice. I practice to let go, without attachment, without judgement. If you're waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect mood, the perfect cushion, clothing, music, incense, CD, you are cheating yourself out of one of the most useful tools in our wellness arsenal. 

Try this. Find a spot to sit undisturbed for a few minutes---start slow. Get comfortable. Set your timer. Close your eyes. Breathe. When the siren outside screams past, notice (don't curse), the sound. When the cat jumps into your lap, notice the sensation. When your mind revisits the argument you had with your partner last night, notice the thought. Don't judge sounds, sensations, thoughts. Don't get mad at your mind for dragging you into the past, racing you into the future. Notice, then let go, detach. Stay. Breathe. Repeat, and then repeat the process again tomorrow, and the day after that.

You can't do this wrong. You can only not do it, and in not meditating, you are depriving yourself of learning to coexist peacefully with the world around you. Practically speaking, this means, the next time another driver cuts you off in traffic, notice, do not attach, do not react. Instead of railing against a co-worker's procrastination to complete a needed task, notice your resistance, your frustration, and in that moment of noticing, choose, without malice, without judgement, the higher thought. 

Notice. Simply notice.

What's a muse to do?

Just as most of us in the United States are hungry to leave our pandemic lives behind, we find ourselves smack dab in the middle of a deepening worldwide crisis. And with that crisis abroad, we here at home are witnessing historically high prices at the pumps, grocery stores and in the housing market. 

What's a footloose muse to do?

I can't curl up in a ball and refuse to participate in life. I must take care to carry on, to not succumb to despair. To do that I must give my creative life all the opportunities it needs to thrive. I must pick up the creative tools I have available to write, paint, sing, dance, cook, and photograph my way out of the dismay, fear and confusion.

I have a voice; you have one, too. I have God-given talents, and you do as well. Now is the time to use our gifts to brighten, lighten, inform, enliven, to soften the rough and hard edges the world is up against. Take an artist date. Take an hour or two and visit a museum, an art supply store, a gallery. Go hang out in the kids' aisle at the bookstore. Go and allow your senses to come alive with color, good humor, and beauty.

Treat your creativity like the prayer it is.

How Dare You Not Shine?

Before my mom passed away in 2016, she told me that when I was a young girl, I attended creative writing classes after school. I have no recollection of such classes, instruction, or assignments. I do know that writing has always come second nature to me. Whether a term paper for school, a thesis for graduate school, a short story, poem, a marketing piece, if wordsmithing was involved, I was in my element. I became an English major in college because I liked to read and I could write, and I had no interest in nursing. Where I came from, those were the two career options most young women pursued. I was an art minor in college with a concentration in photography. I penned two books of informational nonfiction during the ten years I was not drinking alcohol (between 1989 and 1999), was a columnist for a national trade magazine for two years, earned a Masters of Fine Arts degree, and did all kinds of creative things. The minute I picked up a drink in 2000, I ceased to write another word, and the camera got buried behind some cardboard boxes in a closet under the stairs. It took five years, once I got sober, to recall, to remember that I was an artist, that I had God-given talents. I get to spend a month in Arizona a few years ago, in this blue chair, with the light streaming in, writing, crafting another book. I don't know many of you who are reading this today, but I will tell you one thing: I am not unique. You, too, have been given gifts, talents, skills that the world needs. What are they? What's holding you back from following your heart's desire? Fear? Of what? Failure? That you're not good enough? Trust me when I tell you, you are brilliance. You are a beacon. How dare you not shine?

Start Where You Are

A very long time ago, in what seems like another lifetime, I decided to start a clothing company. Aptly named after my firstborn daughter, Katherine's of Kingston, was supposed to be a custom collection of simple, whimsical, colorful dresses for toddlers and little girls designed and manufactured by me and a handful of University of Rhode Island textile majors. Slam dunk, right? Could of, should of, been. What derailed my business plan was my inability to start. More specifically, my inability to start where I was. Married to a custom home builder at the time, I convinced him that I needed a bonafide sewing room, and he was only too happy to oblige. Needs were assessed. Measurements were taken. Blueprints drawn up. Trim was fabricated. Colors were selected. By the time dozens of cones of serger sewing machine threads were systematically color-coded and arranged in a custom built-in cabinet, I had already moved on to painting floorcloths, and the bolts of fabric I had stockpiled grew dusty and faded. Distractions diverted me from my primary purpose. Today, I know better. Whether it's taking up a running practice, or yoga, or photography, I can just show up as is.  I don't need fancy shoes, mats, the newest equipment. All I truly need is an open heart and the willingness to be a beginner every day.

Spiritual Deadheading

My best friend in high school, Nancy, had a green thumb. Her house, and later her college apartments, were resplendent with all manner of hanging and potted plants. I particularly admired her ability to grow coleus---especially the big, bold, eye-catching, serrated varieties. Back in the 1970s, my alcoholism was just gathering momentum, and I was more preoccupied with where my next drink was coming from than with watering and maintaining houseplants. Nancy, on the other hand, had a knack for nurturing green things, and under her care, they flourished. Routinely, Nancy pinched off the purple buds protruding from the centers of the leaves. "What are you doing?" I wanted to know, fascinated and puzzled at the same time. She patiently explained deadheading to me. By definition, to deadhead means to remove a plant's spent flowers. To do so, channels the energy away from seed production into further flower production.

Decades later, deadheading has become a metaphor for an important tool in my spiritual arsenal. I have learned (the hard way) that holding on to anything out of fear blocks wisdom and spiritual growth. To grow I must be willing to relinquish the fear of "what if." If I quit this job, will I find another?  If I end this relationship, will I find another mate? If I move to a new community, will I make new friends? Being fearless today, I don't lament dead flowers. I don't lament the people, places, and/or things that have had their glory and weren't meant to last. Like the coleus and other greenery flourishing in my cottage today, I must be willing to discard the old and await the new. Experience has taught me that with faith and courage, I can channel my energy into spiritual production instead of atrophy. What/who are you clinging to today? What seeds can you channel into flowers?

I've learned a lot about love over the years. I learned that my love of self has to come first, that in order to find love, I have to give love. I learned that my love can't save anyone. No matter how much I love someone, I can't want their wellness more than they do.

I fell in love over and over again last year. I took several long road trips, and each time I checked in to my Airbnb for the night, I fell in love. I fell in love with my hosts, their families; I fell in love with the people behind counters, with fellow travelers, with truckers hauling cargo; I fell in love with the hills, valleys, mountains, oceans, lakes, and ports of this great country.

And I fell even more deeply in love with myself, with my courage, my strength, my laugh, my heart, my mind, my God.

So, it matters little this year that I don't have one person in my life to love. Single-by-choice, I have hundreds of men and women all over the country to love, and they, blessedly, love me back. If you are in a relationship, love deeper. Dig in. Let go of your petty resentments. Something missing? Try providing it instead of waiting for it.

This Valentine's weekend, instead of sitting home, feeling sorry for yourself that a long-term relationship ended or a new one crashed and burned on take off, pick up some carnations, purchase a few greeting cards and go distribute them to residents at a long-term care facility. Be the love you hope to find.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

On a recent road trip, I swapped stories with a dear friend as we wound our way north, out of Rhode Island, to Vermont for a two-day artist's retreat. Invariably, the conversation turned to livelihood, life, and balance, and I was happy to share some details about my creative life (I don't call it work.) My friend is ready to launch the next chapter of her life, and a small group of us are working through Julia Cameron's 12-week Artist's Way program. A key component of the program is a commitment to write Morning Pages. How does one commit to rising early to pen three longhand pages of stream-of consciousness writing? All it takes is practice.

Before I leave home every morning, I sit and meditate for five minutes. Five minutes may not seem like a significant slice of time, but over time, my practice has deepened, and has had a profound effect on my ability to be, peacefully, in the world. 

I write everyday. I scribble three pages on a pad. I don't worry about punctuation, spelling, or grammar. This writing is not for anyone else's eyes, but by laying down tracks everyday, I give writing a place of honor in my life.  Divinely given, who am I to deny it?

I save a few dollars every week. At the top of my home budget/spreadsheet, I have a line item for savings. Allocating funds is non-negotiable. My bills get paid, and my savings account receives a percentage of my weekly earnings.  

Thus, I practice meditating. I practice writing. I practice saving money.

The upshot of showing up for my breath every morning, the benefit of showing up for the muse daily, the financial rewards for setting aside a little, is that by practicing, by becoming a better mediator, I am less judgmental. By practicing writing a weekly blog, I have become a more consistent writer. And by saving money, I am less fearful about my financial future.

Practice doesn't mean perfection, it means being fully present in the world.

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