Sit Still. Breathe.

28 Dec. 12
Sit Still. Breathe.

Occasionally circumstances align to allow a glimpse beneath the surface of the dash and noise of life; if I am ready –or if I am shaken enough—that glimpse can teach me something. This sounds so small but I am constantly aware (in the season of resolutions) how hard it is to truly change even when you recognize how much change would increase the quality of the life you live, the quality of the self you offer.

So this holiday season brought me The Perfect Storm of factors to shake me out of my ruts of the moment: a passport that spent too long with the American Embassy meant our holiday plans were completely overturned, a stubborn virus walked up and hit me in the face and is just now creeping out, and my friend Dan came from North Fork, CA to spend Solstice with us.

So instead of the round of visiting wonderful friends in Paris and Toulouse and spending Christmas Day swimming in the Mediterranean, I slept, thought, read and slept. I grew quiet. I felt sorry for myself, and then I didn’t anymore. I enjoyed my family who were also forced to go slow: cooking, cleaning, playing card games.

Through these grey and shifting days that usually shatter with the onslaught of parties, gifts, preparations, expectations, I inhaled sage steam and let my thoughts truly wander and stopped making lists. Dan was passing through on his way to lead a 10 day Vipassana Meditation retreat in Norfolk. He told me about his sitting practice and I listened with the intellectual intrigue of someone who cannot possibly imagine sitting still and being quiet for 10 days—but admire those who can. But the forced rest and empty days became my own stillness, and now I can imagine choosing a retreat as a (perhaps more enjoyable) means to achieve this same exquisite sharpness. Thanks to my quiet thoughts, some plaguing complications in professional relationships I am able to re-imagine as not requiring a combative stance, but an approach of shared frustration and an authentic desire to change the dynamic. I am newly aware of how important it is to be able to shift out of my own narrow perspective to that of another, to understand how inexplicable behaviours on the part of others might seem reasonable from their perspective. Of course, being immersed in literature gives me the constant gift of pushing out of my own perspective, of stepping into the world view of others. This results in increased breadth in my own vision, a greater capability for compassion, and a deeper understanding of the world outside of my borders.

Dan describes Vipassana meditation practice as a discipline in studying your responses to external stimuli—we all are constantly responding to sensory stimuli most often sub- or unconsciously. Our senses register a stimulus and somewhere in our body a response occurs: pain, discomfort, pleasure, itch…and then our mind responds to that response. The mind’s responses accumulate to become our mood, our mental landscape but often without an awareness of how those unexamined stimuli contributed to how we feel. Vipassana is aimed to develop an awareness of the stimuli and consequent response.. During the 10 days, students learn the technique and begin to eradicate the root cause of their suffering.

From the Dhamma Dipa Meditation Centre in Herefordshire: “Vipassana means “to see things as they really are”. It is a process of self-purification by self-observation. It is an ancient technique from India, which was originally taught by the Buddha. The teaching is universal and not connected with any religious organisation and can be practised by anyone without conflict with existing religious beliefs or absence of beliefs. For those who are not familiar with Vipassana Meditation we recommend visiting the International Vipassana Website for an introduction.”
Other local Mediation centres and sources from a London Salonista who has also inspired me with her clarity:

Home

Gaia House Meditation Retreat Centre

And here is one (of many) poet(s) who encapsulates clarity of mind, art of words:

POEM

The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest
at night
in the black branches,
in the morning

in the blue branches
of the world.
It could float, of course,
but would rather

plumb rough matter.
Airy and shapeless thing,
it needs
the metaphor of the body,

lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body’s world,
instinct

and imagination
and the dark hug of time,
sweetness
and tangibility,

to be understood,
to be more than pure light
that burns
where no one is —

so it enters us —
in the morning
shines from brute comfort
like a stitch of lightning;

and at night
lights up the deep and wondrous
drownings of the body
like a star.
by Mary Oliver, from Dream Work
Atlantic Monthly Pr., 1986, ISBN 0871130696