practicing mindfulness

Mindful

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for—
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world—
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking 
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant—
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

-mary oliver 


i think my time on this great spinning planet, might simply be to practice mindfulness. being purposefully aware of the moment; paying attention in a non-judgmental way, allowing an openness, blocking distraction, unwinding the tension i wrap around myself from the reaching pulling arms of the world. feeling.  receiving the sensory input i'm given, not just the mental.  listening to only the voice of the one speaking, not the list in my mind.  really hearing the words and what is behind the words, of whoever i'm sharing the moment with.

i practice lots of things. i'm good at practicing- much better than i am at perfecting, or arriving.  i'm a slow learner.  i practice medicine and yoga and writing. i practice prayer and stillness and i try to practice mindfulness. 

the other day i had coffee with a friend.  a woman who i'm sure has been practicing mindfulness a lot longer than i have- either that or she's a natural. you know when you are with someone who is so good at being right there- you go places- you share histories- and the connection is deep and clear and real. that is who i want to be for people.  i want to be full and life-giving, not half, not sucking energy.  i want to engage actively and share it.

life gets big and much more beautiful when we let ourselves experience it. 

the wind is quiet and blowing.  she pushes a pile of fallen leaves across the fabric roof above me.  i hear the skittering, the dancing, the edges of light organic things tap along the cloth- it's music if i let it be.  if i hear it, i can feel the air move more, i can look up and see the shadows- the pattern of leaves and acorns- it looks like the picture of universe i saw the other day- that speckled massive eternity.  my eyes follow the breeze and i watch as leaves fall from the trees near by.  because i'm here, now, watching, i see how their shape effects their falling. their descent is purposeful, ordained, unique.  someone is at the spicket, filling a bucket, it sounds like a water fall- murchison falls, the spray and power and movement.  the whole world is moving.  it's not static.  a bird sings. the sun has returned- the flowers are yellow and orange and maroon and crimson and tangerine and magenta- the greens are so many.

in my five minutes of feeling where i am- i'm filled. 
i am reminded of the goodness that surrounds.
i am thankful and blessed by it.
i am happy.  i am at peace.

over coffee and sharing, i saw her mindfulness.  the way she paused when she told of her moments- watching the sun rise over the complete lightless darkness in the village where she lived.  it was valued and appreciated - not resented, not overlooked.  the smile when she recalled the cake she ate on her husbands birthday,  even though it was the day she'd lose her daughter. only someone who openly watched that sunrise, only someone who tasted the richness of that cake and let themselves be swallowed by the joy of that morning- could find it and hold onto it - after it was buried by the greatest loss in life hours later.  she knew.  she knows. the bad, doesn't negate the good. horridness doesn't dissolve beauty.  

we will all experience what we allow ourselves to experience. most of it, is the same. but the depth and the vividness will vary.

she holds so many things- the monkey that visits her porch in the mornings, the garden of her yard- the gift of her family.  sometimes it's the great losses in life that free us to see the small things. sometimes it's the blindsiding that wakes us from our stupor, that pulls us away from the silliness of 'normal'. 

how much we have to give.  how much we have to share and cherish and savor. 
let us tread lightly.
let us be gentle.
but let us wake up and breath deeply and open ourselves to feeling this big life we've been given so it doesn't just flash before us.  let us embrace each other and hold the warmth. let us look longer and  listen carefully, and smile with our eyes.  let us cry together and laugh out loud and hold hands as we walk our paths.