Tread across any terrain, any darkness, and stop. Kneel down by the creek. Your hands comb over the cool moss on the ground and you do nothing else other than feel and hear and see. Take it all in. Curiosity absent any agenda.
Might our senses offer more capacity for Knowing than fickle and capricious thoughts?
It's an ongoing lifetime education for any of us bold or foolish enough to sit in the teacher's seat — learning to look at a room full of differently 'posed' bodies. With instruction cues focused less on the gross outer forms and more on the imperative to breathe into harmonious, liberating alignment from the inside out.
It's temping, common, and understandable that in the closing days of 2020, our attention and conversation revolves around overwhelming evidence of disunity. Yet we're bound together not only by common wounds, but also by the brief, indispensable mercies that can appear out of nowhere when we need them most.
I scored a dreamy, old, dog-eared, and fragile-faded-pages first edition copy of the book for under $2 online. There's romance in well worn used books, especially library gems with those manila pocket inserts into which hand-stamped due date cards sit frozen in pre-Kindle era time. It's the finest winter mindfulness reading investment I've made in years.
It can go goes like this. You sneak some overdue down time in a pastoral setting away from the rat race and move deep into your practice morning and night. Soon, you're homeward bound — renewed and inspired to commit to sustaining this healthy momentum. Because why not feel this heavenly all of the time or at least more of the time?
Very few of us are ready to surrender the benefits of technology and the conveniences from carrying a pocket-sized supercomputer. I heart my Waze app and I appreciate how Spotify algorithms turn me on to great music I'd otherwise miss. But many of us could do with more awareness of what the digital barrier between ourselves and the real world does to our well being. So we can manage it intelligently.
If I had a dime for every friend, student, colleague, family member, barista, organ grinder, or grocery cashier that replies, "I can't even . . . " to the question, "So how's it going?" I'd have enough dimes to buy a couple bags of luxury ice cubes or make a serious dent in someone's college loan debt.
