Tag: mindfulness

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Mindfulness Self-care

Variations on a theme from Funk

In A Funk?

I’ve been in a funk the last few weeks.  I don’t know exactly why or what precipitated this state but I’ve felt like I’ve been operating under the radar and feeling out of sorts. I know the news of late has been bleak and the weather has been heavy, thick, cloudy, and hot. All that influenced me, but this “funk” felt deeper than all that.

I’ve lived on this planet long enough to recognize when this is happening. The discipline of meditation and contemplative practices have given me the gift of insight to occasionally look at my situation from a neutral position—like I’m observing as a third party. And on mornings like today, when the air is finally clear, sunny, and bright, my clarity often re-emerges. I find myself looking back at the past but also understanding that the present moment is really all there is.

Living in the moment? Really?

This idea of living in the moment is glibly tossed around by people in my profession, myself included. It has become so buzz-wordy that I find myself using the term yet wondering if I actually understand it. Everybody lives “in the moment”—we have no choice, right? The moment is the moment and when else can we live?

My understanding of the intention behind this idea of living in the present moment is that it requires that we marshal all of our senses and then pay attention to them when we experience them. Don’t I always do that?  Today I’m wondering if the answer to that question is “Maybe not”. Observing my time spent over the last few weeks has given me some insight into this question.  

How I experienced my funk

Things I did during my funk: maintained my daily meditation, devotional, and breathing practices, experimented with water color paints each day, observed that the gold finches are back and they, despite their tiny little squeaky voices, can be gloriously loud.  


The point of playing with watercolors was not to create great art but to play with the medium and see what happened (although I wouldn’t have objected had great art actually emerged). It’s easy to get lost in the moment when playing, and that is a great place to inhabit.

I visited the Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists show at the MIA for a second time.

I dug in the dirt. I watched the final season of Orange is the New Black, prepared beet salad, prepared cucumber salad, prepared lots of dal, millet, and chard. I began drying my prairie sage in my front porch,

The scent of drying prairie sage is amazing. It is a lemony, lily-like scent, not unlike that of ylang-ylang oil. (The pink is echinacea purpurea)

I celebrated the birth of a new born baby and I grieved the deaths of too many innocents. I circle-sang and I finally listened to a segment of my friend Joe’s new Concert Climat CD.

I finally listened to the first piece of this set. The music has a fresh and spontaneous feel and and is well worth experiencing. I’m not sure how you can purchase it–I don’t see it on Amazon. I purchased it via the Septet’s Kickstarter campaign awhile back.

I bicycled downtown, walked in the neighborhood, had lunch with friends. I celebrated birthdays, watched debates with friends, and ate cake. And, tah dah, for the first time ever, I successfully completed a Tuesday Sudoku!  

Proof of my victory over the Tuesday Sudoku. My friend Ryan taught me how to approach the Sudoku back in February and I worked at the Monday puzzle for months. Finally, I was able to graduate to Tuesday!

Why did it take a funk for me to experience all that?

The sun is shining today and I’m energized, am as optimistic as can be expected, and am feeling cheerful. Observing what transpired during my funk makes me I wonder if what I thought of as a “funk” wasn’t really my body’s way of ordering me to pay attention to all my senses, ignore the endless “shoulds”, trust my body, and to just “be present.”  I’m wondering if, like a snake shedding its skin, I’m slowly shedding my layers of “shoulds,”  and emerging refreshed and recharged. Could it be that I’m just not really accustomed to feeling the moment, to being present?

I am considering that maybe living in the present is a process of continual regeneration rather than just a thing. Maybe we all suffer (or have funks) and maybe variations on funks is the whole point. Maybe we are not supposed to function at peak happiness all the time, and maybe redemption from this suffering is found in the simple act of shedding our “should” skins and living in the moment.  And maybe it’s not the answers that provide the insight, but the questions.

It all sounds lofty and feels profound, but it really isn’t. It’s just life. And today I, and everyone else on the planet, will go on with our day-to-day lives and maybe catch glimpses of the present moment. But, no matter the questions or answers,  I’m passing on the Sudoku until next Monday. I don’t want to push my luck.

References: Variations on Funk

There are a variety of different manifestations of funk available to us. Here are two of my favorites:

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Ayurveda Mindfulness Self-care Social Connection

An Anniversary

Celebrate?

Twenty-eight years ago, this week, I thought I had six months left to live.

I learned the startling news on a grueling hot day, not unlike today. I was told by physicians that I had a serious health condition that was probably terminal and that I’d “be awfully lucky” if it was a different condition (as I suggested to the physician it might be). My most vivid memory of that time is riding the clinic elevator, alone, in semi-hysterical tears, medical records in hand, heading out to have my various body parts scanned and prodded. People in the elevator looked at me, sobbing uncontrollably, like they just wished they weren’t there.  I can’t blame them for that.

A few weeks later, after extensive surgery, I discovered I was, in fact, “awfully lucky.” I wasn’t dead, nor was I intact, but I was alive. I was shaken to my core, but I was alive.

Thinking I was going to die, only to discover that, oops, I was right about the “different condition” and I would live on, was a surreal experience. I felt a combination of terror and relief at the idea that I had diagnosed myself more accurately than had those with years of medical training. Later, as I was struggling with what this all meant, I felt guilty that, after being given a death sentence, I didn’t suddenly have a revelation that all things in life were wonderful, nor was I inclined to run down the street proclaiming “I’m alive”, like in the movies. Despite the kindness of friends and loved ones, all I felt for a long time was alone in a confusing trauma. And, I was pissed-off …all the time.

I was confused, alone, conflicted and pissed.

Recovery from that experience took at least a decade and required a great deal of self-examination and reflection. I ruminated over how I ended up in such a difficult situation. I reviewed my past and I how I had approached my health. As I struggled to feel better, I found little support from the conventional medical system. But I persisted—I felt I had no choice. Over time, several key observations became apparent:

Buck Up!

  • I’d been raised in the “buck up” school of health.
  • This “buck up” attitude taught me to not pay attention to my body, mind, or spirit (whatever that was), and, it taught me to not talk about my health with anyone–these things were private matters.
  • The conventional western approach to health did of good job of eliminating the physical manifestation of my issue, once it was out of control,  but had hindered any chance I may have had of dealing with the situation years earlier, when it was not life threatening.
I’d been raised in the “buck up” school of health.

A difficult journey

Since then, I’ve embarked on a journey of discovery that has taken many wild twists and turns and seen setbacks and advances. When I look around now, I feel like I have ascended from the depths and am living a full, exciting, and happy life.  For this life, I can thank traditional Chinese medicine, conventional western medicine, ayurvedic medicine, energy work, body work, Pilates, yoga, reiki, music, painting, many other practices, friends, colleagues, family, strangers, and my own internal resources for supporting me in this turnaround. 

Ascent from the underworld

I haven’t thought about this anniversary in quite a few years and have never acknowledged it out loud (or in print) before. But like all anniversaries, it deserves to be acknowledged and named. And so, I’ll name it Persephone, in celebration of my descent to the underworld and return to the world of the living.

I’ll name it Persephone, in celebration of my descent to the underworld and return to the world of the living.

Categories
Mindfulness Self-care The Spirit

Taking time

Lavender blooms

This morning I discovered that my lavender plant was blooming – just a few little blooms, but blooming nonetheless. Witnessing this filled me with joy: joy of accomplishment, joy of beauty, and joy of the recognition that things take time.

So, why the big deal about two tiny little flowers on a lavender plant? Well, first, lavender is a plant that seems to thrive in all gardens but mine. I’ve been trying to grow lavender since the inception of my current gardens—that would be fourteen years, which feels like a long time.

When I first planted lavender in the ground,  I had visions of the fields of French lavender we see in photos on the web.  Most years I would put a plant in the ground and it would just sit there in the garden; if I was lucky, getting green, if unlucky, turning brown and wasting away. One year, when I was not particularly aware of the lavender, I accidentally dug it out, thinking it was a weed.  So, I was about to give up my dreams of fields of French lavender.

Pretty, but NOT my garden.

Last year I tried growing lavender in a container, where the soil was warmer. I tried it, just, because. To my amazement it survived the summer, but with no blooms. That was ok. I took what I could get.  I brought the pot indoors to my porch over the winter where it was the sole survivor of a suite of plants that couldn’t manage the rather “cool” winter we experienced. I put it back outside in the spring, watered it, fed it, and generally delighted in its mere existence. At one point, I absent-mindedly clipped out some of the lavender leaves for my rosemary potatoes—only to discover I’d clipped the wrong plant!  (I don’t think lavender potatoes are actually a thing).

Just two little bloom on a fourteen year lavender quest.

Then, this morning, after fourteen years of  hitting and missing, I saw two tiny lavender blooms! I nearly fell over. I thought of my mother who loved flowers and reluctantly acknowledged that maybe she was right (yet again) when she suggested I “be patient.”

These days I find patience to be a difficult quality to cultivate. Living in a world that rewards instantaneous results and dismisses patient resolve as “old school” can make me feel like a square peg in a round hole. It can be frustrating to be treated like a relic by simply suggesting  that we “wait and see” what happens.

Brilliant Mind of Edison Lee by John Hambrock, Minneapolis Star Tribune, 6/9/19

But, for a brief moment, the pretty purple flowers reaffirmed my belief in the value to myself and the world of staying present and living in and loving the moment.

In the end, when I look at the lavender,  I understand that we human beings live in a world of which we are a very small piece. And anyone who takes the time to observe this world knows that destruction can happen quickly but growth takes time. And with this observation I can choose to be part of the destruction or part of the growth. For now, I am choosing growth, one tiny bloom at a time.

Anyone who takes the time to observe this world knows that destruction can happen quickly but growth takes time. And with this observation I can choose to be part of the destruction or part of the growth. For now, I am choosing growth, one tiny bloom at a time.

Healing Ground Health Coaching
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Mindfulness Politics of Well-Being Self-care Social Connection The Spirit

Politics: Yes, I’m going there

I’m feeling uplifted today. After watching two extended conversations between potential presidential candidates I am pleased that the counterforces to the current hateful political ideology have chosen to step up and speak out. Finally, people are speaking the truth, out loud and in public, and naming the horrors happening around us every day.

People in my profession, apparently, are not supposed to talk publicly about politics. I guess politics is considered unsavory in a spiritual and mindful profession. This makes no sense to me. If we are all made up a physical body, a subtle (energetic, spiritual) body, and a universal body (as I believe we are, at minimum), then how can we justify ignoring such a significant portion our universal body?  

The Universal Body

The “universe” isn’t just the sky, stars, eternal space, and ethereal energetic forces. The “universe” is also material. It’s our neighbors and the parent searching for their child at the border. The universe is the people sleeping in tents along Hiawatha Avenue and those wandering the earth looking for a place to reestablish their roots. The universe is also the pharma executive, the farmer in the fields, and person serving us our lattes. The universe is the person who rations their insulin. The universe is the trees, water, air, birds, turtles, and even rabbits. The universe includes the men who call themselves President of the United States, Prime Minister of India, and President of Russia. Everything, including ourselves, makes up the universal and we ignore it at our peril.

Gratitude

While watching the debates I felt an upsurge of energy that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The United States has been so laden with hate and anxiety over the last few years that I had begun to wonder if that was all there was left in the material political world. Was the answer to simply ignore the universal and retreat from the material into the spiritual?

Seeing the wide variety of individuals stating their philosophies, visions, and ideas I felt a sense of gratitude for these twenty real people who were willing to take on this huge challenge. I was pleased to see at least one candidate stick her neck out and approach issues from an energetic point of view—love versus hate. I nearly jumped up and kissed the TV when one candidate took on an establishment candidate with ferocity—when she made it personal. Hearing a candidate frame the ultimate universal issue of the climate crisis in honest existential terms made my heart sing. And hearing the words “piss” (“should piss us all off and spur us to action”) and asses (Russia has been laughing their asses off”) in a nationally televised debate made me laugh and reminded me that energetic forces may be realigning but I think they have a sense of humor, and I can still laugh.

Insight

This morning, during my meditation I received a helpful insight. Paul Wellstone, the no-longer-with us, beloved, former senator from Minnesota and political mentor and hero to many of us, showed up (as he does on occasion).  He smiled his honest, crooked smile and reminded me that while politics is a material action, it also embodies the spiritual action of creation, dreaming, and imagination: “In the last analysis, politics is not predictions and politics is not observations. Politics is what we do. Politics is what we do, politics is what we create, by what we work for, by what we hope for and what we dare to imagine.”  

“In the last analysis, politics is not predictions and politics is not observations. Politics is what we do. Politics is what we do, politics is what we create, by what we work for, by what we hope for and what we dare to imagine.”  

Paul Wellstone

Paul reminded me that as much as we want to deny and demonize politics, as something engaged in by the evil “them,” the truth is that ultimately, politics is us. It’s how we choose to organize ourselves at a universal level in this material world and it requires the spiritual self to even start the work.  

Let’s engage in some politics.

Categories
Mindfulness Self-care The Spirit

Recognizing the Sacred

My beloved native prairie garden is thriving. I planted this experiment in the most inhospitable of locations a number of years ago. It occupies a strip about 17 feet long by 2 feet deep between my garage and the city alley. That spot takes a beating every winter, facing snow, salt, snow blowers, snow plows, garbage bins, and shovels. In the summer it only receives afternoon sun and contends with vehicles, dogs, and, people who don’t even notice there is a prairie in their midst.

Little Prairie on the Alley.

I became enamored with prairies a number of years ago when I visited Blue Mounds Minnesota State Park in the south western corner of the state while on a pilgrimage to the family South Dakota grave site. I managed to visit in spring when the park’s prairie was in full bloom. I was so mesmerized by the variety and beauty of flora in the prairie that I never even noticed the bison for which the park is known. I couldn’t walk the relatively small prairie without wondering what it must have been like to see the vast mid North American continent before domestic agriculture turned the land into a chemical waste dump.

  • Prairie smoke, one of the original plantings, is an early bloomer.
  • I saw cacti in the Blue Mounds prairie and was inspired.

Leave it alone

I’ve learned that the trick for helping a native prairie thrive (once it’s established) is to just leave it alone. Fertilizer will kill it. So, I try to follow directions and just let it be (although I do some weeding of random invaders, pick up the trash that appears, and add plants periodically). This year, the two newcomer plants (planted last year) are thriving: the sacred prairie sage is glorious and the life-giving milkweed is doing just fine, thank you.

  • This milkweed is a newcomer. I bought it at the Bloomington Garden Club plant sale last year. Once they get established, milkweeds are pretty self-sufficient members of the prairie community.
  • Prairie Sage is considered sacred by the native peoples of this continent. This was the first plant entrusted to the care of humans by the creator.

Once, a few years ago, when I was cleaning out the prairie, a distant neighbor asked me “why bother?” to work on a garden on the alley in a city. I was stunned. All I could sputter out was “because it’s beautiful!” He just glared at me and walked away. I felt sad for that guy.  

The world is an ugly place these days, there is no doubt about it. I cannot ignore the ugliness or suffering will increase astronomically and I will be complicit. At the same time, I cannot ignore the sacred and beautiful or I will lose my sense of purpose. And without purpose, the question, “Why bother?” becomes a valid question with no answer.

I cannot not ignore the sacred and beautiful or I will lose my sense of purpose. And without purpose, the question, “Why bother?” becomes a valid question with no answer.

Categories
Self-care Social Connection

Finding Grace

Memorial Day, for me, has traditionally signified the blissful start of summer. I look forward to it every year—the inauguration of long days at the local swimming pool and late nights playing four-square out on the street. That feeling has never left me over all the time I’ve been on this planet.

This year, up in the north country, we were treated to a dreary, wet, cloudy, and rainy start to the season of bliss. In short, Memorial Day was looking like it was going to be a bummer for me this year. It started out with a headache. As the day ground on, it evolved into an unexpected plumbing “situation” involving a very plugged drain.  

Being the self-sufficient single gal that I think I am, I was determined to “fix” the situation. This involved a plunger, drain cleaner,  and a “snake”—a long coiled cable that was going to drill down to the problem and solve it. I visited Menards in a rain storm to pick out my new snake. I settled for the twenty-five-footer…it sounded like a good in-between number. I then set to work.

Four hours later, I had plunged, snaked, and drain-cleaned myself into a frenzy of expectation. “Just one more plunge” would solve the problem! With each snake and plunge cycle my expectations grew, only to be dashed on the rocks by the sludgy water sitting there taunting me while not receding one iota. Finally, I gave up. I was done, summer was ruined (if it ever arrived at all), my plumbing was hopeless and would cost me a fortune to fix,  if it could ever be salvaged, and I’d have to live in a rain-soaked, over saturated, cloudy planet that, to top it off, was burning up and flooding at the same time!

As I pondered my pathetic plight, I decided that despite the catastrophic state of my world, I could not go to bed smelling of drain cleaner and sludge. Even I have my limits.

It was then that I had  one of those delightful moments of clarity. Out of the blue, on the first night of my summer, I decided to call a friend to see if I could shower at her house. Everything got better.

Of course she said “Come on over!”  I did. I took my shower, socialized, laughed, went home, and slept well that night. The drain got fixed the next morning by a pro (referred to me by my friend). Then, the clouds cleared, the sun emerged, and the sky was suddenly blue. I could breathe again.

I believe that cultivating meaningful social connections may be my most important life task.

As I reflect on this experience I see how my expectations for a perfect start to summer generated an unhealthy stress response, which clouded my rational thinking and lead me to forget (or ignore) that plumbing is not my forte (and probably never will be).

I am reminded of the significance of social connection in our lives and how it can break through the stress vortex that we all find ourselves in from time-to-time.  There is no question about it, we’re wired for social connection. We require it to stay healthy and without it, we, and the rest of the world, suffer (Holt-Lunstad, Smith, Baker, Harris, & Stephenson, 2015).

I believe that cultivating meaningful social connections may be my most important life task. By injecting this fundamental principle into my life I was able to break through my stress response and begin to celebrate the moment.

And that, my friends, is grace.

 

Social Connections
Social Connections Matter

References

Holt-Lunstad, J., Smith, T. B., Baker, M., Harris, T., & Stephenson, D. (2015). Loneliness and Social Isolation as Risk Factors for Mortality: A Meta-Analytic Review. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 10(2), 227–237. https://doi.org/10.1177/1745691614568352