Planting the seeds of intention

It's New Year's Eve (and my daughter's birthday; our little tax deduction!); traditionally a time for all to set intentions for the year to come.  So it should come as no surprise that my reading this morning in  After the Ecstasy, the Laundry included this passage about intentions:

"Over decades of difficulties, as a political and spiritual leader and a worldwide exemplar of nonviolence, the Dalai Lama has had to make wrenching decisions for his nation and his people.  He admits that sometimes he is not sure his decisions are the best ones, that sometimes he has made mistakes.  

"The only thing I can rely on," he explains, "is my sincere motivation."  His heart's motivation is to foster compassion and liberation as best he can in each act.  He takes refuge in the seed of intention behind his acts.  By one's planting seeds of goodness, eventually something beautiful grows."

We who carry the hope for a better world are often overwhelmed by a sense of failure, and by the lack of obvious successes.  So it is reassuring, as we look back over the year that has been and set intentions for the year to come, to remember that we can take refuge in the seeds of intention that lie behind our choices for the year. 

And if your past intentions have been more about losing weight, eating less, and exercising than about learning compassion and working on behalf of all beings, just know this: it's never too late to begin.  As Jack Kornfeld concludes after those words from the Dalai Lama,

"When we see with wisdom the heavy press of time, the responsibility for all things is transformed.  We find perspective, a long view.  We are not in charge.  In our relationships, in our community, on this earth, we may not live to see all the changes we work for -- we are the planters of seeds.  When the seeds of our actions are caring and sincere, we can know that they will bear nourishing fruit for all beings.  

No matter what has passed, we can begin again.  We can only begin now, where we are, and it is this now that becomes the seed for all that lies ahead.  Our responsibility, our creativity, is all that is asked.  With such sincere motivation, we will naturally ask wise questions and offer true care, tending what we love with a far-reaching wisdom.  This is the long-term tending of a farmer for his orchard, a parent for a child....It grows naturally out of a committed life of spiritual dedication."

So as you set your intentions tonight and tomorrow for the year to come -- even if your foremost concern is to lose the ten pounds you put on eating this year's holiday goodies -- remember it is not too late to begin also to work for compassion, to intentionally and consciously pray that all beings might benefit from our work and our gifts.

As Pema Chodron says:

"Breathing in, breathing out, feeling resentful, feeling happy, being able to drop it, not being able to drop it, eating our food, brushing our teeth, walking, sitting -- whatever we're doing could be done with one intention. That intention is that we want to wake up, we want to ripen our compassion, and we want to ripen our ability to let go, we want to realize our connection with all beings. Everything in our lives has the potential to wake us up or to put us to sleep. Allowing it to awaken us is up to us."

Shining the searchlight

When I was a child in Cincinnati, my parents used to take me with them to their bowling league practices on Tuesday nights.  It was a long drive -- the bowling alley was way on the other side of town -- and (since these were the days before seat belts) I would lie down in the back seat on the way home and watch the stars and the city lights go by.

One of the things that used to fascinate me was the searchlights they'd set up at the car dealerships; their big beams sweeping across the sky, crossing and circling in the darkness up above.  I think that's what this image reminded me of when it caught my eye this morning.

Childhood -- the early years, anyway -- can be such a time of mystery and magic: there's still so much we don't understand -- and we are so much more content to just appreciate the mystery of it.

When is it that control becomes an issue?  When did we decide we needed, not only to understand, but to convince others that our understanding is the correct one?  At what point do we lose the joy of "batting around ideas"?

Hmm.  Maybe that's what's wrong with me -- I haven't quite grown up yet: I'm still so curious; so eager to shine the searchlight, to sweep the sky looking for invitation and meaning...

Patience

Hmm.

This is what I pulled up for a photo today.  But I didn't get a chance to meditate this morning, so some part of me is resisting writing about it; I even wondered if maybe it was meant for the poetry blog, not for this one.

But of course the messages I've been getting lately have all been about persistence, rootedness, groundedness, going the distance, staying the course... and here it's clear that however small and light they are, the roots, and the natural determination of them, are winning out over the manmade obstacles placed in their path.

It's funny, you know: I never used to be a quitter.  I stayed in my first marriage LONG past the point where I should have bailed, hoping against hope that something I could do might change things.  And though I don't regret that -- mostly because I KNEW beyond all shadow of a doubt when I left that there were no other choices left to me -- and I'm grateful that it taught me to say no, I do sometimes wonder if now I may be too quick to walk away from things that don't appear to be working out.

Not that I can really think of any recent examples of that; it's more a feeling than an actual experience.  But still -- I've been feeling pretty discouraged lately, about any number of things (though, please, on so many levels life is good; this is not me begging for sympathy, just stating a fact).  Perhaps this image is just telling me to trust; that there are seeds planted that have not yet borne fruit, but it doesn't mean that growth is not occurring.  It's just not so visible right now.

And that's okay.  There need to be fallow seasons, seasons of rest and renewal.  And that which we know as growth and light WILL return.  Patience, my friends.  Patience...

Exercising those compassion muscles

Graffiti looks pretty much the same, no matter where it is displayed or what the nationality is.  This one, from Naples, seems little different from anything I'm likely to find in Seattle, apart from the more obviously italianate words an phrases.

Love looks pretty much the same everywhere, as well -- though I did notice that the young lovers in Italy were FAR more public in their displays of affection  than I'm used to seeing.  Love, pain, friendship, loss -- these are the universal human experiences that cut across the range of cultures, races, and religious beliefs; these are the things we share with pretty much every human being we're likely to encounter.

These are also the experiences that drive the behaviors we find endearing and frustrating in the people around us.  I read a story today in After the Ecstasy, the Laundry about a military man in a hurry who stood in line at the grocery store behind a woman with a baby and a single package to check out. 

He tried hard to talk her into entering the express line, but she seemed determined to stay, and even slowed things down further by handing her baby to the checkout girl, who hugged it tightly and cooed over it as if it were her own.  The man grew extremely irritated; it was as if these people were deliberately slowing him down.

It was only after the woman left with the baby that he learned that the she was the checkout girl's mom, that the baby was her daughter's; that the checkout girl's husband had been an airforce pilot, killed in action, and her mom was watching her baby girl during the day so she could work.  And then, of course, he berated himself for his impatience.

It seems to me that upon closer examination we almost always learn the same thing: that the person who is bugging us -- for whatever reason -- is human, and probably has some perfectly good reason why they're doing whatever it is that irritates us.  Sometimes, of course, those reasons may be deeply buried in past experiences, and challenging to articulate.  But still -- it's probably best to assume that if we knew their story, it would be far easier to understand their actions.

Which seems to me to be a good place to begin if we are going to get more intentional about practicing compassion.  If someone is driving you crazy today, try to imagine what their story might be; what might be driving their odd behaviors.  It might make it easier to be patient; it might help strengthen your compassion muscles; and it might even exercise your imagination in a way that could improve ALL your mental processes...

Time to become a cup

One of the best parts of grad school is the joy of finding kindred spirits, fellow travelers to share the journey.  I got to spend yesterday afternoon with one of those fellow travelers, who brought some new perspectives across the Sound with him, in the form of Tarot cards.

Though the day was a bit broken up because I had a Schola Nova rehearsal and performance (which he kindly attended), he did find time to read my Tarot for me, and it was quite illuminating. 

I won't go into the details, but the issue of balance definitely came up again (no surprises there) and the reading clarified some current patterns in my life, so when I was given the luxury of a long meditation period this morning, I could take the time to reflect on the issues that were raised, the pieces of my life that are presently out of balance, and how I might work toward getting them stabilized, and getting myself more grounded.

It helped that the last thing I read before heading into meditation were these lovely words from Rumi:

You say you can't create something original?

Don't worry about it.

Make a cup of clay so your brother can drink.

Those words, combined with the Tarot reading, allowed me to see that I've been feeling/acting rather driven this past year, and I think it may have been a mix of things -- the pressure of my husband's unemployment,  and the transition into my sixties -- that threw me off balance.  I think I may have lost sight of a couple of things -- that it is enough to be me, and that it is more important to love, and to share, than it is to "live into my potential."

I suspect some part of me was trying to step up to the plate financially, hoping that I could somehow find a way to contribute to the family coffers by exploring creative possibilities.  At the same time something in me sees that life is growing shorter; sort of a biological clock, not for baby-making, but for creativity, for being a conduit for whatever needs to be born through me before I depart this life.  

Which is not to say I'm not pleased with my labors -- it was a bit of a banner year, that way (I was actually surprised when, in response to my blogsister Joyce's post on Peaceful Legacies, I listed out the year's accomplishments) -- but only that I feel a need to step back, to relax, to accept, to release, and to enjoy the blessings that are here and now.

I'm hoping that just by being more conscious about that, and about the strain all this relentless productivity has put on me, my time, and my relationships, that things will shift back into more balance.  But mostly I just need to be able to really SEE that it's all good, rather than just SAYING that.  I think it's time to return my fingers and my feet to the earth, to feel the clay and mold it simply; to become a cup -- and no more -- so my brother can drink.

In search of balance

Today, in  After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, I'm reading about the inevitability of feelings and emotions, and the importance of acknowledging them.  It seems like pretty obvious stuff on one level, but at another deeper level it really resonates for me this morning.

So I decided to just sit a bit and think about what I'm feeling, what I want, what calls to me.  I didn't come up with anything revelational or earthshaking, but I have to say it was very refreshing to just pay attention to me, to listen to me... no decisions required, just a willingness to be present to myself, open to possibilities.

After that I came to my computer to see what might be wanting to be posted today, and this was the image that sang to me.  I suspect it has to do with all the dark, and the red and green that are so prevalent during this season; something in me is hungering for a different color scheme, and for light.

Isn't that interesting, to think that if we listen to our bodies, they might be always seeking balance?  It makes me think of an article my husband sent me yesterday, about patients who were knowingly given placebos and told about the placebo effect.  "People in the placebo arm of the trial got better—clinically, measurably, significantly better—on standard scales of symptom severity and overall quality of life. In fact, the volunteers in the placebo group experienced improvement comparable to patients taking the actual drug... Scientists believe the remarkable findings are the result of the body's "powerful self-healing network," which can be activated by "nothing more or less than a belief that one is receiving effective treatment."

To me, the odd curiosity that after weeks of exposure to red and green my body hungers for blue and yellow is another sign of that "powerful self-healing network," one of the many gifts we encounter if we take the time to pay attention.   I suppose that means that at some level I am equating healing with balance... but still, might that not mean that, whatever is troubling you, belief -- that it will pass, that it will heal, that you are being loved and cared for -- could bring you a long way toward healing?  And that part of belief is a willingness to listen to what your body wants and needs? What a wonderful testament to faith -- and doesn't that mean that it doesn't really matter if there is or is not a God; what matters is whether or not you believe?

Hmm.  I think there's a lot of juice in this; lots of places we could take this.  But at the very least, it's certainly something to ponder...

PS: After I wrote this post, I sat down for coffee and opened John Welwood's Toward a Psychology of Awakening (given to me yesterday as a Christmas present by a dear friend) and the very first page of the introduction says, "Spiritual practice, when cut off from the rich feeling-textures of personal life, can become dry and remote, just as personal life becomes narrow and confining when cut off from the fresh breezes of spiritual realization...we need to find new ways of integrating spiritual wisdom into our personal lives if we are to meet the great challenges we face heading into the new millennium."

So there you go: pay attention to feelings!  Balance personal life and spiritual life!  Oh, boy -- so much work to be explored!

Merry Christmas!

Behold,

a virgin shall conceive

and bear a son,

and his name shall be called Emmanuel,

which means "God With Us."

 Matthew 1:23

May God be with you this day, and in all your days to come --

Merry Christmas!

(PS: Here's what I woke up to this morning...)