Today has been lovely.
Saturday morning crept in under clouds and fog, barely announcing her sunlight. We woke late and barely got a chance to say good morning before Marcos rushed off to work. In spite of this harried start, my morning was slow and luscious. While the coffee brewed I rolled out my mat and did a few rounds of sun salutes to ring in the new day. It felt good to move and stretch. It felt, in a way, like meeting my body for the first time. Joints creaked who used to be silent, muscles that used to move, didn't. I thought, that this is the goal, to great my body every day anew, acknowledging it as an ever changing, growing thing.
Taking my mug and a blanket round my shoulders, I meditated. That sounds so stilted, "I meditated." Id rather say "I breathed." Up till now I've been consciousness of the mindfulness principles, and my focus has been on being present in all things. I try to apply this when I'm doing dishes, cleaning the litter box, driving in rushour on the I-5. I have come to the conclusion, however, that to attempt to integrate this practice without first setting aside time to really JUST practice is hard. Its hard to be mindful while scooping a stinky cat box. Its hard to be mindful when someone cuts you off. I need to set aside a time where I can just meditate; I need to reset my baseline.
I've been reluctant to do this. Mainly because it, also, is difficult. It involves waking up earlier. Which will probably mean that I, instead of my husband, will be the one to have to run downstairs and pay for parking in the morning. I've been reluctant because I'm lazy. I'm think I should, probably, I guess, challenge that. Today was my first day challenging that. It was great.
After all this I met up with a friend and we walked in the mist and drizzle to the Lan Su Gardens. We meandered through various covered walks and mahogany alcoves and oohed and aahed at interesting rock formations and Japanese maples without their leaves. We pondered at mystery water plants and, as textile fanatics, swooned over the patterns made with rocks and moss in the different courtyards. Almost bewildered, we kept commenting on how everything was beautiful and new from every angle. The gardens were not sparse, they were spacious. There was breathing room. Every plant and stone had its moment in the spotlight, without any need to compete.
Saturday morning crept in under clouds and fog, barely announcing her sunlight. We woke late and barely got a chance to say good morning before Marcos rushed off to work. In spite of this harried start, my morning was slow and luscious. While the coffee brewed I rolled out my mat and did a few rounds of sun salutes to ring in the new day. It felt good to move and stretch. It felt, in a way, like meeting my body for the first time. Joints creaked who used to be silent, muscles that used to move, didn't. I thought, that this is the goal, to great my body every day anew, acknowledging it as an ever changing, growing thing.
Taking my mug and a blanket round my shoulders, I meditated. That sounds so stilted, "I meditated." Id rather say "I breathed." Up till now I've been consciousness of the mindfulness principles, and my focus has been on being present in all things. I try to apply this when I'm doing dishes, cleaning the litter box, driving in rushour on the I-5. I have come to the conclusion, however, that to attempt to integrate this practice without first setting aside time to really JUST practice is hard. Its hard to be mindful while scooping a stinky cat box. Its hard to be mindful when someone cuts you off. I need to set aside a time where I can just meditate; I need to reset my baseline.
I've been reluctant to do this. Mainly because it, also, is difficult. It involves waking up earlier. Which will probably mean that I, instead of my husband, will be the one to have to run downstairs and pay for parking in the morning. I've been reluctant because I'm lazy. I'm think I should, probably, I guess, challenge that. Today was my first day challenging that. It was great.
After all this I met up with a friend and we walked in the mist and drizzle to the Lan Su Gardens. We meandered through various covered walks and mahogany alcoves and oohed and aahed at interesting rock formations and Japanese maples without their leaves. We pondered at mystery water plants and, as textile fanatics, swooned over the patterns made with rocks and moss in the different courtyards. Almost bewildered, we kept commenting on how everything was beautiful and new from every angle. The gardens were not sparse, they were spacious. There was breathing room. Every plant and stone had its moment in the spotlight, without any need to compete.
This one ^^ was called "Plum Blossoms on Cracked Ice.
I couldn't find the title for this courtyard, but it made me
feel like church, or sanctuary. Without the baggage.
We ordered tea without ceremonies, which I somewhat
regret at this point. I sipped a green tea who's aroma is rather
floral, and it is said that is thanks to the cimbidium orchids
that grow round the trees in the spring time. I've never felt fancier.
April ordered Frozen Summit. It was either that, or fire dragon, she
said. A few nights ago she dreamt of the word "fortitude" and he tea
options were fitting of this word, that dream, I think.
The tea house was the tallest building in the gardens, full of windows
who's shutters were cut with elaborate twining vines and knots. It was not
quiet. It was rather full of people discussing their tea choices, of boisterous
children who, while being officially welcomed, had spent the whole morning
in a place not really organized for their little feet and big energies. But it
felt quiet. The room sounded well lit and like dark wood. It sounded slow.
Time got away from us, and halfway through tea April had to dash to work.
I finished her Oolong and ordered myself some cakes. I drank our tea slowly.
I breathed slowly. I chewed slowly. I was in the moment and no where else.
The walk home was brisk, in pace and temperature. My body felt good, lungs
and heart both capable. I felt space inside my body. That rarely happens.
This has been like the long stretch of blank highway, and suddenly coming
across the marker that you've been waiting for; you're on the right road, you didn't
take a wrong turn at the gas station.
Something touched me deeply here. Perhaps it was the simplicity and the ornateness, both occurring simultaneously without contradicting or overwhelming each other. Or maybe it was the spaciousness of the gardens, the luxury of breathing room afforded every tree and shrub and stone. Something felt familiar and distant. I am incoherent in explaining it, and yet there is no other way to explain it.
Walking home I repeated over and over "Peace is every step." I knew, without dwelling, that things had changed. I have too many things, and nothing can breathe, I knew. I've begun putting this in boxes. I've routed the way to shelters and worthy causes. I know I have been blessed beyond measure. I know I will always have what I need, so I don't need to hoard these blessings. I can let them come, then I can let them go. So I will let them go, like water into soil, like dandelion spores on the wind, with wild abandon.
-A.H.
(an aside, peace is every step is a reference to Thich Nhat Hanh's book with the same title.)
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