Awaken Engage

The breath has received so much attention in recent years that it is almost becoming white noise.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know. I just need to take a deep breath. Great. I got it.”

But knowing about breathing and the benefits of breathing doesn’t do anybody any real good unless they actually become intentional about breathing. As Eckhart Tolle says, “Intellectual agreement is just another belief that won’t make much difference to your life. To realize this truth, you need to live it” (The Power of Now, p. 71).

I’m not going to spend any time on all of the various breathing methods. There are many. And they are worth learning and practicing and experimenting with to the point that they become automatic.

But if I could give you one piece of advice, it would simply be this:

When you can’t remember what it is that you’re supposed to remember, just take a deep breath in and a deep breath out. In reality, it doesn’t matter all that much in that moment how you take that breath, other than deeply. You’ll be taking it in deeper than the shallow chest-breathing that most of us do most of the time, which is just the type of breathing that sends signals to our nervous system that something isn’t quite right, which then creates a feedback loop of “not-quite-right” that has us tied in anxious knots and never really feeling like we rest.

A deep breath changes this whole phenomena and almost instantly begins the process of creating a new feedback loop that changes which chemicals are released into your blood stream, the dosage of those chemicals, and opens up parts of the brain that are associated with resting, relaxing, rehabilitating, creative thinking, wise action, etc., which then affect the whole sense of being in the body, which then sends more relaxing “at-ease” messages into the nervous system and reinforces that it’s okay, you’re okay, and gives you access to a whole new level of inspiration, problem-solving, wisdom, and action that are hard to find (if not impossible) in a state of constant anxiety and stress.

You don’t need a lot of knowledge. In fact, our thinking minds can’t get us out of the anxiety that is caused by the thinking minds. If so, there are enough smart folks who would have figured out how to be at ease just by thinking about it; but they’re not. They’re stressed and anxious, constantly spinning, and searching for one thing after another that will give them just a bit of respite.

If you can just take a deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. Let it be slow and let it be smooth. Maybe lengthen the exhalation a bit longer than the inhalation.

If you can keep this up for a bit, you’ll notice your body feeling very different. It really has no choice.

If you notice your thinking mind come online with the list of problems that should be making you anxious, notice your breath. Usually, the breath returns to the short, chest-breathing pattern that then sends the nervous system into a state of heightened alertness again.

Just come back to breathing deeply.

It’s hard.

Damn hard sometimes.

But it is the simplest and most immediate way to get your life back if you feel like you’re losing it to an anxious mind.

You might need medication just to get to a place where you can feel enough relief to even take those early deep breaths. I don’t know.

I just know that when I can’t figure it out, my body knows, and specifically my breath knows the way. Breathing in deeply, I receive. Breathing out deeply, I give. Breathing in deeply, I welcome. Breathing out deeply, I let go.

It’s simple. Not easy.

But I guarantee that if you develop a practice of noticing your breath and deepening it throughout the day, your life will change for the better.

Breath is life.

One of my students recently asked what I do when I find myself activated and can’t remember what to do. What a wonderful question. My response: “What do I do when I can't remember what to do? I breathe. Sometimes, that is all I can remember and it often feels really difficult to take a deep breath when fear is present. But, I know that it will help. A few deep breaths (sometimes more than a few) in and out allows my nervous system to calm down and then I begin to get access to the problem-solving mind where other strategies, wise action, etc. are embedded.”

The benefit of recovering from a brain injury is learning that we are not our thinking minds, particularly when the parts of our brains that are responsible for language and executive function are impaired. At that point, logic isn’t going to get you far. But the breath always brings you home. I experienced this over and over and over.

The breath brings us home.

Yeah. It’s a fad. It’s white noise. It’s easy to dismiss and look for the next thing.

And it’s your most powerful tool for transforming your life and one you have direct contact with and control over if you want it.

Don’t think about it.

Try it.

And feel it. 

And experiment with it.

And try it lots of times in lots of different parts of your day. When you wake up, when brush your teeth, when you walk to your car, when you climb the stairs, when you go to the bathroom, when you are sitting at a meeting at work, when you are eating lunch, when you are texting, when you are scrolling social media, when you are watching your favorite show. Try it. Practice. Feel it. And watch what happens.

Peace

I intentionally slept in this morning because of a late night last night and a very full week.

Because I slept in, I had to go straight from sleep to being “on” for getting Sophia up and ready for school and the whole routine that requires me to be awake and alert.

I’m usually up for a couple of hours before anyone in the house even thinks about stirring. My routines and practices during that time in the morning have been a mainstay in my recovery and continued progress. I forgot just how much of a difference that they make.

Not only was I not awake and alert today. I felt like crap.

I haven’t felt that poorly for a long time. Migraine-y, lethargic, confused, dazed, dizzy.

I took Iris for a walk in the foothills and noticed that I was feeling the way that I often used to feel during some of the really rough years of recovery.

So, I cut the walk short so I could get in the ice bath and do my morning routine before heading into the office to see clients.

I had just enough time to make it all happen and as soon as I hit the ice bath, I realized that my intuition was not leading me astray.

I felt a wave of calm and clarity and a sense of grounding that had been missing earlier.

Once out of the ice bath, I incorporated a number of techniques I learned from a functional neurologist to find where there was disequilibrium and then bring it back into balance.

By the time I was on my bike and headed into the office, I felt vibrant and alert and full of vitality. Nervous system reset.

This continued with me throughout most of the day until around 3 p.m. when I noticed symptoms popping up that are signs that I need to slow way down, limit incoming stimuli, and listen very carefully to what the body/mind complex needs.

So, I actually did slow down, I did limit stimuli, I did listen, and I did ask for help and was able to relegate several duties that I’m usually performing to other family members.

To say that this is a cosmic shift (from the pre-TBI years) in how I relate to myself and others would be an understatement, but it is one of the gifts of these now-many years of recovery.

Instead of trying to push through and getting way worse, I spent time outside in the dirt, lying in the sun for a bit, mowing the lawn, chatting with neighbors on the stoop, setting up our back yard, weeding, and organizing our patio as the sun set. All things that are energizing and life-giving.

And now I’m finishing the day tired, but not worse. In fact, I’m better. I’m working through symptoms in a wise and responsive way instead of trying to fight them off and reacting in a manner that increases both my suffering and the suffering all those around me.

I am practicing the practice.

The hardest part of this practice for me is when I feel like I am making others’ lives harder (particularly my wife) by asking for help. It has take a long time to be okay with other people helping even when they have to sacrifice something to do so. I am really willing to do this on my end, but I don’t like “putting people out.” In fact, the feeling of seeing someone struggle to do the thing I was supposed to be doing has been enough to push my buttons of reactivity and then I re-engage to try to keep them from being uncomfortable.

Well, that’s a rough cycle to be part of and I am learning that sometimes our lives do inconvenience others and sometimes our conditions in life do make life harder for those we love.

To fight it is to really increase our own suffering and the suffering of those trying to help.

What I can do is honor the body and mind and to express gratitude for the sacrifices being made.

I’d still rather be the one making the sacrifice. I find that a lot easier.

But there is a lesson here and a part of me that needs to grow in the wisdom of surrender and humility and gratitude.

I have much to learn, far to go, more to grow.

But I am practicing the practice and I am seeing the fruit of many small steps over a long period of time.

Many thanks to all those who have supported me. I hope I can express my gratitude in a way that is meaningful and communicate how much it means to me. And I also hope to be able to shoulder more and more of the load when it is my turn.

Peace

This week is as full of a week as I have had since resuming vocational life. Over these years of recovery, we have been careful to add things to my plate one by one so that we can avoid symptomatic triggers and lengthy regressions. This has been a long and intentional process and there is still much work to be done to come back “online” fully.

I could see this week coming and Monday evening - on a walk with Noah and the dog - I found myself feeling anxiety around whether or not I would have what it takes to meet my commitments and show up fully to each one without sending myself into a spiral. I was mentally preparing for a class that would be happening in less than an hour, thinking about the work that I would need to do after the class to prepare for Tuesday’s teaching at the university, trying to remember if I had gotten all the paperwork back from a counseling client I would be seeing on Wednesday morning, remembering several tasks I needed to follow up on for later in the week, wondering if I had the right parking code to give our guest speaker for Thursday’s class, creating a marketing plan for the two spots that just opened up in my May retreat, and on and on and on.

I was getting quite worked up and wishing I was just back at the house so I could get some of my to-do list finished, when I realized that Noah was talking and that I had no idea what he was talking about. I had probably asked him a question but I was in rumination mode and his voice had been completely replaced by the one shouting in my head and making sure I didn’t enjoy my walk.

My first reaction was to feel bad about not paying attention to Noah and my next reaction was to go right back to all the reasons I needed to be paying attention to all the things that really, really needed my attention.

At least, that was the story the thinking mind was spinning.

Luckily, we were walking outside and it is spring in Boise and that means that all the things that have been gray and dead-like since late October are now beginning to come back to life and flourish with color.

We happened to be walking under a small tree lining the sidewalk and the limbs were low enough to almost require me to duck. As I approached them, I noticed the green leaves growing on the tree. They were just getting started and far from being fully developed, but they were there.

And as I looked at them, I noticed that a breeze was blowing them back and forth and I felt its cool kiss against my skin, and then I noticed that beyond the tree leaves was a blue sky with white fluffy clouds just hovering overhead, and then I felt the warmth of the sun on my face, and then I felt a great and deep breath fill my lungs, and then I felt like I was just completely absorbed in the moment and that there was really no place and time I could be or rather be other than the one right there and then, walking alongside my son and our dog.

And it was all okay.

The mind’s voice grew very soft and slow, I felt a smile in my heart, and I felt content, very content to be just where I was, knowing that I would be just where I needed to be with all those tasks when I needed to be. Later.

I returned my attention to Noah, let him know that I had taken a mental detour, and asked if he would begin again so that I could pay proper attention to the history of pre-industrial Japan and the historical trends of romanticizing the past in such a way that we create representations that are often far more radical and fanatical than the original.

Fascinating.

All of it.

Peace

This morning, as I began to make my way from dreamland to the fully waking state, I found myself mentally getting ready for the morning routine: wake up, yoga nidra, breathwork, body sensing, sitting meditation, ice bath, stretches, exercise, yoga, spend time with kids, take kids to school, walk dog, etc…

As I was going through the mental paces, I heard my body say, “Be gentle with me, today.”

It was such a tender and yet firm message.

In the past, I have often ignored messages like this if they go against my plans and goals. 


In fact, I probably didn’t even consciously recognize the voice of my body for most of my life.

This morning, it meant refraining from my planned physical activity and instead just sitting on the sofa upstairs with a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

Right now it means honoring the simplicity of life and the confidence that come as we move from living as unconscious servants of reactive “doing” to conscious Being(s) who responsively monitor and direct all doing.

And right now it means not too many words because there is an eclipse about to happen and I will stand in sun and moon-shadow for some time and just be with it all in silence.

Thanks for the reminder, Mary Oliver:

“April”

I wanted to speak at length about


the happiness of my body and the


delight of my mind for it was


April, night, a

full moon and --

but something in myself or maybe


from somewhere other said: not too


many words, please, in the

muddy shallows the

frogs are singing.

Mary Oliver, from Swan: Poems and Prose Poems, Beacon Press.

Peace

I am unashamedly stealing a title from a Mary Oliver poem of the same name. I find her poetry to be suited just perfectly for anyone healing from anything and for anyone wanting to live more abundantly and authentically.

Whenever I come across her poetry, I so often feel known in the un-said parts of my life.

The World I Live In - Mary Oliver

I have refused to live 


locked in the orderly house of 


reasons and proofs. 


The world I live in and believe in 


is wider than that. And anyway, 


what's wrong with Maybe?

You wouldn't believe what once or 


twice I have seen. I'll just 


tell you this: 


only if there are angels in your head will 


you ever, possibly, see one.

Over the weekend, Emily’s dad (Mike) and I spent the early mornings talking in the kitchen over cups full of coffee, minds whirling with ideas, and hearts brimming with love.

It is hard to express the affection I have for him. I can’t really.

Like my dearest friends and family, he is close to me in a way that no one else is. I feel uniquely seen and heard and known in him, if that makes sense.

Not “by” him.

But “in” him.

I am being prepositionally intentional.

“In” him is the closest I can get to the feeling I have with others like Emily, my mom, my dad, and several dear friends who hold me in their hearts in such a way that they mirror things about who I am that I often do not even yet know.

The world I live in, in their hearts, is a wide and spacious world where I get to be inspired by their belief in a me that might not yet exist.

I hope you have had this sense of being known by another. The feeling that you are so loved and so honored and so carried in the heart of another that they are not quite who they are without you and you are not quite who you are without them. The feeling that they believe you are better than you are, smarter than you are, funnier than you are, wiser than you are, kinder than you are. As you are.

And, somehow, I be-come what it is that these loved and lovely and love-Ones are seeing. Just as “Only if there are angels in your head will you ever, possibly, see one” so it seems true that we have something to do with shaping the quality of the relationships we are in by the space we give them to exist in our minds and hearts.

This is a mystery.

I don’t claim to understand it at all. I know some of the psychological terms that could be applied, but they would just ruin it and reduce it to an “orderly house of reason and proofs” that, at best, sort of name what it is I am saying and experiencing but vaporize after that.

Around mid-morning today, I invited Mike to do a sweat in the sweat lodge with me. I really stoked the fire and let the rocks glow deeply before we entered. Upon entering, we were instantly perspiring and feeling our skin tingling in the almost-suffocating heat and the insides of our nostrils burning with each breath.

In the complete darkness, we added a ladle full of water to the rocks and felt the heat become even more dense and immersive, surrounding us and covering us and uniting us as one in the experience of sensation.

Sitting in the pitch-black sweat, we gradually let go of the sense of time and place and space. It is quite amazing what happens with eyes open and no-thing to occupy visual attention.

The world becomes wide and expansive and full of mystery.

Magical.

The smell of cedar and sage filled our lungs.

Words came and went, but it wasn’t so much what was said as the pitches and frequencies harmonizing and hypnotizing us into just this one moment, into Presence.

Midway through, we each elected for a dip in the ice bath.

We emerged through the door as if exiting a womb of sorts.

It had been a cloudy morning and as Mike’s head began to peek out of the door of the sweat, the sun suddenly broke through the clouds and shone brightly on him, illuminating us all in a flash of warmth and brilliant light.

A moment I will not forget. A moment that I will treasure in my heart and even embellish as I go along to make it as close as I can to what it actually was that I could not quite see but am seeing and will see.

“You wouldn’t believe what once or twice I have seen.”

The world I live in and believe in is wide and spacious and held in unchanging, loving awareness.

What pure joy to know this world with another in the heart of another as though there is no other.

Peace

I awoke this morning wondering if this might the day I have writer’s block.

But I can’t find it now.

Perhaps because I told Writer’s Block, “If you show up when I sit down to write, I will just welcome you and write about you and share what it is like to spend some time with you. I’m actually quite looking forward to deepening the experience of what you are like.”

Writer’s Block, where are you now?

If anything, there is so much flowing through awareness that I could use a bit of your channeling and blocking powers. You could help me with some of this current.

Is that something you do?

There is just a lot of silence from the other side of this conversation and I think I will have to wait until another time for Writer’s Block to show up again so we can get to know each other better.

In the silence where I thought I would find the block, there is a lovely no-thing-ness where every “thing” is just allowed to arise, pass through, and return.

Sound arising from and falling into silence.

Thought arising from and falling into silence.

Emotions arising from and falling into silence.

Sensation arising from and falling into silence.

I began today with the intention: “I see my self.”

I didn’t look for it or create the intention.

I was lying down, feeling through the body, moving through the energy centers of the body, feeling the body as sensation when I remembered something that Richard Miller (founder of iRest) shared with our class this last Thursday. One of the students asked him about his morning practice and he expressed some of the following:

“I begin by watching the world reassemble itself in me…I notice what is asking for my attention and inquire, ‘What do you want, need? Is there any action I need to take?’…I set an intention that will (if well-set) keep remembering me throughout the day…Several intentions now are ‘Am I, right now, in relationship with myself, others, the moment?’…And “I am in presence.”

So, this morning, as I was welcoming life reassembling itself in me, I felt and heard and knew the following intention: “I see my self.”

It came from somewhere deep within, beyond the thinking mind.

And it has remembered me many times already today.

One memorable moment it remembered me was while I was talking to Emily’s dad about perception, love, meaning, story and all the wonderful things we get to share with each other in the early morning over a cup of warm coffee before the rest of the family rises.

While we were talking, I heard, “I see my self.”

And as soon as I heard it, I noticed myself gazing into Emily’s dad’s eyes and just really being with him completely in that moment. “I see my self” wasn’t just about observing myself throughout the day as a way to step away from identification with changing phenomena. It was about seeing my self in another. A mirror.

It was pure presence. Self seeing self.

Of all the moments thus far today, it is the one that is the steeping tea leaves in the water of my conscious awareness. It is present even now. A wonderful mystery too marvelous to be understood as Mary Oliver says in her poem, “Mysteries, Yes.”

“Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.


How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.


How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.


How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.” (Mary Oliver)

I see my self.

I see my self.

Ahhhhh…intention remembering me.

Life remembering me.

Life living me.

I see my self.

I see my self.

Peace

I find myself in a most contented state of being this evening after a day of heart-full talks and meetings with family and friends.

At ease and full of stillness after a day of working through a few hard times with loved ones and experiencing the closeness that comes from staying accessible and emotionally responsive, even when its messy, even when it’s scary, even when it would be easier to withdraw or use strong feelings as a defensive wall.

One moment after the other today was a moment of choosing to show up to life, to notice places of separation, and to live out of the deep ocean of awareness that is characterized by wholeness, peace, and love.

These are the platitudes that give the 30,000’ view of moments at ground zero where the battles were fought today.

I showed up to the moments. Emily showed up. Noah and Sophia showed up. Our friends and family showed up.

The content at ground zero doesn’t really even matter that much, the backstories are quite insignificant, but we are all lying down in our beds tonight with the sense that we can show up to life together, that we can get through hard things, that we can extend grace and truth and forgiveness at the same time, that we can laugh while crying and cry while laughing, that we can feel all the heat of the moment and let it burn through our hearts and pass through, that we can acknowledge our mistakes and reconcile, that we can be better than we were yesterday, that we are safe with ourselves and each other, that we are loved and loving, that we are gentle and we are warriors, that we care enough to tell the truth as we see it, and that we are tender and wise and humble enough to receive the truth when we hear it.

We are family. Stronger and closer this evening than we were yesterday. Stronger and closer than we were 8 1/2 years ago.

Stronger and closer.

Grateful for the trials.

Grateful for loved ones.

Grateful for laughter and lightheartedness.

Grateful for challenging individuals and systems.

Grateful to be stronger and closer.

Stronger and closer.

More loving and loved.

More love.

Peace

Near the end of class today at the university, I noticed that it was raining, so we all got up from our seats, made our way outside, and slowly walked in the rain for a few minutes with the intention of just being with the rain. Removing labels. Letting go of stories. Feeling sensation. Being with what is as it is.

When we reconvened in the classroom to debrief, one student talked about the sensations of the rain drops falling onto her face and how she is usually in such a hurry to get out of the rain that she doesn’t notice.

That initiated a discussion about how we are so often in a hurry to get somewhere else that we completely miss what is actually happening most of the time.

Another student referenced the high number of vehicles that speed through a red light just to sit at the next one. Rushing. Speeding. On our way somewhere else.

Everywhere but here.

Anytime but now.

This led to the following inquiries:

Where is it we’re trying to arrive? Where are we trying to get to?

Is there any end to the scramble? Is there any rest?

Where is it we will find what we’re looking for? Is it over there? Maybe we already missed it? Was it back then?

Will over there always be “over there”?

How will we know when we are there?

What if we are there - where we imagine that we’ll be and feel when we have arrived - already?

Could what we’re trying to find over “there” actually already be here, now?

What if the sense of unrest we feel in our selves can’t be satisfied by any “thing”? What does that tell us?

What if the other side of the sense of unrest we feel is the rest we’re looking for?

What if the yearning is actually a call to come home to this moment? 


Home calling gently and persistently: “Come here. Now. Be here. Now.”


What if that sense of satisfaction we imagine having later is always available right now?

What is there to be learned from a slow walk in the rain?

What is there to be learned from being with life as it is, as we are?

Eckhart Tolle says, “When you act out of present-moment awareness, whatever you do becomes imbued with a sense of quality, care, and love - even the most simple action” (The Power of Now, p.68).

He invites us to slow down, to make some room, to create some space, to find the life that is waiting for us.

Before our slow walk in the rain today, our class engaged in a brief meditation from Tolle as a way of connecting ourselves with the only place and time we can ever be: Here and Now.

Here is how it goes and I encourage you to give it a try and experiment with it if you feel like you are caught up in everywhere and anytime but the present:

“Use your senses fully. Be where you are. Look around. Just look, don’t interpret. See the light, shapes, colors, textures. Be aware of the silent space that allows everything to be. Listen to the sounds; don’t judge them. Listen to the silence underneath the sounds. Touch something — anything — and feel and acknowledge its Being. Observe the rhythm of your breathing; feel the air flowing in and out, feel the life energy inside your body. Allow everything to be, within and without. Allow the “isness” of all things. Move deeply into the Now” (p. 63).

Ahhh….

What might happen if you either slow down or bring attention, intention, and conscious awareness to whatever it is that you are doing?

Tolle encourages us to give our fullest attention to whatever the moment presents and to inquire:

“What, at this moment, is lacking?”

“If not now, when?”

And to make it our practice to withdraw attention from past and future whenever they are not needed. He says, “Within the sphere of practical living, where we cannot do without reference to past and future, the present moment remains the essential factor: Any lesson from the past becomes relevant and is applied now. Any planning as well as working toward achieving a particular goal is done now” (p. 57).

I have the great pleasure in working with students who are getting ready to set out on the next stage of their lives - their careers. Imagine what this world will be like if they realize that they already have what they are looking for and that they can do their work and go about their lives without the expectation that they are trying to get somewhere to be someone someday. A whole layer of human suffering would end in a generation.

What if they don’t seek permanency where it can’t be found and instead live out of the joy that is often described as simply the joy of being? The joy that people often do not find until late in life when they realize they’re never going to “get there” or after an illness or great loss. The joy that they then realize was “here” all along and had nothing to do with their circumstances.

Much suffering and violence would simply end.

Tolle says, “As far as your life situation is concerned, there may be things to be attained or acquired. That’s the world of form, of gain and loss. Yet on a deeper level you are already complete, and when you realize that, there is a playful, joyous energy behind what you do” (69).

Playful, joyous energy.

Perhaps we could all use more of that.

Perhaps take a slow walk in the rain and see what you find.

Peace

It is December 2015 and I am sitting in a small room at the St. Luke’s Concussion Clinic. I sit in a reclining chair across the room from a woman in her 60s who is speaking to me, saying,

“Perhaps there is a place in your body where the ringing is louder and hotter than other places. As you look around inside the body, begin to allow yourself to note where the ringing feels loudest and hottest. And, if it feels right, perhaps just allow yourself to feel deeper into this place, into the ringing, into the heat, making your way into its center. Just feeling. And, then, in your time, perhaps allow your attention to explore the outer edges of this ringing and hot sensation. Where does it begin to change in its felt sensation? Just feeling. Noticing. Staying curious. And when it feels right, perhaps there is a place in your body where there is a sense of quiet; perhaps it is just a place where there is less ringing, less heat, even if just a little less. Perhaps you can look through the body and see what you discover, what you feel. And if you find such place, perhaps you can allow your attention to feel this area, letting go of labels, and just feeling it.”

These were some of the words that Barb, my occupational therapist, used to help me move from trying to fight off the circumstances of life, from seeing my body as public enemy number one, from an endless spiral of anxiety, from intrusive and un-ending thoughts, and instead to feeling the body as it was as I was, to re-establishing connection with my body, to becoming loving presence to my body, to the road to healing.

I will never forget that day. It was the first time that I felt any sort of relief after the brain injury earlier that year.

What stands out to me now is Barb’s gentleness, her warmth, her presence, her genuine curiosity, and her genuine belief that I had an internal compass that would still guide me home if I could begin to see it and pay attention to it again.

This is the power of “perhaps.”

“Perhaps” allows and invites investigation, exploration, curiosity, inquisitiveness. It engages the inner eye. It opens the doors and windows to receive input, to do it in one’s own time, to withhold the need for an answer, to bypass judgment, to leave behind labels for awhile, to simply be with life in an intentional way, open to mystery, open to discovery, open to listen and receive.

The image that is arising is that of going underwater in the Payette Lake with snorkel and goggles and just taking a look at what might be hanging out under the surface.

The lake is different under the surface.

It can be windy and rainy and choppy on the surface, but it only takes diving four or five feet under the water to feel the water cool down and calm down and quiet down.

Instead of looking at the water from above, I am then in the water. Submerged. Surrounded. Immersed.

I can look at life from a surface level, I can create one story after another, I can imagine, I can ruminate, I can try to problem-solve, I can write a book about what might be down under the surface.

But as soon as I give myself permission, or am prompted to by a gifted teacher such as Barb, I get below the surface, I wade in, or I dive in, and I engage the right hemisphere of the brain that is very good at feeling and being, allowing the left hemisphere of the brain that is very good at thinking and doing to deactivate a bit, to take a break, to begin to get really quiet.

The invitation is there every moment. Perhaps there is a place in your body where it is calm and peaceful. As you look through the body, feeling through the body with the spotlight of your attention, perhaps you will notice such a place and feel into it, deeper and deeper, allowing this sense of calm and ease to permeate through the body like the warm light of the morning sun as it crests the horizon, or the feeling of water as you become submerged in it.

Perhaps.

Peace

Things are often not what they seem. It may also be true that things are not often what they seem.

I am learning this slowly, but I am learning.

As I was thinking about the people in my life who seem to consider these truths the most in their daily lives, the very first person I thought of was my dad.

In fact, now that I think of it, these “truths” arose as I was talking to my dad this morning.

He was withholding judgment about someone or something, as he usually does, and I began to marvel at how he has been demonstrating this over and over to me in my life.

More than once growing up, my dad took a royal screwing from other people in our community who took advantage of their business dealings, acted unethically, and were not true to their word.

And I remember always feeling that my dad was not nearly hard enough on them. I was full of vindictive judgment.

He approached the matters with much more tentativeness.

What I often mistook as passivity, I now am beginning to see was a deeper wisdom that comes out of a heart and mind that do not rush to judgment, that recognize the effects of place/time/history on perspective, and take into account the limitations of any perspective at any given time.

During this morning’s conversation, Dad was referencing something that actually seems to be going fairly poorly. From my perspective, it doesn’t look good.

His response this morning, as it so often is, was “It will be good. It will all work out.”

In the short game, not everything turns out good and not everything works out.

At least, not from my limited perspective.

But, more and more as I age and deepen my relationship with my dad, I see that he is not just considering the short-term and he is also not denying reality, as I have thought at times in the past.

He is truly and wholeheartedly convinced that it is good, that it will be good, and that it will all work out.

I think we call this “faith” and “trust”.

And his faith and trust allow him to realize - more than most - that things are often not what they seem.

Faith and trust seem to act as buffers against immediate, tunnel-focused, short-term judgment.

Today, I got activated about a certain situation and said words about someone that I instantly regretted. I felt my heart close as I said them. I felt a pang of separation and suffering within me.

I was operating under the auspice that things are exactly the way that I see them and this person is wrong because he is doing this and saying that and…and…and…and.

Even as I was saying what I was saying, I could feel doubt and exceptions and curiosity wanting to arise, to give me pause, to consider the other side, to consider that I am not seeing things the way they might actually be, to realize that I am most definitely only seeing part of the story, part of the person, part of the situation.

I apologized to my family for my words, but I feel the lingering poison. I grieved my spirit with those words. In a way, I shut another human out of my heart for a bit.

There is a reason that more than one sage of old has taught us to stay away from judgment, to withhold judgment, to approach judgment with humility, to ultimately know that we are incapable of an unbiased judgment or one that takes into account all the facets of the subject.

Things are often not what they seem.

And this is good news.

They point us to that which is beyond us, to mystery, to faith, and to trust.

My dad has been quietly teaching me this for most of my life.

I am beginning to see.

But only partly, dimly.

For now.

Peace