Awaken Engage

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

After several years of dreaming and planning, last Spring I created a mindfulness meditation course called “Peace and Well-Being in an Age of Anxiety.” Boise State University gave me the opportunity to teach this course during the Fall 2023 semester and again this semester. There has been a high-level of interest and engagement in the course, so it is also on the schedule for Fall 2024 and I will be adding another course called “Developing Strong Relationships.”

Creating and facilitating the Peace and Well-Being course has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Pure joy, really.

The course learning objectives can give you a good idea of what we’re up to:

- Define, identify, and observe what anxiety and peace feel like in our body

- Develop more attuned and congruent relationships with our thoughts, emotions, and physical bodies

- Engage in and reflect on in-class mindfulness exercises

- Observe our thinking mind

- Identify, feel, and attend to opposites of cognition, emotion, and somatic sensation

- Examine multiple ways of experiencing peace and well-being in the present

- Explore new ways of relating to our nervous system

- Reflect on current concentration and focusing skills 

- Develop and enhance concentration and focusing skills through practice and reflection

- Develop and reflect on a regular mindfulness practice

In many ways, this class is a real-life beauty-from-ashes story. Out of the ashes of my life that burned down in October of 2015 as a result of a traumatic brain injury, came something more beautiful than existed before. In fact, it was the fires of the years of post-TBI recovery that burned away what needed to be burned away and brought me to that which is solid and unmoving.

During those years, I learned how to be with life as it is as I am. I experienced firsthand that I am unchanging loving awareness in which the ever-changing flow of life arises.

In essence, I am.

I learned practices that connected and continue to connect me to a way of being - to Being.

While that may seem trite or ethereal from the outside, nothing is more important, in my opinion, to the experience of liberation and living a full and meaningful life.

Out of the ashes arose a clear and constant heartfelt desire to be with others as they wake up to who they are, why they are here, and what they long to do with their lives while on this wondrous orb we call Earth.

At the core of all the practices is what we begin to experience as the ground of our being - welcoming presence.

As a therapist, one of the enduring indicators of therapeutic success is the client-therapist relationship, and one of (if not the) most important factors of that relationship is the therapist’s complete and total welcoming presence toward self and other.

At the beginning of a long retreat with Dr. Richard Miller, a psychologist and the founder of iRest, he began the retreat with these words that capture what I am saying:

“We’re not coming together to help one another. We’re coming together to be with ourselves and with each other as we are, knowing that when we are with ourselves and others as we are, we cannot help but change.”

Truly, welcoming presence is at the heart of personal and interpersonal change.

As students are learning what it is like to be welcoming presence, they are watching themselves gradually change their relationships with fear, trauma, anxiety, depression, self-sabotage, habits, compulsions, sleep issues, relational issues, and life in general.

Through the interactive readings, the in-class practices, the reflective journals, the community of the class setting, and the individual practices, students are experiencing freedom, even liberation, engaging somatically, emotionally, and cognitively with principles like the following:

That which we welcome cannot bind us.

Life is only unbearable when we demand it change.

Thoughts are things.


Emotions are things.

Sensations are things. 

Things come and things go.

We are not our thoughts, emotions, and sensations.

We watch and are present with that which comes and goes.

We always have the right response to every situation.

Relax and release.

Let it be. Let it go. Let it in.

Trust the compass.

Embedded in the readings and experience is a strong neuroscience lens from texts and guest speakers that provides the “hard science” for how we are rewiring our brains and changing our lives through these practices. We learn how to activate our PNS, how to use body-sensing and breath-sensing as doors into higher states of consciousness, deep relaxation, insight, creativity, and healing.

We move our bodies, noticing the edges of tension and relaxation, discovering parts of our bodies that have been ignored too long.

We become attuned to subtle sensations in the body and mind so that we can hear the “whispers” of the body before it has to scream at us.

We experiment. We are playful with the process. We stay curious. We inquire.

And we grow together. Teacher is student and student is teacher. We laugh. We cry. We sit quietly sometimes. We listen. We go outside and walk and wait and hear and see and feel. We learn to face what is asking to to be faced and we even find freedom from chains that have bound us for far too long.

What a journey. What an incredible journey.

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

“At the end of the exhale,

Breath surrenders to quietude.

For a moment you hang in the balance —

Suspended

In the fertile spaciousness

That is the source of breath.

At the end of the inhale,

Filled with the song of the breath,

There is a moment when you are simply

Holding the tender mystery.

In these interludes,

Experience opens into exquisite vastness

With no beginning and no end.

Embrace this infinity without reservation.

You are its vessel.

“Radiance Sutras.” Roche, Lorin. 2014. (p. 39)

Breath has gotten a lot of air play in recent years. Everywhere we turn, someone is talking about how important the breath is and how it affects our bodies and minds.

What a wonderful time to be alive. Really.

I’ve spent many hours in training learning breathing methods so that I could use them and teach them. But this is not a post about any of of the breathing methods that I’ve learned in training and am certified to teach.

This is a post about a breathing method that Wim Hof has popularized. It is a kind of intentional hyperventilating and I’ve been experimenting with it for the last 16 days.

Why?


Well, I have not studied Wim Hof at all or his methods even though I was doing ice baths. I wanted to do the ice baths “cold” so to speak and to treat them like a science experiment rather than following a program.

However, after several ice baths where I stayed in water just above freezing (with huge ice chunks in the tub) in 2 degree Fahrenheit weather, I became hypothermic. Even when I didn’t’ feel “hypothermic,” often my core temperature would not record a reading on our thermometer because it was below 93 degrees Fahrenheit.

This phenomena led me to search out how people like Wim Hof can stay in extreme ice water for extended periods of time.

What I discovered is that Wim Hof can keep his core temperature nearly the same inside the ice bath as before he got into the ice bath. From what I read, much of this was attributed to a breathing technique he developed and that many of his followers use before they get in.

It goes like this:

Sit or lie down and begin to breath rapidly through the mouth. Breath in to the abdomen, then the chest, then out, then in, over and over…make a circle…feel it like a wave…imagine breathing into your pineal gland…over and over and over. You decided the number of breaths and then on the last exhalation you hold the breath out for as long as you like. Once you breathe in, you hold the inhale for 15 seconds, and then begin again.

Since I have still been taking ice baths, I thought it would be worth giving the breathing technique a try.

So, when I awoke one morning, before I even got out of bed, I began the breathing cycle. I decided to breath in and out 35 times before holding because that was the default on the free app.

The first thing I noticed was that my body was resisting this type of breathing because it wanted to sleep.

This is not a breath for sleeping (maybe…more on that later).

I had to force the breaths and at first it felt awkward.

But then…about 20 breaths in, I began to feel tingly all over and this was quite pleasurable.

By the 35th breath, though, I was ready to take a break and was glad to hold the breath out.

What I experienced and continue experience was a whole new world within the body and connected to the mind.

I found myself daydreaming, floating around within my body, losing track of time, noticing places in my body that I haven’t noticed in years, and being very, very, very peaceful.

For awhile.

Of course, this is a limited time engagement and eventually a number of process kick in, some psychological and some physiological, that prompt the body to breathe.

Being a person who loves challenges and experimenting with the body, I was pretty much hooked immediately and really enjoy keeping track of my breath retention times, what I am feeling, what I am noticing, where my limits are, how I can wisely challenge my limits, and so on.

That first day (and every day since), I decided to do 4 rounds of the breath retentions (4 rounds of 35 breaths, hold out, breath in, hold in for 15 seconds, repeat…).

By the time I finished the fourth cycle, I was alive!!! Vibrant. Energized. Invigorated. And also very, very calm.

It is, during this small sample size, the most life-giving practice I have ever done upon waking in the morning. Even the ice baths have not energized my system like this. In so many ways, I have experienced a deep sense of equanimity (i.e., literally “even” “mind”) during this practice that is exquisite in its sensations and lasting effect on my being throughout the day.

Not to mention that my core temperature stays pretty much the same inside or out of the ice.

As I mentioned, I’m on my 16th day of this practice, and it continues to light me up in the morning, as well as relieve headaches I have had upon awakening and any congestion in my sinuses.

It’s not a magic bullet, but it is somehow just the right medicine for my body right now.

Once I finish, I sit in silent meditation for 10 minutes, then hit the ice bath for 3-4 minutes, then stretch and exercise, then jump on the trampoline, and finish with asanas before coffee, breakfast, reading, and then spending time with Noah and Sophia before school and work.

While this practice does require us to face fears of not being able to breath (if we’re pushing our hold times), the moments of peacefulness have been worth my effort to face some of those fears.

I’ll end the way I began:

“At the end of the exhale,

Breath surrenders to quietude.

For a moment you hang in the balance —

Suspended

In the fertile spaciousness

That is the source of breath.

At the end of the inhale,

Filled with the song of the breath,

There is a moment when you are simply

Holding the tender mystery.

In these interludes,

Experience opens into exquisite vastness

With no beginning and no end.

Embrace this infinity without reservation.

You are its vessel.

“Radiance Sutras.” Roche, Lorin. 2014. (p. 39)

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

Several years ago, I was in the middle of a social media sabbatical and one of my trusted teachers and friends said, “Dave, the world needs to hear your voice. I know you’re taking some time off. But, be willing when you are ready.”

In many ways, I had grown tired of the story and stories I was telling. I was detoxing a bit, I think. And I was battling the inner demons that sharing our voice seems to awaken. At the time, those inner demons held quite a grip on my life and I found myself in a predictable cycle of fear with them. It went something like this: come out of turtle shell, share story, hear feedback and feel good, not hear feedback and feel bad, hear too much feedback and feel overwhelmed by pressure to respond to others’ responses, feel pressure to keep telling stories, feel misunderstood, feel fear beginning to tip the balance, put head back in shell, take a break, peak out of turtle shell…and so on.

Committing to writing and sharing every day for this month-long writing project is my way of putting myself in a place to face any fears that are left over and to turn the lights on them because I don’t want to live with fears I don’t need.

What have I found? I have grown exponentially and very few of those fears carry any weight at all anymore. They’re not gone, but they are light in spirit and distant clouds passing quickly by.

“Be willing when you are ready.” Those were John’s final words on the subject of sharing my voice and it is no surprise that they came to the forefront of my consciousness as I was engaging in last month’s 31-day ice bath challenge, the focus of which was engaging my will every day to do something that I resisted, feared, etc.

I am ready. I am willing.

And I am willing myself to continue sharing my voice.

I remind myself that my story is our story. Our story is our story.

We don’t really have any new stories to tell, but we need to keep telling the stories because we need to keep hearing the stories because they are our stories.

So, I’m not getting caught up in saying anything new.

I am one voice.

I am special, but not that special, as John so wonderfully and lovingly reminded me.

Distinct, but not separate. A wave in the ocean. Rising from. Returning to.

I wrote extensively during the 8 years of recovering from my brain injury and particularly during the worst of those days.

One of the reasons I wrote was because I knew that the story I was in was bigger than me and that I would never feel the acuteness of those times in the same way.

Reflecting back is different than processing in and through.

I haven’t read those journals since I wrote them. But I know they are raw and real and that they hold moments and anecdotes and breakthroughs and breakdowns that others need to hear who are on a similar journey or are walking alongside someone in such a place.

Soon, I will begin the project of bringing that journey to life and sharing a story that is universal in its message but also distinctly mine.

“There is a space in the heart where everything meets.

Come here if you want to find me. 
Mind, senses, soul, eternity — all are here.

Are you here?” Radiance Sutras. Roche, Lorin. 2014. (p.61).

I am here. We are here.

I am ready. I am willing.

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

I remember hearing that William Faulkner played Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” over and over and over while he wrote As I Lay Dying. I don’t know if it’s true, but I remember hearing it. And it really doesn’t matter much to me if it is true because the point that was being made by the person sharing the information was this: there is a rhythm to writing.

And there is a rhythm to living and learning and speaking and being a parent and being a son and on and on.

There are times when I sit down to play the handpan and I have a rhythm or song structure in mind and then I compose from there, trusting the basic foundations to hold me enough to compose something that has fairly predictable and interesting patterns that correspond to the patterns that most of us are used to and that catch our attention and invite us into story.

And then there are times when I sit down and I play what is asking to be played as if I am already hearing what is waiting to be created.

I like both and everything in between, really.

This composing music and writing and, well, living is all kind of a great science experiment to me these days. And that science experiment is much about rhythm.

There is a certain music and rhythm playing in the background of this experiment and it is a combination of even and odd meters, fast and slow tempos, and filled with dynamic range.

It is a flexible rhythm that seems to be what I need it to be when I need it to be.

I’m listening more and more attentively to this rhythm, looking for it, waiting for it, playing with it, and enjoying it.

What in the hell am I talking about?

Let me paint the picture for you with an embodied story:

Tonight, we celebrated my wife’s birthday and her sister’s birthday with our families and my wife’s parents. We ate dinner at a restaurant that is one giant room with music playing in several corners of the room and truly the perfect acoustical setup for an echo chamber. Combine the many pitches of voices with the many pitches of silverware and dishes being clanked together, with the music right behind my head, with 3-8 conversations going on at one time at our table, and it was a perfect storm for triggering a whole host of my post-traumatic brain injury symptoms.

In the past, I used to fight the sound and often would just leave such a place if I ever ventured to enter in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have been a repeat offender.

I’ve missed a lot of these kinds of gatherings with family and friends over the last 8 years.

But tonight, I channeled a certain Frenchman’s persona from a film I recently watched and sat there with a light smile on my face and a peaceful center that cannot be altered. Childish delight.

At one point, I was just hearing it all, letting my eyes go soft and then focus, feeling my heart open and close and open, feeling my breath fill my lungs and then exit, opening my ears to all sounds and then focusing on one sound, following sound into silence, and just enjoying watching the whole show and the ebbs and flows of my reactions. 

Welcoming the ebbs and flows into that peaceful Frenchman-like center of what we would call equanimity.

It was exquisite. In fact, it felt like I starred in a movie and watched the movie at the same time.

There is a rhythm to such peaceful serenity that is also active and alert in the world.

I’m not sure it’s Gershwin, but I have been playing it over and over and over.

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

The photographer and traveler have this in common: they are constantly aware of what they are seeing. The photographer is watching, noticing the same view from many angles, noticing objects against foreground and background, and keenly aware that no two moments are exactly alike. The traveler is expecting to see things that they have never seen, experience things they have never experienced, meet people they have never met, hear things they’ve never heard, and…you get the picture :-).

I remember hearing Eckhart Tolle speaking about every moment being a new life. We’ve never been in this moment before nor have any objects that are passing through our awareness.

That can feel quite removed and esoteric if we are standing on the outside looking in.

But when we look from the inside out, we see with new eyes.

I have recently been taking photos on the same walk that we walk every night. Same route. Same streets.

I’ve seen it.

But I haven’t.

In fact, I’ve never seen “it” now, until now.

The photographer and the traveler expect to see something new. They are intentionally opening their senses to their experiences and intentionally noticing and intentionally expecting to see something they have never seen.

What happens when we bring that kind of intention into our daily, seemingly mundane, lives?


Are we waiting for the next experience, the next travel itinerary, the weekend, the time we get off work, the vacation/holiday, the day we’re not sick anymore, the day we find the relationship we long for, the time when we can retire, the ____ you fill in the blank?

What if we don’t have to wait until later to live the life we’re waiting to live?

This hit me early this morning as I was driving back to our house from the foothills. Driving the opposite way, were one SUV after another with skis and snowboards on the top of their vehicles.

I was just imagining the excitement in their cars, the smell of coffee, the stories being swapped back and forth, the anticipation of the enjoyment of being in a beautiful place doing an exhilarating activity with loved ones.

And I was going home to do Saturday chores.

I felt a pang in my heart and a longing in my whole body to be in one of those cars, going the opposite direction.

Years ago, I would have gotten pretty sulky and had a hard time getting “over” it.

This morning, I rolled the window down, felt the cool air on my face, glanced at Iris in the back seat with her head stuck out of the window, and I just laughed and smiled and appreciated the fact that I was driving a vehicle to a place I call home where people I love were about to wake up and be together.

There was a release of the longing as I looked from the inside out and watched it. It didn’t completely leave, but my unrest did, and a deep sense of gratitude took its place .

I’d like to say I stayed in that place all day, but I definitely took a number of detours that were not representative of my best self.

I will say that each time I noticed that I was exiting the moment for another moment, my heart compelled me to enjoy the one right here and now and to meet it with whatever was called for.

At one point, I was looking out the living room window and noticed that I was longing for the ski hill and comparing myself to all the dads who had their family up on the mountain every day and night, decked out with the right clothes and the right gear, teaching them how to appreciate the outdoors, and all the rest of that dialogue that got going pretty strong.

As soon as I noticed, I didn’t beat myself up or anything like that, I just smiled at the nice story I was listening to, laughed, and let it go.

Feeling the sunshine warm my skin as it came through the window, I had the sense that I was in the perfect place at the perfect time.

Most of the rest of the day was like this for me: experiencing the moment as if I had chosen it and if it “is” the perfect place and the perfect time.

Every moment, new.

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

Stand back.

Fall behind the experience.

Let go. 
Stay open.

Just don’t close.

Watch the mind.

Relax and release.

Let it be. Let it go. Let it in.

I step out of reactivity and allow myself to accept and feel what is in my body; I embrace what is present. 
Breathing in, I calm myself; breathing out, I smile.

I am at peace with myself as I am and with the world as it is.

I am unchanging loving awareness in which the ever-changing flow of life arises.

I have the right response to every situation.

I am safe with myself.

I have what it takes to be with this moment.

I am here. Now, I am here.

I am here now I am here I am here now I am here I am…

I can only take one ice bath at a time.

I can be with this moment as it is as I am. 
Life is only unbearable when we demand it change.

That which we welcome cannot bind us.

I am the seer; the witness of all that is seen.

I am welcoming, loving presence.

We are not coming together to help each other. We are coming together to be present with ourselves with each other, knowing that when we are present with ourselves and others, we cannot help but change.

Pain is a thing. Fear is a thing.

Things come and go.

I sit in the seat of centered awareness.

I sit in the seat of centered, loving awareness.

Breathing in 4. Holding 7. Breathing out 8. Breathing in 4. Holding 7. Breathing out 8.

Allow energy that was being pressed down and out to move up and through.

You are an emissary of light and love; carry it with you everywhere you go and to everyone you meet.

I am an emissary of light and love; I carry it with me everywhere I go and to everyone I meet.

I rest in calm awareness.

I am enough.

I commit myself to the care of loving presence.

I commit others to the care of loving presence.

Today was a day of being with each moment and choosing to do the task at hand whether or not I felt like it or not.

Today, I just noticed it arising, let it pass, and got back to doing what was right in front of me.

I practiced breath work this morning as soon as I woke up, I sat in silent meditation, I walked outside in the rain to the ice bath, I soaked in the ice bath, I exercised and stretched and jumped on the trampoline in the rain, I went through a series of asanas in the living room, I clothed myself, I prepared coffee, I put together a lunch for my daughter, I did the morning ritual with my son, I drove them to school, I walked Iris in the foothills, I talked with my dad, I read and responded to student journals, I edited mindfulness meditation recordings from class and sent them to students, I played tether ball with Sophia, I prepared dinner, I watched a show with Sophia and Noah, I took Iris on a walk through the city, I picked up Noah from theater rehearsal, I sat down in front of this computer, I began typing, and I am still typing.

Only a few years ago, I would have gotten caught up in all sorts of drama on days like this. Only a few years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed on a day like this when I felt like this.

Today, I am here and I have what it takes to stay present and connected to my body and to show up to what life is asking.

It is monumental, my friends. The change. The recovery. The healing. The incredible amount of work that I have personally put in to get here. The choice to live a different life than the one my brain looked like it could live.

I am here, being and doing. It is grace and it is effort. They go together.

And I’m really proud of myself because no one will ever know just how hard and dark and challenging this road to recovery has been and what it takes to keep it going day in and day out.

But I know. My body knows.

I’m proud of you, Dave Jones.

I’m proud of you.

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

You carry

All the ingredients

To turn your life into a nightmare —

Don’t mix them!

You have all the genius

To build a swing in your backyard

For God.

That sounds

Like a hell of a lot more fun.

Let’s start laughing, drawing blueprints,

Gathering our talented friends.

I will help you

With my divine lyre and drum.

Hafiz

Will sing a thousand words

You can take into your hands,

Like golden saws,

Silver hammers,

Polished teakwood,

Strong silk rope.

You carry all the ingredients

To turn your existence into joy,

Mix them, mix

Them!

(Hafiz, The Gift)

One of the joys of my life is watching university students wake up to their lives, to the power that they have to change their lives from this moment forward, and to walk alongside of them as they notice they are carrying around all the ingredients that they need to turn their existence into joy and begin to mix those ingredients.

They are facing their inner demons, their traumas, their thought and behavior patterns, and their narratives that they’ve been telling themselves over and over.

And they are discovering that they don’t have to live a life they don’t want to live and that the circumstances don’t have to change for them to start building a swing in their backyard.

Watching them choose to turn their existence into joy is, as I have said before, one of the greatest joys of my life and I am continually inspired by their courage to face fears and pain and to enter more and more deeply into who they truly are.

It is humbling to realize that while we can’t control most of the circumstances in this dance of life, we do get to control how we respond and what we make of them.

Some have it “harder” than others and some suffer in ways that seem unimaginable. Here, Viktor Frankl is qualified more than I am to speak:

“There are situations in which one is cut off from the opportunity to do one’s work or enjoy one’s life; but what can never be ruled out is the unavoidability of suffering. In accepting this challenge to suffer bravely, life has a meaning up to the last moment, and it retains this meaning literally to the end. In other words, life’s meaning is an unconditional one, for it even includes the potential meaning of unavoidable suffering.” (Viktor, Man’s Search for Meaning. 2006.(p. 114).

We always carry all the ingredients to turn our existence into joy.

We get to choose whether or not we want to mix them.

I think that being able to choose them when we feel least able to do so is a wondrous grace.

And I know from firsthand experience that during the times when I have mixed ingredients together to turn my life into a nightmare that Hafiz’ words and Frankl’s words stung in extreme ways and often brought about a defensive and angry posture.

During those times, I had given away any strong sense of ownership over the rest of life and instead devolved into a lesser story.

For those who haven’t been in that kind of darkness, even giving a nod to the possibility of the existence of joy can seem an impossibility.

How often is it not until we are at some “bottom” of our nightmare that we realize we are resting on the solid ground that has always been holding us. And then we find our feet and with grace we rise and notice that somehow we do have what it takes to be with this moment. That we can choose to be with life as it is as we are.

And in choosing to be with life as it is as we are, we begin to know ourselves more deeply, we begin to remember who we are and what we have, and we begin to see that what we need is here, now, waiting for us to mix it, to choose it, and to experience a joy and wholeness and peace and love that is beyond the changing phenomena of this world.

You carry all the ingredients

To turn your existence into joy,

Mix them, mix

Them!

Time.

I Feel Ya (14)

15 minute timer. Ready. Set. Go.

The senses declare an outrageous world —

Sounds and scents, ravishing colors and shapes,

Ever-changing skies, iridescent reflections —

All these beautiful surfaces

Decorating vibrant emptiness.

The god of love is courting you,

Light as a feather.

Every perception is an invitation into revelation.

Hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting, touching —

Ways of knowing creation,

Transmissions of electric realization.

The deepest reality is always right here.

Encircled by splendor, in the center of the sphere,

Meditate where the body thrills

To currents of intimate communion.

Follow your senses to the end and beyond

Into the heart of space.

Radiance Sutras. Roche, Lorin. p. 44 (2014).

On my night walk through the city with Iris, I found myself ruminating about all sorts of things that I have no real control over but try to have control over so life will go my way.

A fool’s errand? For sure.

Thankfully, I don’t get too far along on the errand these days before I realize the folly, have a good laugh, and find my way back Here.

And the way back here is always through the senses in some way or another. These bodies are exquisite in their wisdom and in helping us return Home when we have gotten lost in the labyrinthian corridors of the mind.

Since we cannot think and feel something at the same time, the quickest way to step back from the mind and release my hold on it is to just feel the senses.

Sounds and scents, ravishing colors and shapes,

Ever-changing skies, iridescent reflections —

All these beautiful surfaces

Decorating vibrant emptiness.

The god of love is courting you,

Light as a feather.

Indeed.

As the body began to converse with me once it had my attention, I heard myself say, “I feel ya.”

Yeah. I feel ya, too. And you.

That incredible buzz of life filling my chest with this breath of cool February air on a rainy night?

I feel ya.

That heaviness of eyes after a long day of meaningful work?


I feel ya.

That knot in my stomach?


I feel ya, too.

I feel ya.

I feel ya.

I feel ya.

Now, what was I thinking about? What was I worrying about?

Oh, that?

I got that. I know what to do and I can’t do it until tomorrow. But I’ll do it.

I feel ya.

I feel ya.

Yeah. I feel ya.

And, now, fingers dancing across the keys of this keyboard. I feel ya.

What was I worrying about?

I don’t even know anymore.

Earlier today, after an exceptionally hot sweat lodge session, I found my way into the ice bath.

Luxurious. Tingling. All becomes quiet. Complete stillness. Ecstasy. Bliss. All is well.

I feel ya.

Encircled by splendor, in the center of the sphere,

Meditate where the body thrills

To currents of intimate communion.

Follow your senses to the end and beyond

Into the heart of space.

Body alive. Life living me. Radiating, pulsating, tingling, shimmering life.

Meditating where the body thrills, all is well, quiet, loving, and spacious.

I am telling you about it.

But you have to feel it.

I feel ya.

Time

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

Know when to say “when.” Be aware of your limits. Tap out.

Tonight, I’m on the edge of tapping out and just going to bed. But, I’m also unsure that I really need to, so I’ll use my go-to inquiry for times like these:

“Do I have what it takes continue, right now?”

How about now?

And, now?

How about now?

It’s a simple inquiry.

Riding a 100+ mile bike race off of the couch: Can I pedal one more stroke? Yup. How about one more? Yup. This one? Yup….

In the post-traumatic brain injury days of waking up for the 1000th+ night with burning ringing in my ears, piercing migraines, and extreme nausea: Can I be with life in this moment? Do I have what it takes? Yup. Now? Yeah. How about now? Yup.

Recently, as I am doing breath holding work: Can I be with the body as it experiences this discomfort? Yup? Now? Yup. Now?

Nope.

Can I be with my body as it is and listen to its wisdom?

Yeah.

Time to tap out.

By far, the most courageous moments in my life, the ones that required the most strength, the ones that required the most will power were the moments when listening to wisdom meant tapping out.

We’re all going to tap out at some point.


Each of us will experience a last breath and it will always be an exhale.

A giving up.

A letting go. 


A surrendering.

A relinquishing.

A returning.

A releasing.

A stopping.

A tapping out.

Tonight, I’m finishing a day full of teaching, discussing, reading student writing, holding student writing conferences, spending time with family, walking dogs, engaging with the handpan community, texting friends, talking to friends on the phone, doing deep work on myself as I engage my will power and stay true to my intentions to stay awake in life, holding my breath, bathing in ice water, meditating, recording and editing yoga nidra sessions, planning future events, and so on.

I’m about tapped out.

And, it feels good. It feels good to know that there will be a moment where wisdom will say, “That’s enough, Dave. Well-done. Rest. Tap on out.”

And that moment is now. I’ll let Lorin Roche finish this off.

“When sleep has not yet come,

And the sweet buzz of exhaustion

Permeates the body,

Linger in the ahhhh of relief

As your head touches the pillow.

Everything in you is yearning to let go.

So let go, let your body fall

Into something deeper than sleep.

With your mind, enter

The soft luminous glow of the soul” (Roche, Lorin. The Radiance Sutras. 2014)

Time.

Being With What Comes Next (12)

15 minute writing timer. Set…Go.

“Do all that you can, with all that you have, in the time that you have, in the place where you are.” Nkosi Johnson

How can we abide in restful presence in the present and also take the future into consideration, particularly when it requires some level of planning and preparation?

And, how can we reside in that peaceful, centered awareness in the present when we can see that the circumstances that we’re struggling with are not about to end any time soon?

What do we do when we are experiencing chronic pain and terminal illness?

These are hard questions.

I have not been in a place to consider and be with my own terminal illness, but I have lived with the reality of the others, as have many of you.

Tonight, on my walk, I found myself asking some of these questions and wondering how I am answering them these days when I am not facing chronic illness anymore, at least not to the degree that I was only a short time ago.

What did I learn that I am carrying with me today, that guides me today?

How is it that I have learned to be with this moment as it is and also how to be with what comes next?

I’m not really sure how I’m going to put any of this in words because I really only know the difference by how I feel when thoughts about “what comes next” arise in my awareness.

During my ice bath meditations, I experienced a great deal of relief one morning when, after stewing about having so many ice baths left to take for my project, it just hit me like the cold water I was in that “I can only take one ice bath at a time.”

It was a delightful, somatic, visceral, embodied experience of relief and clarity and wisdom.

I can only take one ice bath at a time. I can plan to take ice baths every day for the next 30 years, but I can only take one ice bath at a time.

In that wonderful moment, the simplicity of life arose and I was bathing in cool, sublime delight.

Tonight, I found myself finding a number of things that are future-oriented, things I will likely be doing and need energy for and will need to plan for.

But, I was having the same feeling that I was having the night I was stewing about all the ice baths that I had left to take.

Closed. Restricted. Restless. Ruminating. Really, everywhere but right here and now.

I was being with what comes next in an unconscious and worried way.

I was trying to take tomorrow’s ice baths and all ice baths I could imagine at the same time.


I realized what I was doing when I quite literally came to my senses. I smelled the cool, wet grass along the sidewalk. I heard the rustling leaves that have still yet to fall from the giant sycamore trees. I spied a lone star shining in a dark hole in the clouds for just a moment. I felt the aliveness and vibrance of my breath filling my lungs and the delight of letting it go.

I can’t be with the future later.


But I can be with what comes next, now. I can be with the parts that are worried and fretting and trying to feel safe and trying to feel secure and looking for love.

That, I can always do. Now.

I can be with what comes next, now.

And when I am, then I am.

And I can.

Paraphrasing Nkosi Johnson, “I can do all that I can, with all that I have, in the time that I have, in the place where I am.”

Note: Nkosi Johnson was a South African child with HIV and AIDS who greatly influenced public perceptions of the AIDS pandemic and its effects before his death at the age of 12 on June 1, 2001.

Time.