The Sound of Silence

There is something incredibly special about morning air.  Every morning when I wake up the first thing I do is open the window and/or the door and feel the air.  No matter where I am or what season, I am always anxious to get a whiff, to get a feel of what is in the air.  And always, no matter what, it is sweet.  Sweet in the way that a particular friend calls at just the right moment.  Sweet in the way that the rabbit hops right into the sunshine to twitch at nothing.  Sweet in the way the world appears after long periods of solitude and silence. 

I cannot deny that as much as I love words (and music) there are times when all I want is silence.  Space where there is nothing but the sound of my own insides to tend to.  It is for me a matter most important to my health.  My ears are sharp and sensitive.  Human voices can almost always draw my attention.  Bird voices, too.  Then, the question of how or where do I place my attention in a given moment.  Do I move toward the sound? Do I move to the feeling in my gut or my chest? Do I allow the thoughts that arise to draw me into some story or memory? 

Critical to my health seems to be the ability to tune in to my own body, to listen and to hear what is arising in any given moment.  You can train in this kind of listening in many ways.  You can pay attention anytime or you can arrange formal times to pay special attention.  Both are good.  Special attention might be called meditation whether sitting, walking or moving.  Open attention might be called cooking, dancing, talking.  All are good.

For most of my life, the main ways that I have learned to listen are meditation practice and questions.  Probably questions came first. Questions can take me in or out.  Meditation practice can tune me in to my own body and open me to the body of the world.  When I leave my cushion and return to my house, my car, my shopping, my walking, the world becomes bright and open, available in a way it wasn’t before.  This never ceases to amaze me. 

But if we only pay attention to what is inside, if we don’t allow the outside air to come in, we can become stuck and narrow in our view of how things are.  Strangely, we humans live in a skin that is both impervious and permeable.  This is an apt metaphor of how we might wish to live in the larger world.  Impervious, or perhaps, objective, even detached to many things that occur and yet permeable, open, touched by other things.  Do you know what touches you? Do you hear what the world is saying around you? Do you hear the voice inside? Or do you only hear the outside voices?

When I write, I have to allow both the inside and the outside voices to show up.  It can be hard to rest with the often cacaphonous sound of the inside and the outside carrying on together until somehow they begin to tune in to each other, resonating, sounding, the sweet sound of the world coming through me. 

I wonder how the world comes through you. 

Thank you Paul Simon for this amazing song about the interface between silence inside and outside, between an individual and their world.  And thank you, Disturbed, for this beautiful, beautiful rendition. 

To Self or Not to Self

That is the question.  How do you know when to put yourself first? When to consider others more important?  When sudden breaking news shakes everyone, it is natural to look to others for ways to think about things.  But what about how you feel? No one else can tell you how you feel. No one else can presume to know how YOU feel. 

We have been socialized to think that focusing on ourselves is wrong, that it indicates a selfishness that could endanger others.  That is to say, that while you are thinking about yourself, someone who needs you may go untended. How do we deal with this burden? We chronically ignore our own needs, putting others first and, often, consequently, suffering our own demise. This is a strange and dualistic notion, that we should imperil ourselves to save others from the pain of their own needs. If we ignore our own needs, we cannot help others in any way.  If we ignore our own needs, especially as adults, supposedly functioning adults, who will take care of those needs?

Now, children are needy. Human children are very needy for the better part of their first 10 years without doubt. As children we humans are generally not big, strong or knowledgeable in navigating the world. But as adults, in theory, we must become capable and attentive to filling our own needs.  Our parents are no longer our providers.

We all want comfort and autonomy, freedom and choice.  Perhaps strangely, or more specifically in contrast to the conventional notion, such things only arise from following desire.  I don’t mean desire in the lustful sense, I mean it in the sense of knowing what moves you, knowing what is alive in you, allowing your own experience to have voice in your world.  Such a connection is a kind of super power, a kind of match to the resource of your own being. When we connect with ourselves and our world we are charged with a knowing and an energy that brings healing and transformation in its wake. Sometimes we experience the jolt of our own self, a moment of recognition and also space and fear. Sometimes we don’t even recognize that self. Yet, sometimes it is truly amazing what emerges when the demand of the body brings forth a kind of truth we have never before experienced.  We can act from a completely new place.

Sickness, illness, accidents become great levelers in this regard.  Fact is, when you are sick, when you receive a devastating diagnosis, or a shocking accident, it is yourself you think of because the body is demanding it.  We feel vulnerable, yet we are also in a way cracked open by this kind of serious imposition on our well being. When the news is about your own body and health, your own inner knowing is more important than ever. 

Can you bring attention to your very self in a given moment? Can you allow your body and your awareness to dictate what is right in this moment?

I think you know.

Thank you, John DeMato https://www.johndemato.com/ for the photos in this post!

Where There is War, There Will Be Casualties

For so many of us, war is the default setting. Toughen up.  Make a go of it. Do what it takes. We are, so often, the unwitting victims of our own war-like approach.  Our culture applauds war heros, even or even especially, the everyday ones, the ones who “win” the war on their own bodies and lives, by charging forward even when the body says no.  We live in a culture that idolizes control in every way; control of the body, control of emotions, control of animals, plants and other people. I know this is a huge assertion, but think about it.  We govern where plants grow. We govern work hours. We have implicit rules for what emotions are freely expressed and which should be kept to yourself. We are afraid. Afraid we will lose control.

Fear constricts, separates us, cutting us off both from others and from our own knowing.  We can only make war when we agree to harbor and nourish fear. This we can see in every government.  The alternative is to find the love that will connect us, warm us, transform us. In many ways we do not have to love others, but we have to love ourselves enough not to perpetrate harm on our own persons through making war on others.  Love means we take responsibility for our own knowing, our own experience. Love means we find the place inside that knows what is true for us at a given moment. This is not a static state. We can’t love today and hope for the same love tomorrow.  Love has to be renewed each day. Just like the sun coming up each day.

In contrast, fear is clinging to an idea, hiding in concept, believing something we were told, rather than something we experienced personally.  Love means we investigate what is actually happening for us. When fear occurs, we can hold it gently, right with our love, our light and curiosity.  Fear is important to our survival. When something fearful is actually happening, we won’t have to ask “should I be afraid?” or think about it at all.  When something fearful is actually happening, your body will simply give you the energy and movement to respond immediately, to save your life.

When, however, something fearful isn’t actually happening, when we are generating fear by way of thoughts about the past or the future, you’ll notice that you feel stuck, unable to respond.  When that happens you can use your love, your care for yourself to unstick, to free your own knowing. This is a crucial moment, where you and the fear are together side by side. It can feel like a thunderstorm or an earthquake from the inside, but from the outside no one can see anything happening most of the time. 

How can we love ourselves through our fear? How can we stop making war on what is true for us? Fear is a part of life, one that will always show up sometimes, but love is also right there, a part of us. And we can choose to use that love to care for our fear, our vulnerability.  Where there is war, there will be casualties. Where there is fear, there is also love. Where there is love, why make war?