As I sat this morning in meditation, I chose to sit in the
nook of our dining room that overlooks the English garden. I wanted to watch
the snow and be present with the fullness of nature. My breath began to create
the rhythm I have come to know as my practice. I observed the thoughts that come
and go. They are never the same, but they beckon me in the same way every
morning. I acknowledge, recognize, and even welcome their place in this
process.
I’ve come to deeply love my practice. I connect to myself
and am led as I place myself in the rhythm of the world around me. There has
been much push and pull in the practice of sitting regularly, but I ache when
it is missed and those around me also suffer in its absence.
The gentle movement of my chest connects to my heartbeat. My
thoughts begin to slow and shape themselves in a subtle nature—not moving too
quickly or demanding my attention, but remaining on the fringe and less
imposing. I embrace the play of my mind. Only my resistance creates challenge.
I surrender to the movement—of mind, body and the vibrations of the living world—
and offer to simply be in its presence.
The practice has not once pulled me away from the world, but
is, in fact, always ready with an invitation to place myself completely in this
moment. The fear, disappointment, joy, struggle, triumph, or tragedy must all
be present. This teaches me to move from my heart and soul as well as my mind. For
me, this practice is about living a whole and truthful experience.
In the years prior to my daily practice I was trying to be something
I thought I should be, not even considering what I might want or connected to
who I actually was behind the veil of daily living. Placing myself in the quiet
space of my morning time, I began to see, not just with my eyes, but also with
the warmth of my heart. I could feel the world respond to me. There began a
dance of give and take, of offering and receiving.
It has taken many years of meditation, sitting quietly (or
not so quietly most of the time,) to find this awareness. To place my heart in
the palm of the universe, to trust that my purpose is valid—that I am not a
mistake. In the beginning my practice, like a timid stranger, felt awkward and
hard to get to know, but I was patient and kind so each day I opened to myself
a bit more. I started to see that my presence, my opening, is what opened the
depth of my practice and has created a truly strong relationship—the strongest
relationship in my life.
It seems odd to me now, that I didn't know
vulnerability required truth. I thought
I had to become something else to reveal the true nature of who I am. I still
laugh at the folly of this, yet it was something embedded in the marrow of my
bones.
The sun will rise each day. It is there doing what it does,
not questioning rising, just creating the beginning of the day. The regularity
of the sun teaches me that each day, each moment, requires presence. Nature
continues to move and my movement with it, my effort to be in sync, brings me
closer to myself. My hope, my desire, is to offer this rhythm to the world and
begin to create the harmony of truth and bear witness to all those who would
like to place themselves deeply in the presence of this world.
