Isn't It Beautiful?

Gong music is supposed to be utterly confusing to the thinking mind in its unpredictability, and thus wholly soothing. I wish you deep breaths and relaxation.

Meditation and Mind - Or "In My Head There's a Greyhound Station"

Preparing to write, I sit for a moment, letting my thoughts settle and deepen. The golden sun on my face is my companion from early morning throughout the afternoon. Its light creates a steady thread of hope and comfort for me, as I work here.

Lately, I've been brushing up against poetry and Zen meditation tips. Life has a way of handing me what I need, when I need it, so the discovery of some great blogs exploring meditation feels significant.

This morning, I lie awake in bed and wonder why I can find the time to let half an hour pass while my thoughts wander about here and there - I love that time where I am free within my own head - but I "cannot" find the time to sit for 10 minutes of meditation. Yoga teacher S would say that my mind is resisting that quiet, that inactivity. The mind doesn't like to be inactive; it likes to feel important and in charge. My poor mind - it probably needs a bit of a rest.

When I awake in the morning, while I am still in that dreamy, hazy twilight of the unconscious mind, I feel my conscious mind awaken. Every day, it stirs, stretches, and picks up the threads of the stories it tells itself all day long. They are only stories, even my mind knows this. Still it clings to them firmly and querulously, with the determination of a child on the verge of a major pout.

In the morning, my mind is a pony, turned out from the barn into the dewy pasture. It gallops and snorts, kicks up its heels and suddenly leaps sideways for no reason at all, simply alive in its own motion.

Our minds are not that different from our hearts. Our hearts work all the time to pump our blood for us, moving muscles that power our great machines. Our brains work all the time as well. At a physical level, they create our thoughts, emotions, beliefs. I am grateful to my mind for all the work it does, just as I am to my heart.

Because, truly, it goes all the time.

Except, perhaps, during the meditation that it actually needs, but just doesn't want to admit to.

Divided

On my way home, I drive past an old man strolling along the sidewalk. He is carrying a book on this clear, sunny day, reading intently as he walks. Even from my car, I can see that its paperback cover is worn and faded, its pages yellowed. I wonder what is so compelling that he cannot bear to stop reading it. I almost pull over to ask. But I do not want to break his absorption.
That is so sweet, I think. How touching to see such devotion to letters.
Then misgivings creep in. Is it really a good idea to do two things at once? His attention cannot be fully on what he reads, or on his journey. It almost seems that he is trying to trick himself into exercising, trying to do something healthy for his body without being aware of it.
In my rear view mirror, I study him. His walking is stiff and cramped by the need to hold the book. Reading pulls his head down from his neck and misaligns his back. His arms are not free to swing and give him balance and momentum.
Also the pace must be bouncing the words around below his eyes. Reading is difficult when the book is jouncing about.
Perhaps he would enjoy his reading more if he gave it his full attention, letting his body sit quietly in a comfortable chair while his mind devours the words.
Perhaps walking would be better if he were fully present with his body’s motion. Free to see the sunshine on the flowers and the birds flitting and the neighbors who drive by and notice him.
I drive past, uncertain.