Staying present isn’t easy for me.
Sure, I’ve read all the books, I understand the philosophy and, make no mistake, I’m on board. I’ve embraced the concept with no less than Howard-Dean-after-the-Iowa-caucus level zeal. But I’m a daydreamer of such epic proportions that trying to keep me present would give a Zen master an ulcer.
I’ve always been a daydreamer, but it wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized, through the efforts of one peculiarly persistent English teacher, what an intractable habit it is. This teacher was extraordinary. She was one of my favorites. She was also a little crazy.
Ms. Jenkins (I’ll call her Ms. Jenkins instead of her real name, although I doubt she would mind or take exception to being called crazy) had the ability to see right through me. Most teachers saw only a conscientious student who got her work done on time and did it well, but Ms. Jenkins saw a daydreamer who frequently checked out of her class, leaving behind a body set on autopilot to nod occasionally.
Oh, she saw all right. And she did not find it particularly endearing. Or so I’m guessing because whenever I drifted off into a daydream, she’d hurl a piece of chalk at me.
In her defense, I imagine she was awaiting that venerable day on which I’d actually be paying attention, nimbly catch the chalk in one hand, raise an eyebrow, and toss the chalk back to her along with a witty rejoinder. Life lesson learned. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Time and again the chalk would hit me - on the cheek, on the shoulder - or when her aim was slightly off, shatter on the desk in front of me or hit my nearest neighbor (sorry, Ted). Once, apparently not finding any chalk handy, she threw her shoe. Now THAT got my attention.
From time to time, I find myself wishing I still had Ms. Jenkins around to throw chalk at me to keep me present. I don’t want to miss my life like I missed her lessons. Some parts of my life really hurt….and some are frustrating and tiring….and many are beautiful and fulfilling beyond expression. And I want to experience them all.
*****
I have a son who’s now 6 and he has an unidentified neurological disorder. A few years ago my husband and I were told that his disorder was likely degenerative and fatal, and we lived with that likelihood, off and on, for more than two years. It’s impossible to describe how it affected me other than to say it shredded my insides until I was nothing more than dust.
But humans are hardwired to acclimate to even the most abhorrent of circumstances, and I learned to live under the guillotine of that impossible possibility. Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t embrace nor accept that I would lose my son. And I still dissolved into a sobbing, gasping, snotty mess from time to time. But I also eventually got back to living life: reading Magic Tree House books with my daughter, crashing toy monster trucks around the house with my son, watching the loveliness of the clouds moving across a blue sky, enjoying many of these moments more fully, wholly. Coming face–to-face with a future I couldn’t abide propelled me to stay in the present.
And I found freedom there. In the present, tomorrow’s laundry, next week’s meeting, and the mountain of work I need to get done before the end of the month only matter in practical terms – not emotional ones. In the present I don’t relive what I would have done, should have done, differently yesterday. There’s no knot in my stomach over what might be or what was….only absorption in this person, this scent, this activity or this scene in front of me.
In time, we found out through further testing that it was unlikely my son’s disorder was degenerative after all, and during the giddy, euphoric time that followed, I kept close to me the lessons I’d learned during darker days. But only for a while.
I’ve heard the precept that life is like a rotating wheel and one must try to move away from the wildly spinning outer edges to the still center, the present, where there’s no uncertain movement. Ahhh, being in the middle, in the stillness. But why is it so easy to get swept back out into the hubbub? And is it just a wild coincidence that centrifugal force applies not only to actually being in a physically rotating body but also applies equally aptly on the other side of the metaphor to life itself?
For me, it’s during times of difficulty that epiphanies and insights come skating in by the dozens to grab me by the shoulders and shake me until I just get it. But when the anxiety wanes and life becomes more ordinary, my epiphanies tend to get buried in the clutter of the day to day.
I find that I’ve begun letting myself get pulled into the vortex again. Increasingly, stream-of-consciousness thoughts make their autonomous march across my brain while attendant emotions swing merrily through my neurons. “I forgot to get cat food today, I’ve got to remember that on the way home ... if that cat peed on my new Tibetan rug, I swear I’ll skin it … when I dropped off the kids this morning, did I call the school secretary by the wrong name ... oh, no, I think I did … mortifying … I hope the kids’ school year goes well ... what if his seizures pick up again and it was like last year … how would we get through that again ….”
I need to feel the sting of a piece of flying chalk to remind me to get out of my head and back into the world. Fully.
I have no answers. I only know that when I’m in the present, whether that present is difficult, wonderful, or both, life itself fills the entire screen of my mind. The colors of this world are more vivid, the sounds more nuanced, the interactions more genuine.
I’ve started to meditate to practice this art of staying in the moment. I’m practicing taking my seat both physically and metaphorically. I’m practicing attending to my breath instead of all the monkeys in my head. I’m practicing because I don’t want to keep turning around to discover another of life’s beautiful moments passed by with only the merest of notice because I wasn’t really there.
I’m practicing being present because that’s where I want to be. That’s where my life is.
3 comments:
Mya-Lisa. Oh Mya-Lisa. This essay is already a theme in my mind for a yoga class I have not yet taught. In your honor I picked up a shiny new box of clean, white chalk today. I’m going to place one piece at the head of each mat to serve as a reminder for all of us to reside in the present moment. Pretty sure I’ll never pick one up and zing it at anyone, but perhaps if you come to class? ; ) We can have a little fun.
It’s truly a miracle the way you were able to use the present moment to keep your mind from lurching into that doctor’s forecasted future for your boy. I think it’s a miracle and testament to the fact that our darkest hours often have the power to bring us the most unusual strength…to open us up to never-before-seen beauty. You saved yourself from so much wasteful pain…the kind that comes from the fictional nightmares of our minds.
But M-L…there is a question tugging at me. Do we sometimes use the dharma as an escape from some important thought we should be thinking? Or some important feeling we should be having? I know I sometimes happily let go of thoughts and drag myself back to the present moment in order to avoid some uncomfortable truth or to dodge a painful emotion that has come up. “Lets not think of such things, Val – be one with the laundry!” Or maybe sometimes these escapes are really necessary for our survival. We need to pace ourselves with the overwhelming stuff. Stream it. Let it in as we become more and more ready for it.
“Increasingly, stream-of-consciousness thoughts make their autonomous march across my brain while attendant emotions swing merrily through my neurons.” Oh how I love this! I tell ya, I’m quite certain I’d thoroughly enjoy a walk through your mind…no doubt I’d be swinging along merrily myself…humming a tune! We humans are so fascinating. But NO – zing! – gently throwing a piece of chalk at my own busy head. lol
Boy, I just know I’m going to be riding that chalk metaphor for a long time. What a treasure.
Thank you so much for this gracious gift to our Karma Garage.
Thank you for all the kind words, Val.:)
That's a very interesting question you raise. I've certainly used denial from time to time (rather than truly being present) to escape...and in the case of my son's situation, it did start with just plain refusal to look forward. I think you're right that sometimes that's probably a necessary survival technique.
Maybe it's also sometimes a stepping stone to becoming truly present...to spending more time being in the moment WITHOUT denying the future or the past.
Along those same lines, a wise friend once said to me that if your present is being affected my emotions from the past then you can't truly be present without dealing with those past emotions. (Oh, that was you!:)) I agree with that - I think not acknowledging the past doesn't necessarily mean one isn't living in it.
For me, I think it's sometimes easy to IMAGINE that I'm being present but when I look in the corners and under the furniture there's actually a lot of non-present stuff rolling around with the dust-bunnies. But I keep trying.
(Now why in the world a person who just admitted to being so NOT present that a teacher was actually enlivened to throw stuff at her, is giving so many opinions on this, I don't know. But I'm having fun anyway!:))
Oh those blasted dust bunnies - I always suspected them for keeping extra collections of my past lying around. ; )
In my humble opinion, we remain always beginners at this game of trying to remain present. We observe the mind and where it wanders, and if we are present for one second out of a thousand, then for that one second we go "oh wow", and then we're off again. But the more we observe our mind and the places it drifts, the more aware we become of our nature and the more we realize we are MORE than our minds.
For many folks, meditation and trying to stay present are simple (well deceptively simple) tasks of attempting to stay with the breath. They find themselves thinking...they notice that (which is the juicy moment)...and then they come back to their breath...over and over. And that's good. Well that's phenomenal really.
But for another many folks, the folks like you and me, there is a more pressing place in the present moment to hang on to than the breath alone. There is a tremendous package of emotions sitting there. In difficult times, there is always that package. If you sit with those feelings (if you can release the storyline attached to those feelings? SO DIFFICULT!), then there is enough fuel there to keep you totally awake and present for for a GOOD long while. It's an accelerated process they say. But ripe for transformation. Ripe for opening up. Ripe for healing. Ripe for liberation. It can be that Phoenix process where you build yourself back up from the ashes of a difficult time.
If you have that package of emotions laying heavy on your chest? Or in your throat? Or at the pit of your stomach? Then that is an adventure into the present moment like no other. That is an adventure into Dante's woods. The place where you hear Anais Nin whisper, "and the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom".
We will blossom.
We will blossom.
We will blossom.
But first, I am compelled to go dust-bust some dust bunnies under my couch. ; ) (uh! another wonderful metaphor treat you have given me!)
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