Today is my dad's 70th birthday. This is one of his favourite poems. Happy birthday daD! — Love, neJ Photo by Andreas Dress on Unsplash Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ~Robert Frost
0 Comments
 When's the last time you wrote anything out by hand? A blog post, a letter, anything beyond your grocery list (oh, that's on your phone, too?). I'm writing this in cursive, and I'll type it out later. It's using my brain in a different way, which changes how I think, and subsequently, what I say. [As I'm typing this later, I'm seeing how I would have written sentences differently had I been typing them, but I'm editing as little as possible.] Interesting.
I just came in from sitting on the front porch (left my phone inside), where I finished reading The Shallows: What the Internet it Doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr. It's a fascinating and somewhat terrifying journey through the history, psychology, sociology of our interactions with technology, or tools of the mind. We dream up a tool, create it, but the using of it recreates who we are. It's a book that should scare you into putting your phone down and going for a walk. Likely you'll Google it, maybe you'll even order it. But I would encourage you to also read it, to consider how what you are doing is shaping your brain, and how that changes who you are, your relationships with others, and ultimately the world we live in. This is a must read. When I slow down enough, I start to be able to hear myself, and usually when I do that, some crazy ideas come out. It's like a post-it brainstorming session for my life. The first ideas that appear are terrible — no, really, I'm not just being self-deprecating, they're really bad. The next ones are okay, but nothing earth-shattering or ground-breaking. But tonight I had an idea for a project to embark on, and it was truly terrifying, and that's when I knew I'd hit the jackpot. Pema Chödrön, American Tibetan Buddhist and writer of many books including When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times, wrote: Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth. And there it is. Fear shows itself when I'm moving in the right direction. If I'm moving in the wrong direction I'm disinterested, but when it's right, it's daunting, unnerving, and I find myself filled with dread. I think that's because I care. If something bombs that doesn't matter, that's no skin off me. But if that project coming together is important, beginning it is really scary.
When we're afraid, we need to lean in, look closely, take our Superman stance, and feel the courage rise to meet that mighty foe. So I'm standing here, fists on hips, looking slightly up and off into the distance, feet planted on the ground. Fear — I hear ya, and I'm ready.  Photo by Tom van Hoogstraten on Unsplash We are in a liminal time — a time between things. I love this word, this idea, this image of being on the edge of the unknown, although I find the sensation less comfortable. We know what was, and we have a sense of what is, but we have less idea of what will be. If you find you are in a liminal space, see if you can take the time to sit with the discomfort of not knowing what's next instead of rushing into something. Out of that space, the right thing will emerge.
 I'm lucky. I have a pretty great family. It's not perfect (it's full of people, sooooo...) but it's a collection of people who respect each other, who have each other's backs, who support each other. We don't always agree, but we're always family. On top of my family of birth, is my chosen family, chief among that group is this laughing person, Emilie. We don't live near each other anymore, but we can get on Zoom and it's like nothing has changed, and I'm grateful to have that in my life, to have this person as my sister. I know many people don't have the kind of birth family I have, but you can choose the people who are your family. Name them as family. You can even have a ceremony where you commit yourselves to each other (Emilie and I did that eons ago). Family is important, but you have agency over what that is for you.
 Poor Augustus Gloop, who had been ignored for too long, is back! After 8 days of discarding and feeding, today he grew and there are so many bubbles. If you haven't fallen victim to the sourdough craze you likely won't care, and that's okay. But this means tomorrow there will be a sourdough bake and that's something that most people can get excited about.
 Long before the pandemic I began baking bread. I even made my own sourdough starter pre-COVID. But last summer, I stopped baking. I'm not sure why. I was working on some other projects, and I just couldn't settle in the kitchen to bake. But this week I've been thinking about bread again. I've been working to revive my poor, neglected starter (whose name is Augustus Gloop), but today I couldn't take it any longer, so I whipped up a little loaf of this multi-grain artisanal bread. Yes, it's delicious. And I feel a bit more like myself again.
 I spent a large portion of my day today mediating the relationship between my cats. Circe was at the vet this week (see a few posts back), and when she came back, Hestia was very afraid of her. And she continues to be, so when Circe gets too close, Hestia hisses and spits and runs away, which encourages Circe to chase her. It's a little tense around here. So, I sat on the floor of an unfinished bathroom today between two cats, occasionally giving each of them treats and pets, telling them that they were good girls. (Can you spot Hestia hiding in the sink?) Between those moments, I sat quietly on the floor (it's heated, so don't feel too badly for me) for a really long time. I got a book and read. And then I found that it was a good moment for quiet reflection and some meditation. Take the moments when they come to you.
 "The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give. If I carry only grief, I’ll bend toward cynicism and despair. If I have only gratitude, I’ll become saccharine and won’t develop much compassion for other people’s suffering. Grief keeps the heart fluid and soft, which helps make compassion possible."
~ Francis Ward Weller There has been a lot of grief and sadness in the world these past couple of years, and a great need for compassion. It's hard to be present with it all. But we can be present with the breath, and we can use the space between the breaths as a moment to reflect. Take a gentle inhale (through your nose) and then a gentle exhale (through your nose), then pause. Don't hold the breath, but be still in the rest between the breaths. And when the breath returns, use that moment as one to feel gratitude for your breath. Inhale, exhale, pause and be present, inhale with gratitude. After a while you can go beyond that, and begin to work towards stretching yourself wide and being present with the grief in yourself. Gratitude, grief, gratitude, grief, gratitude, grief. Building up our gratitude practice and our grief practice will help us to be present with the suffering of others, and our compassion. Let's all try this and see if we can change the world by changing ourselves.  The first run of Finding Kevala Pranayama wrapped up today. Short a few people in the final call (plus one cat with her cone of shame, and a few dogs), but I'm so grateful to everyone who signed up and joined me for the past nearly 3 months, digging deep into breathing. I had a fabulous time. My brain is currently empty, but I'm sure something new will come from the space I'm making over the next few weeks.
 One of my two cats, Circe, ate a boot lace last week. My husband thought that the cats would have fun playing with it, and while Hestia was having fun with it, Circe immediately gobbled it up. After several days of waiting for it to appear in the little box or otherwise, she went to the vet. It was stuck in her intestines, clogging up the works. She's had surgery, spent a night in hospital (where she hissed and growled at anyone who would do anything other than pet her) and has now returned home with the cone of shame. Her sister is not pleased to see her.
The Journey
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice-- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do-- determined to save the only life you could save. ~ Mary Oliver (from Dream Work) |
RSS Feed
|
Jennifer Snowdon ©2022 ✉️ breathe@jennifersnowdon.ca
|