Summer School (Fireflies) next version...

Here is the same poem from my previous post,  me tightening up the meter/syllable counts per line.   Sometimes I think it is structurally better to have everything evened out, other times I like the ragged edges for the flow of the meaning.

If anyone has an opinion regarding the two versions, would love to hear it!

Summer School

I remember lightning bugs:

first time I saw them,

a golden buzz blinking

in black of the night.

My cousins with a Bell jar,

holes punched in metal

for catching the laggards

and twisting lid tight.

I felt myself mesmerized;

that belly on fire

twinkling, one moment here

then one moment done

Ah, the thrill of the capture!

Delicate creature!

But once I encased it,

I wanted it gone

released to the nighttime sky,

back to the starshine;

because in the glass was

a prison and death.

I ached when I saw her there,

glow slowly fading,

wings searching for freedom,

she struggled for breath.

For here was a lesson learned

early in childhood,

though I had not words for

this wisdom I'd learned:

In the act of possessing

you kill what you love.

In taking the fire of

another, you burn.

Summer School

Summer School

I remember lightning bugs
and the first time I saw them
a golden buzz blinking
in the black of the night

My cousins with a Bell jar
holes punched in the metal
catching the laggards
twisting lid tight

I felt myself mesmerized
by the fire in their belly
the twinkling one moment here
one moment done

Ah, the thrill of the capture
this delicate creature
but once I encased it
I wanted it gone

released to the nighttime sky
back to the starshine
because in the glass
was a prison and death

I ached when I saw her there
glow slowly fading
wings searching for freedom
as she struggled for breath

For here was a lesson learned
early in childhood
though I had not words for
this wisdom I'd learned:

In the act of possessing
you kill what you love
and in taking the fire
of another you burn

But my no-self still needs sleep...

So as to what I was reading from the night before that may have spurred some insomnia.   I just had started reading a book on Buddhism on the Kindle that my husband so thoughtfully just got for me.  I love the feel of books and so resisted the whole e-book thing, but I find that I like it.  It is kind of like holding a book, and it has a groovy little night light.

Anyway, the chapter was about awakening to the true nature of mind and no-self.  I will do my best to explain what I was reading as far as my still limited understanding goes, and if anyone reading this post can correct or further enlighten me (pun intended) I would love your feedback and dialogue.

Buddhist psychology looks at mind in its pure state as a process, not a thing, and as a result there is not really a self that exists independent of others, no static entity, but rather, no-self.  That is, the concept of a fixed identity is an illusion of sorts, an artifact that we construct out of our beliefs about the nature of reality, particularly dualities such as there being a world "out there" and then a separate world inside my head, what I consider "me."

And when I am caught in the concept of "me" there is always something to defend, to cling to, to avoid, to fear--all in an attempt to preserve an idea of a "me" that exists only because I have constructed it.  You, I, all of us are more like drops of water in a larger stream; we do not exist independent of the stream, we are the stream and the stream is us.

Now I find this to be a wonderful, limitless, peaceful point of view; when I can inhabit that idea and I really feel into it during meditation, the experience is beyond words.    It is the flip side to my existential dread, that fear of non-being, the loss of "me" upon death.  Buddhist philosophy is that my suffering because of those thoughts and fears is unnecessary, because there is no actual individual, isolated self to lose.

Okay, so if these kind of ideas are new to you, this might sound like gibberish, and when I am too caught up in my ego, this perspective can spin me out a bit.  But truly, in combination with other aspects of Buddhist values and practices, I find these ideas to be absolutely transformative, and (a word only a recovering Catholic Buddhist would use), redemptive.

This kind of inquiry into the nature of reality, the questioning of perceptions and assumptions, and moving past limitations I have placed on myself and others is vital to me right now.

But it I think at bedtime it may be a little intense.  

Better to read or ponder some other aspect of Buddhism like loving-kindness, something soothing to lead to slumber, and leave the mind-morphing stuff to a fully rested brain, planting the seed in the morning light, then meditating, to see what fruit it bears.

Or maybe at night I should just switch to one of the other books Curtis loaded on my Kindle.

Hmmm, Fifty Shades of Grey...

Insomnia

I want to be sleeping, but it is almost midnight and here I am writing.  Sometimes I am purposefully and happily up late writing, when I am feeling inspired, or just can't step away until whatever I am working on feels finished.

Not tonight.  Really, I just want to sleep.  And of course, sleep is one thing you can not will yourself to do, it has to happen.  The more vexed you feel by not sleeping, the more impossible it becomes.  So rather than toss and turn, here I am at the computer.

Insomnia is one of the most ubiquitous of human complaints, although I wonder if non-Western societies are as plagued.

And there are so many reasons and factors.

I never had any issue with sleeping until having a baby; most women will tell you they never quite rest as well again once sleep is so massively interrupted by the discomfort of the third trimester and then the arrival of the bundle of  up-all-night joy.  Yes, shitty diapers makes for shitty sleep, and my sleep has been generally a bit lighter since that time in my life, as though I could never entirely turn off that vigilance for things that go "wah" in the night.

And then of course there is perimenopause.  My friend Rita said she was surprised I did not include insomnia in my post the other day.  I guess I wasn't really making the association, but now that I think about it, my insomnia does seem more frequent lately.  Hormones affect everything...

Then there is the factor of poor sleep hygiene, as it is called.  Most of us have some bad habits that get in the way of a good night's sleep, like leaving the TV on.  Or sometimes we do things in bed we shouldn't, like pay the bills.  The first rule of good sleep hygiene is that the bed is only for sex and sleep. Since sometimes I try to help my clients with insomnia, I know all the things that you are supposed to do and not do, and of course I do not always follow my own good advice (like right now, engaging in the stimulating activity or writing!)  But even when I do everything the right way, sometimes it just is what it is.  I can not sleep.

Many people are up at night because they are worried or stressed and can't turn off the chatter in their brain.  I tend not to worry too much, but occasionally my brain gets to buzzing about something or the other.   And tonight, as many times, it is also that my body that feels restless, despite the fact I am really tired.  It is not a lack of exercise; I spent an hour at the gym this morning, and one after work.

Well, it just is what it is.  I will go lay back down, focus on breath, and sooner or later I will shift into non-consciousness.

Ah, it just occurred to me!  I was reading right before I tried to go to sleep, and I think it stirred me up a bit.  I will tell you about what I was reading on my next post, or else I really shall be up for half the night.

See you in my dreams...

Monday, Monday...

Just a quick post as the strains of The Mamas and The Papas float through my head.  Just like the lyrics of the song, I think many of us have an ambivalent reaction to this day of the week.  Are we energized and purposeful for the coming week?  If so, then "Cool, it's  Monday!"  Was the weekend not long enough for us, and are we ignoring the fact that we are in a rut of some kind, or dreading the coming week?  Then it's "Crap, it's Monday."

I rather like Mondays though.  Usually.  Sometimes I feel a little tired as I look at a very full schedule of clients for the coming week, or if I am feeling rueful about that report I really should have sat down to do on Sunday.  But  I start and end Monday at the gym, in the morning with  rigorous weight training, which makes me feel healthy and strong,  and then with dancing in the evening, which makes me exuberant and joyful.  What's not to like about those feelings?

So to all my friends, I wish for you on this day the energy and capacity to open wide to all you desire for the coming week.  Shape it to your liking where you can, choose a helpful attitude when you can't, pay it forward to a stranger, spend time with someone you love,  and embrace the present moment.

Namaste.

Ridin' the Harley

Yesterday my husband and I took a ride to Eagle Rock to visit a funky burger/sandwich joint called The Oinkster.  It was the first I had been on the bike in a while; I think the last time was late last summer, maybe early autumn.

Being on the back of a Harley, hurtling down the freeway at 70 miles per hour, the roar of the wind in my ears --you would think that would be an entirely present-moment experience.  So it was interesting to me to notice that I had to keep pulling myself out of my head to focus on sensation and perception.  At first, the reason was... well... anxiety and fear.

Curtis is an experienced biker, sure handed and safe and not afraid to kick up the speed.  I can count on both hands and maybe one foot the number of times I have been on a motorcycle, and I am still getting used to it.

It is an exhilarating experience, but it is very raw and exposed as well, and as much as I like to think of myself as a risk-taker, I know that in very many ways I am not.  So it is a small step of courage to ride with nothing but a bitchin' helmet to protect me.   Although holding on to the sturdy frame of my husband helps, I still find myself closing my eyes as the bike tips towards the ground in the bend of the curve, and I remind myself to relax and let the lean happen.  By the time we are on our way home, I am getting used to that curious sensation once again.

But even after I have let go of the tension, still I notice my mind wandering away from the beauty of the landscape and sky through which we are traveling.  Sometimes a random rumination, sometimes just the running commentary that tends to fill my head all the time as if I am writing a script.  As I keep bringing my attention back --to the green hues of the crops, or the scrubby hillside, or the wind and the sun on my skin--I begin to find just the barest beginning brief moments of pure awareness, the gap between thoughts that comes so much more easily when sitting in the dark and quiet of my morning meditation.

I guess I need more riding practice.  Letting go of automatic reactions, trusting the moment, leaning in to the scary places.  I like this metaphor as it is unfolding for me right now as I write this.  This is how I want to live, this mindful and purposeful practice of fully inhabiting the present moment.  Whether I am on the bike, washing the dishes, talking with a friend, doing therapy, walking to lunch; I want to be in the now in all its fullness, neither grasping nor avoiding, fully engaged and authentically expressive.

It is the practice of a lifetime.  But I have a handsome guy with a Harley to help me along.

And Happy Father's Day to my favorite biker dude.

Heat...

Here is the edited version of my piece, as it appears in the July issue of The Sun.  The subject: Heat.

I was home for a brief visit in the humid heat of a Carolina summer. “So you really don’t believe in God?” my dad asked nonchalantly as we drove by the church of my childhood.

Oh, Lord, I thought. I always felt a slight rush of blood to my cheeks when this subject came up.

I’d been raised Catholic — with the incantations and the incense, the gilded chalice and the guilty conscience — but I’d pulled away from the Church as a young woman, finally rejecting all religion. My dad was a devout convert, and I couldn’t help but feel that my lack of faith caused him consternation.

Still, I was honest with him. I said I thought there are energies and dimensions we don’t understand, but I didn’t think there’s a deity, certainly not one who sits in judgment and punishes and rewards.

“So you don’t believe in an afterlife either?” he asked. “No heaven and hell?” 

I told him I believed that we have only this one life to live, and when it’s over, it’s over. I didn’t acknowledge that I sometimes had midnight moments of existential dread and panic due to this belief.

“Who knows, Dad,” I said, wanting to lighten the mood. “I could be wrong. Maybe after I die I will be pleasantly surprised.”

“Or maybe not,” he replied.

At first I felt shock: Had he implied that I’d be banished to fires of hell? But then I saw the twinkle in his eye.

My father died a few years later. I still don’t think I will see him in an afterlife, but I have felt his presence near me since his death.

I am a Buddhist now. I wonder if he would consider that an improvement over my atheism. I certainly do. I’ll take the cycle of rebirth over the fires of hell any day. And my meditation practice has quelled those white-hot fears in the middle of the night.

Katherine Hamilton

Camarillo, California