Create a Sacred Space

Since I've had quite a dry spell in my writing, I decided to pull out The Observation Deck--a deck of cards with creative writing ideas to give myself a jumpstart.  The point is to make your self write something about the idea on the card no matter what; there's a little booklet with a few paragraphs about each card to help get the juices flowing.

The first card I pulled read:  "Create a Sacred Space"

I was reminded of my small efforts over the last several months to create a more welcoming spiritual place for myself in my office at work. It's a small corner office many would envy:  huge windows facing west the a clear view of the Front Range. In one corner of my desk I've placed a small cascading fountain and I've arranged my five little ivory laughing buddhas around the fountain and up its steps.  Nearby stands a small white statue of a guardian angel given to me by a friend during some very dark days a couple of years ago.

Next to the fountain is a meditation chime--a metal cylinder cradled on a wooden base with a small wooden mallet which can be used to strike the chime, issuing an extremely clear, bell-like tone that fades ever so slowly back into silence again.  The chime helps me remember to breath and be present.

Also on the desk is a daily Zen calendar with a new quotation for each day; I've saved some of my favorite quotes which are arranged somewhat haphazardly on the desk for repeated reference, including:

"Always stay in your own movie." - Ken Kesey

"Only the madman is absolutely sure." - Robert Anton Wilson

"My father considered a walk among the mountains the equivalent of church-going." - Aldous Huxley

"Awareness is therapy per se." - Fritz Perl

A weekly calendar is on another corner of the desk with beautiful photographs of nature and wild animals;  I look forward to turning the page each Monday morning.  A monthly wall calendar has nature photographs and quotes by that master of the here and now, Eckhart Tolle.  A carved wooden bowl sits nearby which I keep filled with tangerines and apples.  

On the wall opposite the windows is a framed panoramic photo of Boulder's Flatirons glowing pink and orange at dawn.

I spend a lot of time at work and I'm glad I've succeeded in creating a welcoming and spiritual space there.

My bedroom at home is a restful place, with a huge picture over the bed of the ocean viewed through a window with thin white curtains stirring gently in the sea breeze.  Deep blue glass bottles filter the light from the window, pictures of my family grace the walls, a big white goosedown comforter covers the bed.  On the wall by the door is a photograph given to me by my true love of a tree-lined Parisian walkway, the sun filtering down through the leaf canopy.  Perched on one corner of the picture frame is a yellow and purple feathered Mardi Gras mask.

So I think I know how to create sacred spaces for myself.  But when it comes to my writing, I lean toward extreme portability. I like to load my backpack for long walks, carrying with me everything I'll need to write anywhere.  In this case I carry my sacred space inside my head by staying aware and noticing the vastness of the world around me.

Do you have a sacred space?

It's All Right

After a weeklong business trip with the usual sense of isolation combined with strange moments of connectedness with airport strangers that business travel usually brings me, I woke up intensely grateful to be back in Boulder. This morning I listened to a Paul Simon song that’s been running through my head all week, the music based on a Bach chorale and the words so very relevant for the current time and for my return home from traveling: “American Tune.”

Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
But I’m all right, I’m all right,
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be
Bright and von vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home

This country continues the long struggle of picking up the pieces from the latest hurricane in Galveston and environs. I see pictures of the places we visited in March on the west coast of the island, now totally destroyed. Meanwhile Wall Street has had its own hurricane and the U.S. government, counter to the current administration’s usual philosophy of letting the free markets resolve these messes, is stepping in to bolster the “giants who cannot be allowed to fail” before they topple and destroy our economy. But it’s only money, right?

Do listen to "American Tune." Simon sang it for the Democratic Convention in 1980. He sang it again on the first Saturday Night Live after 9/11. Simon has said in interviews that he wrote it in 1973 after Nixon won reelection.

And I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
Or driven to its knees
But it’s all right, it’s all right
We’ve lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road we’re traveling on
I wonder what went wrong
I can’t help it, I wonder what went wrong

In these times it’s important to remember how lucky we still are and how much we have to be grateful for as we seek the change we need in November. You can imagine Paul Simon waking up on a November morning to another four years of Nixon and writing this:

We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age's most uncertain hour
And sing an American tune
But it’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all I’m trying to get some rest.

The song could leave you with a bleak feeling but I choose to take it as a hopeful call to find our way and make it all right before it is too late, to find our way again on this “long strange trip.” It’s time for a different approach. McCain represents safety and assurance to some, but there is no security because we are blazing a new trail on many fronts: financial, international and ecological. These lives we are all living—what radical changes may really be required to continue to live in this world and ensure that all the other inhabitants may also live? I believe Obama recognizes what we all must realize--much must change and greed must fall.

I intend to continue to recognize the abundance I have in the simple joy of living. To draw my happiness from the moment, not from all the “stuff” and money and accumulations. A key question: am I being generous enough to my fellow human beings? Am I practicing enough acts of random kindness? Eckhart Tolle says:

Many poets and sages throughout the ages have observed that true happiness is found in simple, seemingly unremarkable things...Why is it the "least thing" that makes up the best happiness?...The form of little things leaves room for inner space, and it is from inner space, the unconditioned consciousness itself, that true happiness, the joy of Being, emanates. To be aware of little, quiet things, however, you need to be quiet inside. A high degree of alertness is required. Be still. Look. Listen. Be present.

And…if you are having a cynical moment (or two or three) as you read this, please ask yourself how you like living with this cynicism every day and what you or anyone else is getting out of it. As John Lennon sang: "You may say I'm a dreamer...but I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us, and the world will be as one."

The Voice in the Head

I have been thinking a lot about a concept covered in Eckhart Tolle’s “A New Earth” – the voice in the head. He tells the story of being on the subway on his way to work and observing a woman having a loud and angry conversation with a voice in her head. The woman is very agitated and upset, and looks down and off to the side into empty space as she continues a conversation along the lines of: “And then she said to me…so I said to her you are a liar how dare you accuse me of…when you are the one who has always taken advantage of me I trusted you and you betrayed my trust…”

Tolle mentions that later, as he is standing in the men’s room at work washing his hands, he thinks to himself, “I hope I don’t end up like her.” A man standing next to him looks briefly in his direction, and he realizes he has said these words out loud, he is already like her, that his mind is just as “incessantly active as hers,” and that really if she is mad, so are we all to some degree. Tolle says:

For a moment, I was able to stand back from my own mind and see it from a deeper perspective, as it were. There was a brief shift from thinking to awareness…at that moment of detachment from my mind, I laughed out loud. It may have sounded insane, but it was the laughter of sanity, the laughter of the big-bellied Buddha. ‘Life isn’t as serious as my mind makes it out to be.’ That’s what the laughter seemed to be saying. But it was only a glimpse, very quickly to be forgotten. I would spend the next three years in anxiety and depression, completely identified with my mind. I had to get close to suicide before awareness returned, and then it was much more than a glimpse. I became free of compulsive thinking and of the false, mind-made I. … Thinking is only a tiny aspect of the consciousness that we are.

This might have been part of what Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows is talking about in the song, “Perfect Blue Buildings,” repeating the phrase,

How am I gonna keep myself away from me
Keep myself away
How am I gonna keep myself away from me
Keep myself away...

It's an idea that many of the books I’ve been reading express in one way or another; the AA groups refer to it as “stinking thinking.” The meditation books describe techniques for cessation of thinking, for emptying the mind. My skill is slowly increasing at stepping outside of myself, noticing my thinking, and more importantly countering it when it is causing anxiety, grief, or my personal favorite: guilt.

Breathe

I have been working on taking deep breaths that fill my lungs and push out my belly, and then holding for a second and releasing the air in a big whoosh through my mouth. As I practice this, I sometimes relax into a state of well being, and often I yawn. Perhaps it's my imagination, but it seems occasionally I am rewarded with the tiniest rush of endorphin. I think this means I'm doing it right. I practice this several times a day, when walking, stretching, driving, sitting at the computer or bouncing on the ball I now have in my office.

I remember my Dad used to hold his breath, then release it in a rush through pursed lips: pffffff. He did it when he was working hard, concentrating on a delicate task of some sort, or otherwise working with his hands. I used to think he was just forgetting to breath, holding his breath as he concentrated and releasing it all at once when he remembered. However, Dad was stationed in France during World War II and one of his jobs was to defuse bombs. He rarely discussed this so I can only speculate: Could it be that way back then, at age 20, he had instinctively learned a way to breath that was calming and head-clearing, producing focus and mindfulness for a dangerous and delicate task?

Eckhart Tolle had this to say in "A New Earth:

"Someone recently showed me the annual prospectus for a large spiritual organization. When I looked through it, I was impressed by the wide choice of interesting seminars and workshops. It reminded me of a smorgasbord...The person asked me whether I could recommend one or two courses. "I don't know," I said. "They all look so interesting. But I do know this," I added. "Be aware of your breathing as often as you are able, whenever you remember. Do that for one year, and it will be more powerfully transformative than attending all of these courses. And it's free."

He also says:

...Being aware of your breath forces you into the present moment--the key to all inner transformation. Whenever you are conscious of your breath, you are absolutely present. You may also notice that you cannot think and be aware of your breathing. Conscious breathing stops your mind--but you are fully awake and highly alert."

So simple a concept: Remember to Breath.