A pilgrimage Home…

This December, I recently journeyed from my home in Denver to my parents’ home (and still the family “homestead,” so to speak) in Milwaukee. It’s a trip that’s slightly over 1000 miles and I’ll be honest, I pride myself in being able to make this drive in one long (let’s face it, very long) day of driving, by myself (and with Lotus, my pup, as my honorary backseat driver). I’ve made this trip (or one similar to it) over ten times now in my life and for someone who doesn’t consider herself to be Christian but definitely religious, this journey seems to have become an important aspect of my annual year-end spiritual journey. For me, this trip across Colorado and Nebraska and Iowa and northern Illinois and into the motherland of Wisconsin is my pilgrimage…home.

In the Christian liturgical year, there is “ordinary time” and well, times of specific contemplation, such as Advent and Lent. (My gaps in remembering my Catholic catechism might be apparent here.) For me, this journey across the Great Plains helps me end my Ordinary Time and enter into Family Time. If I were to hop on a plane and arrive in Milwaukee after just a few hours, how would I be able to denote the transition and prepare myself for the richness and challenge that come with joining with my siblings and parents again in our family home in Milwaukee?

And so, I take to the road. For me, a spiritual practice has always included silence and solitude, paying attention to the natural landscape, and changing my personal rhythms. A long road trip across the Great Plains does just that. (To be fair, so too do hikes in the Rocky Mountains surrounded by so much of That Which is Greater Than Myself.) Through my windshield, I take in the natural landscape: the crisp blue of the lightly frozen Nebraska lakes, the flocks of geese feeding on the fallow cornfields. I also find myself blessing the other pilgrims in their cars, on their journeys to family and friends and work, as they too, transition through the weather on the interstate.

It’s true that I’ve always wanted to join the masses and walk El Camino, the famed pilgrimage in Spain, to journey from sacred site to sacred site, but in the way of Little Bird*, is not the sacred the mundane, those things that we could see on a daily basis but have not trained our eyes or ways of being to Notice and appreciate? The things that are in our own territory and seeing them anew, by changing our pace and perspective, we transition from living to worshipping, truly acknowledging and honoring that Mystery in which we are a part? This is what the long drive between Denver and Milwaukee has come to mean to me: A time to slow down, to sit and simply absorb the passing of miles.

And yet, like other epic journeys, there’s a real tenacity and tolerance for adversity that comes up on this trip. The sheer amount of sitting involved in driving 1000 miles in one day is ironically what I’d consider a pursuit for the fittest.  I remember summit attempts that I’ve made in various mountain ranges and realize that I have the same uneasiness and excitement in my gut when I drive this route as when I begin climbing up a mountain peak. To those well-seasoned in mountain travel, it’s assumed that one will experience unexpected weather and routes. Things will not turn out as anticipated. For me, this unknown factor can at times keep me off the big peaks, as things are still beautiful and a bit less demanding one smaller peaks as the big ones. But there is something to be said about the spiritual practice of putting oneself out there, in a space where all is not controllable or predictable, where we are humbled. Within the first hour of my drive to Milwaukee this year, I was startled to find myself driving through dense fog and negotiating black ice, all in the darkness of predawn December. This was not what I had envisioned for my time on Colorado Interstate 76 and yet, I could do nothing but adjust to what was needed of me from the circumstances: to be attentive and slow down, to let my presence be known (with headlights on) and to join the mass of other pilgrims slowly making their way through the road conditions.

While this pilgrimage does not have a name to those on an international scale, on a personal scale, it is my pilgrimage Home. Here are highlights then from my log:

Mile 551: Just went past Omaha. Are we only just halfway done? Now in Iowa, in utter awe of the geometric shapes of the farm fields, and yet, it is raining. I’m not even motivated to get out and stretch. Lotus is in the backseat, stinking like wet dog even though she hasn’t been outside in the rain. Does she somehow smell like wet dogs in some sort of solidary with those who are in the rain?!

I think I might have seven hours to go. Is this when the pilgrimage becomes spiritual? I’ve been listening to podcast after podcast and chewing on my own thoughts. Are other pilgrims on this voyage having doubts about why they didn’t take that flight and be home in several hours? What was I thinking? Spiritual process, my butt! How about efficiency?!

Mile 666: I’ve been trying to compose this edition to the log for the past sixty miles but Iowa has turned to snow unexpectedly and things have become very real. I’m distracted by memories from previous Christmas jaunts across northern Illinois speeding through my mind. During those trips, I was terrified by the road conditions: the snow so significant that there was no way to even stop or pull off. I pray that that will not be the case now… and I guess that’s the whole point of a pilgrimage, that there is prayer, that one is humbled by one’s ability to truly control what is going on and to succumb to whatever weather or events might be brought into one’s life. This is acceptance as I rarely practice it in my life. The snow turns to rain turns to dark turns to traffic jam. I arrive to Des Moines and wonder what will happen next. I am thankful that I am safe, thus far.

Mile 969.1: Illinois seems to have a sense of humor. This year there is no epic snow or ice in Illinois, except that there are tornado warnings and epic winds instead. I’m less than a hundred miles from home and have turned off the podcasts and am not even tempted to sing Rent at this point (a typical set of hymns in the Denver to Milwaukee road trip). I’m pondering again why the heck I do love this long drive. Maybe it is about my ego and being able to say, proudly, that I’ve been able to drive the 1000 miles on my own. More, it’s almost as if inside me, there is a magnet, with one pole in my family all gathered together- the Brooklynites, the Milwaukeeites- and another pole in me, being pulled together to celebrate the holidays. Really, the holidays for me aren’t about some baby being born but more about the family that my parents, and my grandparents, and their brothers and sisters and ancestors have put together to support my growth, my cousins’, and future generations’. That, that is worth celebrating.

Epilogue:

You’ve guessed correctly that Lotus and I made it safely to Milwaukee and are enjoying some non-ordinary time here. As for our return travels to Denver? A twist in the plans: we’re taking on a co-pilot for me- my boyfriend. Nothing like a long road trip to get to know one another even better. Nothing like realizing that there are some journeys in life that we don’t have to travel alone; in fact, they may become all the more sacred and glorious by sharing them with another.

Thoughts for the road… for you to consider:

@ Where are those spots – both literally and figuratively- that you consider Home?

@ How do you prepare yourself for your time there? Do you have any traditions to help mark the transition from ordinary time to spiritual time?

@ Who are fellow travelers on your sacred journey? These may be religious or spiritual guides, loved ones, pets, archetypes. How might you support one another on your travels in 2016?

* Looking for a powerful picture book to rock your world and spark a pilgrimage of perspective changing without leaving your home? Check out Little Bird by Germano Zullo, Albertine (illustrations), and Claudia Zoe Bedrick (translation).

Moving faithfully towards True North

This weekend, I’ve been reeling from the reality of the terrorist acts in Paris and also compassionately recall to mind and heart the terrorist acts that frequently take place in Lebanon, Palestine, Israel, Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan. How to make meaning of such utter destruction, hatred, and fear?

A friend of mine was asked to comment on her relationship to ‘faith’ this past week. She shared that she was extremely uncomfortable with the word and opted instead to replace it with ‘belief.’ I honor her discomfort and think that she probably is among thousands, perhaps millions, who at this point in modern times, is leery of any mention of faith, and certainly performances of faith. 

But I’d challenge that being faithful is what being human calls us to be. We are flawed and holy, we can empathize with ourselves and others and also devastate one another.

Recently, I moved forward on my heart’s calling to become a Circle of Trust facilitator with the Center for Courage and Renewal, attending a retreat in the magical temperate rainforest of Bainbridge Island. The hallmark of this program are retreats in which space and wonder is cultivated to begin to listen to our spirits, our souls. We are invited to return to and Remember our soul stories, those joys and concerns at the core of who we truly are. To do this work is to be faithful. While these are interfaith gatherings, specific religious faith is not what I’m alluding to here. Parker Palmer, the founder of the Center and prolific secular theologian, explained it earlier this year in an interview with Krista Tippett of On Being (podcast). Parker shared:

“By faithfulness, I mean, am I being faithful to my own gifts? Am I being faithful to the needs I see around me, within my reach? And am I being faithful to those points at which my gifts might intersect those needs in some life-giving way? Um, you know, at age 75, I think about my mortality more than I did when I was 35 or 45. And, one of the things that's very, very clear to me is that when I'm drawing my last breath, I will not be asking did I sell enough books? Did I get enough good enough reviews? What do the numbers look like (sic), you know? I'm going to be asking, given my limitations, given my fallibilities, cutting myself a lot of slack for my failure to do so, did I use my limited lifetime to show up fully as I knew how with what I've got? (italics added) That's what I call faithfulness. And I think it's a matter of framing what we're doing as well as those particular practices, like walking in the woods, like silence, like reading poetry, that can bring us back to those points that you might call true north.”

- Parker Palmer, On Being Podcast, January 8, 2015

So faith isn’t a matter of our egos’ desires and directions; it is a Deep Remembering of the sacred spark within each of us. It is our soul’s story and movement. Sure, I could talk your ear off with my ego stories: things that I’ve done, beliefs I have about the world, friends and foes I’ve made. These ego stories generally help us chronicle our time and keep track of ourselves in a linear fashion, both of which tasks our minds greatly enjoy and find comfort in. There are soul stories though, stories that reflect our inner being, our spirit, our sacredness. Much to the chagrin of our logical mind, soul stories are often confusing and hard to see in the light. Think of night vision: we actually see best at night with our peripheral vision thanks to the functioning of our rods positioned on the outskirts of our retinas. It’s no surprise to me then, as someone who loves illumination and going at things straight ahead, full blast, and with eyes wide open, that I sometimes miss the mark and leave my soul, and its wisdom, behind me, thinking that my ego has got it all.

In the Enneagram personality system, nine possible personality types emerge because individuals of each of the types have forgotten some Holy Idea or spiritual truth of the universal soul story. For me, as someone with the attributes of a Seven, at times in my life, I’ve forgotten that life includes a range of emotions and possibilities, all of which are worthy of my time and attention. When I forget this Holy Idea, I end up with a very painful wound: that it’s not ok to depend on others, that I won’t be taken care of, and deeper still, that I’ll be trapped in pain. Yuck. I don’t know about you, but typically when I’m wounded (physically or emotionally, take your pick), I move to protect that hurt with a “cast.” What are the casts we use for these wounds of forgetting the sacred ways of the world? Our personality structures! which allow us to function fairly well on an ego level but not with the full range of e/motion (spiritual level) that we would have without the cast. My cast as a Seven is to desire to be happy, exploring and moving, and to plan my way out of having any unpleasant run-ins with uncertainty or pain. I don’t want to feel trapped! Even worse, when I do feel trapped, I can gravitate to the personality structures and wounding of the One and think that I have the *right* answers, that it’s up to me to make this world right. Talk about an impossible task!

What happens when you keep a cast on a broken arm for a few months? The wound heals. Keep the cast on for years and years? Muscles atrophy and die, leaving the person even more hurt and wounded than before. You lose sense of your soul story, with flexing our egos not being satisfying in the least, as it falls short of what we can do, who we truly are with our soul stories shining forth. Take addictions, for example. Carl Jung referred to addictions, the casts that many of us wear to “treat” our wounds, as being a “thirst for wholeness.” Addictions can never fully address the God-sized holes, or forgetting of our most essential sacred nature and connection. What can address a hole that large? Fanaticism? Us/them thinking? Violence? What fits into the hole is One Thing, and that’s where faithfulness comes in.

Faithfulness is having the courage to take off my cast, to expose and heal my wounds, to flex my soul towards my values and purpose, my True North. For me, this means to do what feels very risky and to welcome in all emotions and experiences, to let things play out as they naturally will and to not get so caught up in planning and manipulating my way into the best experience possible. Since the last time I blogged, major changes have begun to happen in my life. With my cape of my inner self, my spirit, I leapt at opportunities to listen attentively to what I want and need in my life. I participated in that Circle of Trust with the Center for Courage and Renewal. I began a romantic relationship with someone who is my equal (which totally scares and excites the crap out of me, on a daily basis!). I have been daring to engage in this world with faith, faith in myself, in our communities, and in Something Greater Than Myself and of which I am a Part.

The thing about the Enneagram that’s different than other personality inventories is that the goal isn’t to put ourselves in to the boxes of the specific personality types. Walking around and proudly professing my proclivities towards being a Seven on the Enneagram isn’t all that useful. It’s ego work and only has me become more attached to my cast. Instead, the Enneagram encourages us to get out of the box, to eventually take on the skills and perspectives of all of the nine types, living and moving more fully, more faithfully.

In times of terror, of witnessing and experiencing the very flawed nature of human being, it can be tempting to hold tight to our casts, our personalities, our egos. Our wounds run so deep- how can take off our casts? Ultimately, those casts are preventing us from flexing and moving with our spirits, our deeper wisdom of who we and the world are. Rumi describes this letting go of that which does not serve us when he wrote:

Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right doing,

there is a field

I’ll meet you there

When the soul lies down in that grass

the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase,

            each other

            doesn’t make any sense.

This moment

      this love

comes to rest in me,

      many beings

      in one being.

In one wheat-grain

      a thousand

      sheaf stacks.

            inside

      the needle’s eye,

a turning night of stars.

(Translated by Coleman Barks)

With faith then, the spark of the Divine in me Remembers and bows to the Divine in each of you, as we take courage and walk this world wounded. Namaste.

(For more information about the Enneagram, check out online sources like https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/. The Wisdom of the Enneagram: The complete guide to psychological and spiritual growth for the nine personality types by Riso and Hudson informed much of my discussion of the Enneagram in today’s blog post.)

Caped crusader for... Attentiveness!

From Presence then, comes the opportunity for attentiveness (surely, a superpower!)

To be honest, one of my biggest frustrations of 2015 has been attentiveness, or rather the lack thereof. Being a middle child employed in a “helping” profession, I can actually orchestrate it that the attention goes to others and not to myself. Probably a good skill for a mental health therapist and educator to have but not so satisfying in romantic relationships.

So what is attentiveness? I teach a meditation class twice a week and repeat many times throughout the meditation the basic mindfulness practice: “Focus on your breath, noticing its path in and out of your body. (Pause of several minutes). Notice what you are paying attention to and, with tenderness, return back to your breath.” This is awareness or presence. To get to the attentiveness level though, we can take what we noticed and add responsiveness. This responsiveness is grounded in love, compassion, empathy (take your pick!) and addresses our underlying needs that are present in this moment. Responsiveness is not reactivity or that protective quick response that we have in which we defend ourselves on a survival level (often hurting others in the process). For instance, I can practice attentiveness by pausing, noticing how my body is feeling in this moment, withholding self-judgment, noticing that I’m thirsty, and getting up and drinking a drink of water. (I’ve got the post-yoga thirst!)

Attentiveness= presence (awareness/attention)+ responsiveness.

Seems simple, but for me, this is a Holy Grail of the life changing work that I’ve been digging into lately. So, in a meta/metta exercise, how about offering myself attentiveness to my attentiveness? After some honest self-appraisal, here’s what I’ve got, in order of attentiveness offered (the things that I am most attentive to are at the top of my list):

* Lotus (my ten-year-old pup): She wants in or out of the house, she wants her meal, she wants to play ball during my morning yoga practice, she isn’t feeling well and needs to go to the vet? I’m there! I see her (and her need) (= presence) and help her out (open the door, throw her favorite toy for her, etc). I don’t really judge or begrudge Lotus her wants and needs. Let’s face it, while she does have mad circus skills, she doesn’t have opposable thumbs and needs help navigating the house and her desires. She and I have this contract together: she warms the bed at night and brings me Delight (and at times opportunities to practice patience) and I take care of her needs. After ten years of being in relationship with each other, Lotus and I, I’m fairly able to let go my frustrations with her personality hiccups and see them as cute quirks that make her Lotus, instead.

(Pause please, while I throw Lotus the ball in the backyard. Her tail is waggling and she keeps looking at the ball. My typing skills are apparently not as fast as she would like them to be!)

* My work at my place of employment: deadlines, projects, emails, clients. Sure I get paid to pay attention to these things and be responsive and I also really enjoy the purpose and meaning that my work provide me. I also know though, that I dedicate more bandwidth to my work at my place of employment than probably sustainable. Let’s face it: there will always be emails to answer and program components to tweak and…. Thank God for the suggestion to only check email a few times a day in big chunks. YES!!

* My hunger level: If I’m not attentive to this, I’m pretty useless- with my frontal cortex shutting down and its problem solving ability with it (aka: I try to always have a protein bar on hand, in case of emergencies.).

* My critical mind: So, it turns out that human brains have evolved to have four main functions of thinking: problem finding, problem solving, evaluating, and storytelling. These four have helped us stay alive and for that, I’m grateful. The problem though is, as with any major brain function, the more that we practice one of these functions, the better we become at it and the more frequently our brain with throw in that skill for added flourish. Case in point? My brain excels at finding what’s wrong with me in any given moment: my skin, my chin, my outfit, my preparation for something, my use of time, etc. You get the point, right? Exactly! because I’m guessing that you’re human, too, and have a similar model of brain as I have. Welcome to the human race, eh?

So if this is the way that my brain is hardwired to function, what hope do I have to get to the things that I want to be attentive to (aka: the items further down on this list)? Ah, I sense an opportunity for a spiritual practice!

* My need for movement: My days start with yoga and a walk with Lotus. I now have a standing desk at work to help reduce my angstiness with sitting so much. (Sorry, big booty!) I head to the yoga studio several times a week for a spiritual and physical workout, not to mention to practice curiosity about this wonder of a body that I have!

* My need for spirituality: see Presence. See my need for movement. See the sacred conversations that I have with clients. See going to church. See writing this blog.

* The natural world: How to be attentive to the planet? (Yep, this could be a long blog entry just on itself.) My work in the outdoor industry has me trained that when I see trash, I instantly get a mental message to pick it up. Same with seeing a spider/bug in my house: Time to relocate, buddy, to the outdoors where you’ll be more comfortable! I try to bike on Sundays to reduce my carbon footprint, see things from a different perspective, and attend to my need for movement and play.

* My need for sleep and rest… my playfulness…my need for touch… My dreams and hopes for the future

            I’m putting all of these together as they really are the core of what my inner child needs…and they typically come as the last things that I’m attentive to. Honestly, my adult self is not very good at listening to little Katie. When I was a little kid, I used to dream of becoming a professional ballerina and would dance around the house in a little tutu. Then, when that dream of professional ballerina-dom didn’t seem as likely to occur, I moved on to dreaming up being a psychologist on a kids’ oncology floor, being a nun, and being an author. (I was hopeful for a long life!) In high school, I dreamt of running in the state track meet. In college…. Hmm… what did I dream of in college? And after? Somewhere my critical mind took over and I became dedicated to attending it. The little kid in me, the dreamer, the dancer with fewer inhibitions? Yeah, she was demoted to the bottom of the list. Ouch! There’s even more of a kicker, though. Turns out that my joy and satisfaction in life doesn’t come from attending my inner critic, no matter how hard I try to please her or anticipate her tantrums. Contentment, for me, comes from deeply listening (Presence) and attending to what all of me needs, and after several decades of not paying attention to my inner child, she’s pissed and wants some serious attention.

What does it look like to attend to oneself? Well, this week, I had opportunities to practice being present with the needs of my inner child and attending to her when I… wore a really uncomfortable outfit to work and changed into comfortable clothes when I got home (despite my critical mind saying that that’d be a waste of time), problem solved not having heat in the house when it was 40s outside, and crafting capes for Lotus and me to wear for dancing around the house, walks around Sloan’s Lake, and being playful. Deal is that my inner critic said that I’m uncomfortable wearing costumes or that because I won’t be at home for Halloween, that I shouldn’t bother having a costume. Let’s face it- the problem finder and evaluator functions of my mind were all over why making these capes was a bad idea. Time efficient, they were not, BUT, having fun, being alive and playful, listening to the little Katie who loves to dance and have others’ attention, they certainly are! Little Katie thinks that the capes are a little risky bit of fun. She loves when her heart races as she gallops out into the “stretch” zone (like wearing the cape to my therapy appointment today!).

How did I respond to my critical mind? Is it possible to be attentive to it, too, without judging it? I found myself saying, “Thank you, critical mind, for trying to protect me. I’m good with making the capes, even if they don’t turn out perfect and even if I feel awkward wearing mine.” I can’t expect a romantic partner or parents or bosses to be attentive to my inner needs when I’m not offering that to myself. True story. Sure, I may be super skillful at attending others (it’s my vocation!) but that doesn’t mean that I have to be less than satisfied (aka: grumpy!) about not having the attention reciprocated. It’s time to show up, be Present, and attend to myself- all of me. The work feels bold and important and spiritual for me. How about you?

Practice:

Several times a day, ask yourself: “What is it like to be me in this moment?” After grounding yourself in an awareness of your present experience, then ask yourself, “What do I need right now?” Maybe the response is compassion, rest, food, or play. See if you can offer yourself what you need without additional judgment.

Practice with a partner:

Share with a loved one what your inner child is like. What aspects of attention are tender for this part of you? How can your loved one help you attend this part of yourself? What would it feel like for your loved one to attend this part of yourself, themselves?

Got to run. Lotus needs inside the house, again!

Miracle at Mile Ten

Our true home is in the present moment.

To live in the present moment is a miracle.

The miracle is not to walk on water.

The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment,

to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now.

Peace is all around us--

in the world and in nature--

and within us--

in our bodies and our spirits.

Once we learn to touch this peace, 

we will be healed and transformed.

It is not a matter of faith;

it is a matter of practice.

- Thich Nhat Hanh

This morning, I awoke early and hopped on my bike to head downtown to cheer a friend on as she walked a half marathon as part of the Denver Rock and Roll scene. I'll be honest, I wasn't too thrilled with myself that I had agreed to be a part of this friend's support crew. Wasn't this just another example of how I say 'yes' to things and then realize later that those things aren't what I need in my life (what I need in my life is more attention to my needs in my life! Ha!)?! Before I left my house, I put on my runner's necklace from my high school trackster days. I still love moving my body and appreciate the reminder that this necklace provides me of faith and perseverance. How many people cheered me on during races in my life? What about the deep inner sense that I held so closely when I was a teen that Something Greater Than Myself but of Which I am a Part (aka: "God") would take care of me and help me realize my dreams? Those four years in high school, when I was obsessed with running track and making it to the state track meet, were probably some of my most faithful. I believed in possibilities within and beyond myself that I have shrugged at as an adult. With runner necklace and helmet on, I pedaled to the race route.

After hustling through traffic and crowds, I posted myself at mile six. So many different types of people ran past me! What courage they had to get out there on an early fall Sunday morning and run. I stood and watched, although didn't cheer on any who went past. Was I holding my voice only for my friend? What made her efforts more praiseworthy, her being more sacred? Of course, I missed my friend walk past me at mile six: argh!!!, to say the least! It was at that point that I realized I wasn't honoring the powerful expression of courage and faith that these runners and walkers were displaying. I hopped back on my bike and became a mobile cheerleader, encouraging runners and walkers, alike to keep going, to see how awesome they are, to offer smiles and spirit to my fellow human beings. Instead of holding my love tight within myself, I began to let is pour out of me. Yeah! What a relief! It felt so good!

Still, not having found my friend, I began to get panicky that the real reason for me being out on the course wasn't being accomplished. Weren't there other places that I had to go, like the UU church this morning?! I stopped at the ten mile marker and did some calculations. My friend had to be behind me, even if I hadn't seen her. That's when I really opened myself to being present with each and every person who crossed that ten mile mark: I clapped, shouted, celebrated, encouraged, praised each one as they crossed. Some thanked me, others smiled, and some just kept on going. I wasn't doing it for attention or feedback but because it felt so good to acknowledge the wonder that was streaming past me. (I think two kindergarteners, dressed in Halloween costumes, a few hundred meters from the ten mile mark also felt that same way: They collected fall leaves and then threw them onto passing runners as fairy dust! Those kiddos got that the moments happening on that course were magical and miraculous!) That's when I looked across the way and saw a fellow cheerer with his three-month-old puppy. Now, running/walking ten+ miles is tough, but a little lab puppy can make it a bit less painful, for a moment! When I went to talk to the guy, he shared that he had run the Colfax half this past spring and had appreciated everyone who had come out to cheer him on. He wanted to pay it back to those in this race. Plus, he has a cute puppy and wanted to share that love with others. Yeah. That's Dog's God talking! 

During that time of cheering others on, the Sun was pouring down on me. I was smiling broadly and felt a warmth emanating from my center. I was witnessing the miraculous in the moment. There was no where else to be, nothing else to do but be open to the wonders that were running/walking past me. How's that for church!

Of note, is that I did eventually get the UU church and listened to the sermon on "presence" as a spiritual practice. Much talk was given to mindfulness and being attentive to our bodies as the starting point for being present. While I can't argue with this information, it's just that- data. The type of presence that I'm interested in cultivating in my life is Presence: a sense of That Which is Greater Than Myself But of Which I am a Part around and within me. It's a bold and courageous thing to do in a time of technology where we are "connected" to the data stream but not to ourselves or each other. What would it be like if we slowed down, soaked in the sun- actually felt it on our skin, and witnessed each other as the Divine Beings that we are? To cultivate a sense of the sacred that is this earth, that is our conversation with others? I was just cheering on a friend's run when I found God's Presence. Can we find it when we eat food that has traveled hundreds of miles and involved countless individuals? Or when we get cut off in traffic and then find ourselves accidentally doing the same thing to another (maybe we all are a human?!)? Or when we listen to the sounds of our neighborhoods, when we pass a neighbor on the street, when we are touched? "Our true home is in the present moment. To live in the present moment is a miracle. The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment, to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now. Peace is all around us-- in the world and in nature-- and within us-- in our bodies and our spirits. Once we learn to touch this peace, we will be healed and transformed. It is not a matter of faith; it is a matter of practice." (Much gratitude to you, Thich Nhat Hanh*)

Blessed be,

KT

Putting Presence into Practice:

* Thich Nhat Hanh, spiritual beckon in this world, had a stroke last year and has been recovering since. These were his first words last month: 

In, out (several times)
Happy (several times)
Thank you (several times)

Following Thay's lead, take several minutes to practice breathing in and out, saying aloud the above phrases. Notice what it is like to be you in this moment: your sensations, thoughts, emotions, and spirit.

Practice with another: sit back to back with another, with one person volunteering to "go" first (Person A). As Person A breathes naturally, Person B is invited to notice and then match Person A's breathing. After a few minutes, switch roles, with Person A following Person B's breathing rhythm and pace. Notice what it is like to deeply listen and be present with one another.