Monday, September 12, 2011

churning, but not really moving

Sometimes I am really really busy. This is one of those times. At the same time, I feel like not much is happening. I am working a lot, seven days a week most of the time. I have a database re-development, a server migration, a web server upgrade, and a change to our credit card processing, all happening at the same time. It's a lot of effort, and all to crucial systems. It really has to go well, right out of the gate. I don't feel as anxious about it as I normally would, and I am not feeling the pressure the same way. It's not that I don't care -- I really do want it to all go well. It's just that I don't care with the same weight and urgency that I used to have. I guess I finally understand that it's an important task, but it's not earth-shattering. It's not life and death. I have more perspective than I've had before.

We are going to start looking at colleges next week. This is a big year for our son, his senior year of high school. He is working at getting his license, taking a really demanding course load, and is trying to squeeze in some fun at the same time. I want to enjoy the year, and try to savor the "mom" time as it slowly slips away. It's also a year with big tasks for me -- making sure I don't miss deadlines, making sure we see the schools we need to see, talk to the people we need to talk to, and meet our financial goals for the coming year. I haven't felt this torn between my two hats since our child was a toddler. I want to spend all my time on my mom hat, but need to spend as much time as possible on my work hat.

The funny thing is that I know that in six months all the work on both fronts will be largely done. All the "huge" stuff will have resolved, one way or another. In the meantime, I just need to relax and let it flow.

Sunday, September 04, 2011

rumination on meditation

I have been meditating daily for more than 6 months now. I don't meditate for long, sometimes only 5 minutes, usually 10-15, first thing in the morning. I used to meditate, sitting in a comfy chair. Recently, I've moved to a cushion on the floor.

Originally, I meditated because it was a requirement for a study I was in. Now I meditate because I seem to need it. When I don't do it, I feel like something is missing. It calms me. It centers me. It heals me. Occasionally, it challenges me.

Sometimes, I sit and nothing happens. On those days, I get 10 minutes of peace and quiet, and nothing more. Sometimes I get an up close view of what I am thinking and feeling, and that's not always a fun time. Sometimes I get insights. Sometimes I just feel happy, or connected, or I feel awash with love for everything. Sometimes, I feel agitated, unable to settle.

Certain patterns have emerged. If I am troubled about a person, even if I am not consciously aware that I am, I will see their face until I acknowledge that there is something I need to resolve, and then it will go away and I can go back to my meditation. I get phrases that crop up -- these are like notes from my unconscious, I think. Once it was a solid week of "body and mind are one". Clearly this was something important I needed to understand. The last day or so have been nested russian dolls, "I am. We are. It is." I am still puzzling out all that I am supposed to understand about that. "It's not about you" was one that was a part of my sessions, but has since cropped up from time to time as I meditate.

Sometimes, I am just sitting there with I see the desire for attention, or the need for importance. I see pettiness, insecurity, selfishness. I can be stunned by my real feelings, real motivations. I can acknowledge the fear, or anger, or sadness. It can be painful and eye-opening to really see your uncensored self, but it is also illuminating. I had no idea how much I filtered, or hid from myself.

Sometimes there are no words, just a light, and a stillness that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere. Just the now, the infinite moment. In that there is the sound of the insects buzzing, the birds singing, the rustle of leaves, the cool on my skin, the unyielding floor beneath me. I can feel my heart beat, hear and feel my breathing.

It seems to me that an enormous amount can happen, with just 10 minutes of stillness a day.