Whenever I've taken a Myers-Briggs test (and I DO love that way of checking in with the evolving self), one constant has been that always I wind up somewhere on the border between E & I - not consistently an introvert & not consistently an extrovert, either. So I have to listen in carefully, in order to understand what is actually happening, and what self-compassion looks like in any given moment.
This Pilgrimage project has offered amazing opportunities both for fulfilling engagement with a wide variety of people, and for solitude. My last full day in Sewanee, after much teaching & meeting with old friends, I realized I really needed some alone time, and so I donned my full rain suit, and headed down into Shakerag Hollow, a perennial place of solace. Wet. Tired. I sat down under a ledge and slept with my back against the belly of the cliff. I slipped down rocky steps level-by-level, rubbed foreheads with a huge mossy boulder, squished my big boots in the mud, and lay down along the spine of a fallen hickory. I watched the rain, listened to it, smelled it, saw its children growing everywhere. I kept on stopping deeper, and the forest's roots mingled with mine. Then, on the way to teach again, I stopped in to see Carlos & Sarah, in their beautiful purple house, with the naked girl still in the bathtub on the porch. I found I had room again, to see them. Some students recently asked me about when in the day to meditate, and I made the bold claim that attending to center in the beginning of the day can lead to a felt quality of having some kind of non-stick coating. Morning sitting may not be spectacular or profound, but it does somehow line up your little hairs, laying them sleek, so they are not sticking out every which way & ready to get tangled with whatever forms of trouble come sloughing into your orbit. You slip through situations like a seal. Vlooop! You're through, and ready to attend to the next moment. This morning, my friend Jim Carlson sent me this beautiful story, a perfect illustration of the non-stick principle I was trying to describe: This Morning: The Fallen Tree |
AuthorJulie Püttgen is an artist, expressive arts therapist, and meditation teacher. Archives
November 2019
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108 Names of Now