Are you living in the fast lane?

Do you feel like you’re living in the fast lane? You’re not alone. Many of us live in an unending rush hour. In a world of smart phones and email, texting and twitter, the very devices that are supposed to save us time can have the opposite effect as we hurry to respond to everyone and everything. This manic pace is causing a host of “hurry sicknesses” too, from insomnia and heart attacks to ulcers and migraines. Most importantly, by being out of sync with the natural rhythms of life, we lose touch with the only thing that is real—the present moment.

One remedy to our hurried lifestyles that has been growing in popularity in the West is the practice of mindfulness. In stark contrast to our frantic daily routines, mindfulness helps us slow down and be with what is. To be mindful is to be in touch with the present rather than constantly worrying about the future, dwelling on the past, or being obsessed with the commentary in our heads. Practicing mindfulness—simply being in the now—can quiet the mental chatter and open the senses to the extraordinary miracle of being alive.

If you watch toddlers at play, you will see the kind of thing I am talking about. I get a healthy reminder of living in the now when I spend time with my 2-year-old grandson, Jack. He is totally immersed in what he is doing. No thoughts of yesterday or what must be done tomorrow—only what he is attending to at that moment. And his days are filled with wonder. America poet Walt Whitman pointed to this liberating way of living when he said, “To me, every moment of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle.”

Tragically, many of us don’t awaken to the wonder of life until we are threatened with its loss. A terminal diagnosis makes us appreciate what we have so long taken for granted—a bird singing, the laughter of children, the curl of steam rising from morning coffee, holding the hand of a loved one, the sun shining through the trees. When time is short, petty disagreements and concerns are forgotten and we devote our attention to what’s most real and precious.

When I find myself moving into the fast lane or getting caught up in obsessive thinking, what helps bring me back to the now (besides playing with Jack) is feeling and listening. I try to feel what is happening in my body or I tune in to the sounds around me. Simply stopping to notice the ambient sounds that you don’t typically hear when you are living in your head can immediately help you shift from thinking to feeling, from identifying with the whirl of your thoughts to what the present has to offer.

The truth is, when our minds are filled with competing thoughts and tensions or we’re frantically multitasking, we are less effective in everything we do. We are distracted drivers, mindless snackers, poor listeners, even poor parents, partners, or managers. We do a lot of thinking but little living. Once you’re in the moment, you can pay full attention to the task at hand, appreciate the people you are with, or tap into the creative solution that was staring you in the face all along. In truth, the only thing any of us really have for sure is this very moment. Why not start living in it now?

The Magic of the Ordinary

Zen in particular, and mysticism in general, promotes the rediscovery of the obvious, which is so often lost in its familiarity and simplicity.  It sees the miraculous in the common and magic in our everyday surroundings.  When we are not rushed, and our minds are unclouded by conceptualizations, a veil will sometimes drop, introducing the viewer to a world unseen since childhood. There was a time, when, as children we inhabited a timeless world unmediated by the canned perceptions with which we were later inculcated.  Picasso once said that it took him four years to paint like Raphael, but it took him a lifetime to paint like a child. To see things in their original beauty, we must crack the shell of preconceptions with which adults are saddled. Zen has little to do with ideas, and its masters consistently point to the concrete.  We are surrounded by magic.  We literally have to go nowhere.

The photos offered below illustrate this idea. A sink full of dirty dishes and soapy water is something we hardly pay attention to, and get cleaned up and put away as fast as possible. But upon closer examination, the kind a child might pursue, there is a beauty and intricacy that is quite stunning in its beauty. Perhaps viewing these will peak your curiostity as to what else in our everyday routines is worth a second look.

 

 

 

 

Haiku as spiritual practice

Writing haiku, the traditional short Japanese poems that have gained worldwide popularity, is something that can prove helpful in opening our eyes to what is, and the wonder of being alive. We are all guilty of spending large portions of our waking hours lost in thought. We swing back and forth between past and future, and only rarely stay right where we are, in the here and now. Typically, we go through life with a “been there and done that” attitude, and in our busy, fast-forward life styles, put the flesh and blood of living on hold to do something “more important.”

When we are born, our vision is fresh. Our first experience is undifferentiated and timeless, and we have no real perception of self or other. As young children, we live in Eden but don’t know it. We unconsciously play in the garden of life, fascinated with the wonder of what is. Writing haiku is an activity that can train our eye to see some of those wonders again, but with the added appreciation gained from age and experience. While obviously a conceptual activity, it is nevertheless one that redirects our attention towards the unconditioned “suchness” of what is. Haiku can give us a hint of the meaning of the Buddhist phrase, Samsara is Nirvana. Writing these short poems, devoid of judgment, prejudice and expectation, can nuture the gift of observation and mindful attention, and help us to find the magic in the ordinary. Just this! It is a practice of being wherever you are, of living in the present instead of in the past or future. This very moment – a fleeting immediacy of what is – is all that is real, and to that we must attend if we are to see the truth of what is.

Allow yourself the priviledge to being stunned by the extraordinary detail of life. Forget all you know. See with fresh eyes, unclouded by conditioning. Take time to sink into the moment, and perhaps taste life when the conceptual veil between self and other falls away. It is here that you can find an abundance of miracles to herald in the few words of a haiku. The form of haiku that is used or the effectiveness of the wording is not what is most important here. Rather, it is that they may unveil for us the obvious, the home we never left but only forgot. Here are a couple of mine:

high grass / peeking at mower / from under the parked car

startled prankster / under the bed / . . . tail showing

offered on its own / the violet’s / flower sermon

same barber / same conversation / thirty years