tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31054327497471042842024-03-05T16:20:08.191-08:00Knitting Linguist - The Year of the MagpieKnitting Linguisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06289230533275408343noreply@blogger.comBlogger647125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-28510485085372874702020-01-23T15:04:00.001-08:002020-01-23T15:04:22.978-08:00OK, so it's been a whileI got back from that conference and the end of the semester came up and hit me in the face in a manner very much like a brick wall. I made it through by dint of triaging (read: giving up everything except work). And then, the day after I taught my last class (mind you, I was still "triaging"), this wonderful thing happened:<br />
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That's Pippin (Peregrine, but, you know). She was four and a half months old in those photos. Now she's closer to six months, and it's as if she's always been here. That's not to say that Tilly isn't still a ghostly presence, always missed, but we are so glad to have dog energy back in this house. And good dog energy, to boot!<br />
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She has met Disco.<br />
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And gone for many many hikes.<br />
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And she's a big fan of keeping my feet warm while I'm working.<br />
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So, in the midst of many other things that have kept me busy, this has been a very good thing. Hooray for Pippin!<br />
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<br />Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-5278546657530308022019-12-04T08:39:00.001-08:002019-12-04T08:39:12.429-08:00Day 146: Giving to makersDudes, the last few weeks have been brutal. I guess all there is to say is that I went to New Orleans, was home for a day and a half, left for Vancouver (which, I had to keep reminding myself, is in another country and therefore requires me to go through, oh say, customs, and which therefore meant I needed my passport), spent almost six days there during which I was nearly 100% constantly in meetings (barring a delightful two hours spent at the UBC Museum of Anthropology, which I <i>highly</i> recommend), was home for a day and a half, and then everyone came to stay for Thanksgiving. It was wonderful to have my folks here and Kivrin home, and I had a ton of fun making an entirely new set of dishes (all taken from <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/04/dining/native-american-recipes-sioux-chef.html">this cool NYT article</a>), but on Saturday I fell over at noon and didn't get up off the couch until nearly 6:00, went to bed at about 9, and slept for 10 straight hours, and I'm still dragging. Today's the last day of classes, and then it's me and a metric ton of grading.<br />
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But that's not what I wanted to share with you all. The part I wanted to talk about is the fun of giving a handmade gift to a maker. At the conference, there were a couple of people who had spent this past year doing massive amounts of behind-the-scenes work to bring off an event in celebration of the UN's International Year of Indigenous Languages, and it seemed to me that it called for something more than a simple thank you note or email. Thus, handknits. <br />
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At a lovely breakfast with one of them, I gave her a shawl/scarf (I never quite know what to call one of those half-moon-type dealies), and was instantly reminded that she is also a maker. Without a word, she took time to admire the stitches (from both sides), to look at the colors and the way they worked together, to feel the fabric and its drape. She tried it on, and took it off and admired it again. She talked about how she would use a pin that she recently made (that's her area of making) to wear it and how good it would look. And then, just the other day, she sent me a picture of her wearing it. Here's the thing: there's no way to actually know whether (a polite) someone really likes what we make for them, but the way a maker receives a handmade gift is such a delight - they appreciate the craft that went into the making, and they understand that at least part of the gift, is the gift of time and energy and creativity. That's not to say that folks who aren't makers don't deeply appreciate handmade gifts - I regularly and with pleasure knit for folks who don't craft - it was just fun to see that other level of appreciation. <br />
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All right - time to tackle the inbox, and the ever-mounting pile of end-of-semester grading. Wish me luck!Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-67942463042064479462019-11-14T15:15:00.000-08:002019-11-14T15:15:06.217-08:00Day 126: Language oddities, and NOLA!I often stub my ear (as it were) on words or phrases which suddenly appear, out of nowhere from my perspective, and are everywhere right away. I've been thinking about two of those recently.<br />
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One of them is the word "kiddo", usually co-occurring with "my", especially spoken by teachers, as in: "I told my kiddos today that they should get ready for their next test." This one has been around, I think, for maybe five or six years. It appeared out of nowhere, and then I was hearing it everywhere. The girls' teachers, Kivrin's tutor, my students when they do their field placements. Everywhere. I really don't get it. It sounds strange to me. I wonder if it's a replacement for the oft-called-out "kids" ("they're not baby goats", which is honestly ridiculous, as if language didn't change), seen as better than calling them "children", or "students". Has anyone else heard this one?<br />
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The other one kind of makes me roll my eyes. When ordering a salad at a restaurant, I am often asked if I want to "add a protein". For example, today, I ordered a salad (make your own) to which I added, among other things, chickpeas, eggs, and nuts. The person then asked me if I wanted to add a protein. Of course, there's already lots of protein there. Here, protein seems to be a euphemism for "meat" (because it's almost always steak, chicken, and some kind of fish on tap). Isn't that weird? <br />
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Other than that, I'm in the truly insane time of the semester, and yet Rick and I are going to New Orleans this weekend for no other reason than that we really want to, and this was when tickets were affordable (and, to be fair, it was our 25th anniversary this summer, so). Anyone have any recommendations for us while we're there?Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-26955224511753714832019-11-08T14:02:00.002-08:002019-11-08T14:02:50.048-08:00Day 120: Toes!So, I don't know if I've mentioned, but our cat Bastet is polydactyl (she's lucky she didn't end up with a name like Polly or Digit)(although I'll be honest and mention that one of her nicknames is "Toes"). <br />
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We often joke that she has to work pretty hard to keep track of all of those toes. Evidence of this assertion includes the following:<br />
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(The evidence consists both of the overlapping and central toe placement, and also the prevalence of napping behavior.)<br />
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Meanwhile, Rick just treated me to an afternoon pick-me-up as I struggle through <strike>an endless pile of</strike> some delightful essays.<br />
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Happy Friday, all!<br /><br />Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-39236170479961888252019-11-04T17:39:00.001-08:002019-11-04T17:39:35.430-08:00Day 116: UnpackingOn Saturday morning, here's what one would have seen looking through the door of our bedroom:<br />
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Two very long days later, and this was the view from my bed this morning:</div>
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It is such a relief to have a lot of the unpacking done (it's not finished, but we're getting there). I am, however, left with a few burning questions:</div>
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Where did all that yarn come from?</div>
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Where did all that wool come from? </div>
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Where did all those books come from?</div>
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And a few observations:</div>
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I'm not sure that I've quite achieved a STABLE (Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy) amount of yarn, but I think I may have gotten there with the spinning fiber (four pounds of Stansborough Grey, and at least one more fleece's worth of wool, not to mention various braids). </div>
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My bookshelves are definitely, as one friend once described hers, part resume, part wishlist. I have a lot of unread books. But I also have some that I'm wanting to reread at this point. (Am I the only one who does that? And I'm not talking about rereading deep and meaningful prize-winning books here, guys - just comforting ones whose characters are fun to visit.) </div>
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And now I am tired. My joints hurt, and I'm glad I'm not unpacking anything tonight. Good night!</div>
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<br />Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-70879408826396795832019-10-31T15:45:00.001-07:002019-10-31T15:45:54.893-07:00Day 112: Careful considerationA few things have come together for me: <br />
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<li>Taking a break from my devices this past weekend was tremendously useful to me. I'd almost forgotten how much I value that space. I'd almost managed to forget how often I get sucked into a device for embarrassingly long periods of time, at the end of which I feel like I've achieved nothing - even if I have read more New York Times articles than you can shake a stick at. But honestly, how many articles about the ongoing impeachment hearings do I need to read in one day? Or even in a few days?</li>
<li>Also of note: I have been working nearly every weekend this semester to stay on top of an overload of commitments. (Also of note: I have psoriatic arthritis which isn't entirely under control, and I don't live my life as if that were true.) </li>
<li>Yesterday, the humidity plummeted again (it was around 1% at the local airport, which is - get this - near the <i>ocean</i>, people, but still the air is so dry that it sucks the moisture out of every. single. thing), and I woke up with a headache that could only be described as an extinction level event. I always hesitate to use the word "migraine" (I'm not really sure why), but it really can't be called anything else. I got it under control, but between it and the Advil, I was walking the fine line between unmanageable pain and nausea. It wasn't a fun day. </li>
<li>As a result of which, I didn't post here. Which, interestingly, felt more like a relief than a regret. </li>
<li>Last week, someone suggested that I try a mental practice, just to see what happens: instead of framing things as a question, I let a statement happen instead. This basically has to do with my lifelong habit of overthinking and overanalyzing everything - I can think of 20 sides to a square. It's nice to be able to see nuance, but it's not particularly useful for checking in with my gut.</li>
<li>On my day away from digital devices, I also felt relief not to have to post here. And it occurred to me to maybe think about rethinking my magpie year. And I started thinking about commitments and what I said I'd do and meeting expectations and and and. Lots of questions: should I make a new plan, with a different kind of commitment (I will post every other day/every Thursday/whatever)? What will people think if I say, after 100ish days, that I'm not doing this anymore? Is it actually in keeping with the lighthearted magpie spirit to allow my shiny-object-distraction soul to be distracted by other things? Is it OK to say that I've learned some interesting stuff about myself and now I'm going to lighten up? Should I/can I/ought I to? And then I remembered: statements.</li>
<li>And the statement is: I don't want to post every day right now. Or, at least, I don't want to feel obliged to.</li>
<li>Ah. OK. I can work with that.</li>
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So, there it is. I'm not saying that I didn't go around a few more times. I have a lot of trouble giving myself grace (we've talked about this), and so there's been quite a bit of: but you <i>said</i>! However, the statement part of me knows this: I said it to myself. No-one will die or be harmed if I now say to myself that gentleness and kindness means renegotiating the terms of my engagement with writing. There are times when "I don't want to do it" doesn't cut it - but this isn't one of them. <br />
<br />
The fun thing for me about having initiated this project is that I am writing again - not only here, but in my journal, and other scribblings that I hadn't been giving myself permission to try, and that I now am; I'm looking forward to having more time for that. I'm spinning again. And there's a small part of me that is thinking of trying a creative sweater-sized project again. All of that, I think, came out of the project of committing myself to doing this one creative thing every day. I'm good with letting that creative thing be wider than writing here. So, I'll be here, and I may keep that day count because I'm finding it interesting, but it won't be every day.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, with my "blogging time" on Sunday and Wednesday, I wound up that yarn and cast on for a hat. It's getting cold in Seattle, and Kiv needs to keep her head warm.<br />
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Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-34335518002061356732019-10-29T12:44:00.000-07:002019-10-29T12:44:17.766-07:00Day 110: Moving day!It feels like the house has been under construction forever. Probably because it sort of has. We had a leak last fall. And then they found asbestos in the stuff that held the drywall sheets together. And then they found mold. And then the repair caused another leak which ruined the floors in another room. So that took well over six months to sort out. And then we figured that, since we were used to chaos, and the dog had gotten so used to the guys coming and going she hardly even barked anymore, that it was time to pull up the (frankly disgusting) carpets in our back two rooms and replace the flooring. We've only been in the house 17 years - I guess it was time. <br />
<br />
So, this morning found me here:<br />
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Sitting in my car grading while the movers packed up our stuff from the storage place, so that they could put it back in here:<br />
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That's our room. I wish I had pictures of both rooms, which have not only been refloored but (because, if everything is out and empty, you may as well get it done) repainted. We've been out of our bedroom for two months at this point, and I am dying to sleep in my bed, and (even more excitingly) to have access to my clothes again!! Unpacking looms, but it'll be good to be done with this project.<br /><br />
<br />Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-73753717453096288022019-10-26T17:15:00.002-07:002019-10-26T17:15:53.066-07:00Day 107: Rest daySo, continuing reflection on the question of whether to take a day a week away from devices has led me to realize that there’s no question, actually. I know that this is a good practice, and I’m reinstituting it. So that’ll mean no post tomorrow. <br />
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This isn’t something I’m doing in a really rigid way, with hard boundaries and no leeway. (I will, for example, gladly facetime with Kivrin tomorrow if it’s the day she can do it.). It’s more about stepping away from the temptation to fill “empty” moments with what I called digital lethe in a recent post - I like that, as it captures for me the sense of the digital as a tempting annihilation of the present moment. My memory of doing this is that it helps me to sense the spaciousness that is available beyond constant busyness. Creativity happens there, and rest. <br />
<br />
See you on the flip side!Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-29434983613350923192019-10-25T19:46:00.001-07:002019-10-25T19:46:49.092-07:00Day 106: Strange dayWoke up this morning to an announcement that campus was closed due to an electrical outage, which was, in turn, due to a blown transformer. This means I’m going to have to grade this weekend, since I couldn't get into my office to pick up midterms (bad news). But, it did have an unexpected upside.<br />
<br />
Some friends and I walk every week that we can. Today was a walking day. And then, because we’d all intended to work on campus and couldn’t, we came to my house and got work done. It felt like college or something - all of us at the dining room table getting things done, occasional comments or stories. It was the kind of thing that is totally unexpected, but wonderfully good. I wish life worked out like this more often.Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-54337643778750407632019-10-24T16:32:00.001-07:002019-10-25T19:39:46.100-07:00Day 105: Spitting vinesMy wisteria tells me when the humidity gets into single digits. Every time.<br />
<br />
I'll be sitting in the dining room, getting work done, and suddenly I hear a snap, followed immediately by a hail of strikes against the doors and window. Snap, ping! Snap, ping! It's like being in the middle of a wee bombardment. (The feeling is exacerbated by the fact that, when the Marines are practicing shelling at Camp Pendleton, there's something about the way the landscape is shaped that funnels the sound waves directly to us, so boom! window rattle, boom! window rattle.) It can get a little bit out of hand: snap, ping! boom, rattle! ping! boom! snap! rattle!<br />
<br />
It's all due to a fairly ingenious plan on the part of the wisteria. It grows its seeds in long seed pods that slowly dry out over time, twisting gently as they do. Give them a good hot day with low humidity, and the drying accelerates until, with a final twist, they wrench apart, spitting seeds out as they go. (Our orchid tree does the same thing.) The seeds can fly ten or twenty feet easily, which makes sitting on the back patio this time of year a rather risky endeavor. Poor thing - it's a ton of work for no reward, because I sweep the seeds up and put them in the green waste, every time.<br />
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Maybe that's why it's spitting at me...Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-52089111651215216782019-10-22T19:30:00.003-07:002019-10-22T19:30:48.972-07:00Day 103: Yarn!So, I don't know if you remember the lovely braid of BFL/silk (75/25) I got last spring at Northwest Yarns in Bellingham Washington? Well, it turned into this:<br />
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It's the Bold Spectrum colorway from Elemental Fiberworks; I'd definitely spin with their fiber again, it was beautifully prepared, and the results are lovely. The colors aren't quite right (I'm taking this at night) - they're more vibrant than I've captured here. I spun it worsted and then, in order to preserve the gradient, I chain-plied it. I haven't yet figured out the weight, but it looks like maybe sport, to me? <br />
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It's not always my favorite way to ply - any unevennesses in the singles run the risk of being emphasized, but I really don't know another way to preserve these long color runs quite so well. In the event, I think it turned out to be fairly even. <br />
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I'm actually quite pleased with that, given that this is my first spinning project in a really long time. It's destined to be a hat for Kivrin, so it'll be heading back up to the northwest as soon as it's knitted up. I'm thinking just a plain stockinette beanie, unless anyone has another suggestion?Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-23693330017037040732019-10-21T12:09:00.000-07:002019-10-21T12:09:21.925-07:00Day 102: RestI love the concept of synchronicity, the idea that sometimes, things come together in unexpected but serendipitous ways. Today, it's <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/21/opinion/sabbath-day.html?action=click&module=Opinion&pgtype=Homepage">a column by Margaret Renkl in the NYT</a>; she's an author whose writing I love, especially when she's describing the natural world, which she does with a deep sense of connection and joy. Today's column is about rest, which she explores in the context of the commandment to rest on the Sabbath. It's worth saying here that I am not religious, but the call to rest, to appreciate the world from a place of rest, and to allow wisdom to arise from rest, is one that resonates deeply. In fact, there was a time when I took a weekly digital shabbat (idea taken from someone else), stepping away from email and texts and blogs and online anything from sundown one day to sundown the next. I only left my phone on to receive phone calls from my daughter at college, or from my mom and dad. I really loved the stretched-out feeling of that day. And I loved that it challenged me to be present for my own downtime, instead of finding easy distraction in the form of digital lethe. I spoke with a mentor on Friday about reinstituting this practice in my life - and then spent the weekend grading. It did have to be done, but I would like to frame it as a rare instance, rather than the norm. And then this morning, I opened the Times during a rare break in my day (reading and eating at the same time, and why yes, that is rather mindless, isn't it?), and there was Renkl's column, reminding me of the sacredness of rest, reminding me that I owe myself and the world space and spaciousness.<br />
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It occurs to me, reading this over before hitting "post", that this has implications for my magpie year. But it also occurs to me that the goal of this year was to encourage myself to write, and to see what I learned by doing so. And maybe what I'm learning is that I write better from charged batteries, and that recharging my batteries is a legitimate thing to plan to do. I will mull this week, and you will be the first to know if I end up reclaiming a day from the online world. Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-75611043491320625952019-10-20T15:07:00.001-07:002019-10-20T15:07:37.774-07:00Day 101: Pink flamingo updateThank you, Ellen, for finding out more about pink plastic flamingos. If you all are interested, you can check <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Featherstone_(artist)">this</a> out. What really caught my attention (aside from the fact that the creator of the pink plastic flamingo and his wife dressed alike for 35 years)(and the fact that his pink plastic flamingo is based on a photo from National Geographic)(and the fact that they come in pairs, one with its head up and one with its head down - did you know that?), is the fact that this guy worked for a company that made plastic animals. Not just flamingos - animals. Which begs several questions: one, why did flamingos take off (get it, get it?)? and two, where are all those other animals? I mean, I don't think I've seen other plastic animals on people's lawns - have you? And what animals? Chickens? Cows? Goats? The mind boggles.Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-82848754148368535362019-10-19T16:27:00.002-07:002019-10-19T16:27:49.323-07:00Day 100: Cats!They keep me company as I grade. (It takes me about 20 minutes a paper for these first papers, and there are 40 of them. I'm trying to take it in smaller pieces, both so that I don't get too stiff and uncomfortable - and, honestly, my fingers stop being able to type comments after a while - and so I don't get impatient and nasty in my comments.)<br />
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They think they're helping...<br /><br />Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-79771944430153617702019-10-18T21:24:00.000-07:002019-10-18T21:24:11.265-07:00Day 99: TGIF Mornings are crisp, there’s a chill in the air, evening comes earlier each day. It’s that time of year, when students’ hearts pitter-patter with the utter dread of looming midterms, and the realization that they should have come to office hours much sooner, and with much more frequency. <div>
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And when, therefore, professors’ spare hours are spent in extra appointments, and in grading the assignments of panicked students. </div>
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That means me, too. </div>
Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-34307544072320275812019-10-17T21:47:00.001-07:002019-10-17T21:47:10.434-07:00Day 98: That time of the semesterI really have nothing. The grading is piled deep, and there’s a conference paper to write, and even the magpie has to give way and dig in to work. Remind me again why I assigned all these things?Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-52184596892741822172019-10-16T10:13:00.001-07:002019-10-16T10:13:33.846-07:00Day 97: Daily poemI go down to the shore in the morning<br />
and depending on the hour the waves<br />
are rolling in or moving out,<br />
and I say, oh, I am miserable,<br />
what shall -<br />
what should I do? And the sea says<br />
in its lovely voice:<br />
Excuse me, I have work to do.<br />
<br />
- Mary Oliver<br />
<br />Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-71727366427121850732019-10-15T20:50:00.000-07:002019-10-15T20:50:06.914-07:00Day 96: Pink flamingosYesterday was a thirteen-hour juggernaut, at the end of which it didn’t even occur to me to turn on my computer and post. But there is something that has captured the attention of the magpie: pink plastic lawn flamingos.<br />
<br />
Where do they come from?<br />
<br />
I mean, I get that, at this point, they are largely kitschy or ironic, or both. But surely they weren’t, to begin with. Surely there was some origin point at which someones, somewhere, thought that real flamingos on lawns was a really awesome thing, and that having pretend flamingos on lawns would be a cool second-best? <br />
<br />
Or something?<br />
<br />
I haven’t had a chance to go poking around into the origin story of pink flamingos (although I think I have to, at some point, when students aren’t panicking about midterms, and I’m caught up on grading, and my conference presentation is written, and and and), but meanwhile, maybe someone has some inside knowledge that will shed light on this pressing question? <br />
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Inquiring magpies want to know.Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-76385303514698817902019-10-13T15:12:00.000-07:002019-10-13T15:12:04.486-07:00Day 94: Morning songLying awake in the pre-dawn darkness, an explosion of bird-sing, then silence. <br />
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Hsht, hsht, I imagine a beleaguered bird mother saying, hsht! You'll wake the neighbors!<br />
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Both of us wishing for just five more minutes - five more minutes, little ones, hsht!Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-22793906402310846742019-10-12T17:22:00.000-07:002019-10-12T17:22:26.569-07:00Day 93: A quiet day, with none of the pictures I'd planned to postI was really disciplined yesterday and got caught up on grading. I'm ready for class on Monday. And that means that, even though there's always something I could work on (upcoming conference presentation, I'm looking at you), I am not going to work this weekend. It's amazing how spacious it feels to have a largely unscheduled weekend. <br />
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I got to the barn early for my ride, before the temperatures rose too much, hit the farmer's market on the way home, and the rest of the day was mine. If there's one thing that single-digit humidity is good for, it's blocking things, so...<br />
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<br />
<br />
That's Adair, knitted up with Manos del Uruguay Serena (alpaca/cotton), in the Fig colorway (which isn't showing up quite right in those photos; I'll try to get a better modelling shot at some point). I saw this at Churchmouse when I was there in June, and feel immediately in love. I think it's going to be one of those really versatile shawls that can go with almost anything and get carried almost anywhere. It's already dry - I just need to unpin it and weave the ends in and it's good to go.<br />
<br />
I took a nap, treated my chickens to yogurt and raisins, and set myself up to spin and listen to On Being's replay of an interview with Mary Oliver. (Which I recommend highly. I may actually go back and listen to the entire unedited 90 minutes, it was that wonderful. I also may have ordered her Poetry Handbook and Dreamwork. For store pickup. Tomorrow. Oops.) <br />
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<br />
What a perfect way to spend an afternoon. Now pizza dough is rising on the stove, onions are caramelizing in my favorite cast-iron skillet, and I'm just waiting for Tess to get home before dinner. I hope that each of you got to spend at least part of today doing something that felt expansive and roomy and lovely.Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-32642179766451281602019-10-11T11:45:00.004-07:002019-10-11T11:45:59.488-07:00Day 92: DryDry is a funny thing. Woke up this morning cold. The house, which I've now shut up, is still holding the cold (I'm wearing a sweater); it's 85 outside, and 90 a bit further inland. When there's no moisture in the air, there's nothing to hold the warmth. Humidity is currently around 5%. It never ceases to amaze me what a difference it makes to go from maybe 30% humidity to 5. Not only do temperatures vary wildly depending on whether you're in the sun or not, but it's clear clear clear. The blue of the sky goes all the way to the horizon - no haze to get in the way.<br />
<br />
We haven't had our power shut off as a preventative measure to avoid utility-sparked fires (we were on the list for a while), and the wind seems not to be picking up. Keep your fingers crossed that conditions shift a bit for the better, and keep good thoughts going for our firefighters and the folks who have gotten caught in the fires that are burning in other parts of the state. And if you're in the same conditions - go drink an extra glass of water before you realize you need it!Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-73769625637176974052019-10-10T17:51:00.000-07:002019-10-10T17:51:19.626-07:00Day 91: Mast yearWalking across campus the other day to class, I tried to slow down a little bit and breathe. And look what I noticed!<br />
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<br />
It's a mast year for the oaks on campus! Definitely not just this little one - I checked. That's kind of exciting. And also a bit sad. There's so much potential in each of those acorns. But they will largely fall onto cement, and those that don't are bound to be swept up by groundskeepers before they have a chance to realize their potential. I'm not sure how I feel about that.Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-75359916475239270002019-10-09T17:31:00.003-07:002019-10-09T17:31:45.065-07:00Day 90: Potential, Part III
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">In aid of
what.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exactly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It takes
me straight back to that early idea I’d garnered, that people sat in order to
create a little happy glow for themselves that wore off as they interacted with
the world, whereupon they had to go back to the cushion to regain it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that really why we sit?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we can be happy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we can feel more connected to people when
we’re on the cushion than we do when we’re actually interacting with them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we can come to see all of our stories
about the world as just that – stories?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Do we really sit to get better at sitting?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">A
sidebar:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a seven-day silent retreat
last year, one of the teachers – an older, white, cisgendered woman – talked us
through the metaphor of seeing our mental stories as a film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, as we sit and watch the rising and
falling away of the stories that we tell ourselves about our lives, we can come
to the realization that they are like a film, and we are the audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We may become absorbed to the point where a
movie feels real – our heart races, we lean forward, our muscles tense when the
hero is in trouble – but then we can suddenly realize, it’s a story!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we can sit back and catch our breath and
see how we are separate from the action on the screen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">This is
true, and very helpful in many ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When my colleague dismisses something I say with absolutely no
acknowledgement, it is easy to get caught up in a larger story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No-one takes me seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, I’m a failure and nothing I say is very
important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if we believe and act on
those stories, we’re trapped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at the
same time, if I am a woman, and my colleague is a man, and this kind of
dismissal happens regularly (and worse yet, he then repeats what I’ve said as
his idea), it seems to me that to say that my understanding of that interaction
as sexist and as part of a large structure of misogyny is just a story I’m
telling myself – well, that’s simplistic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, perhaps more importantly, devoid of
transformative potential. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">So I wrote
a question to the teacher, saying that, while I find it very useful to
understand many of my stories about my life as, just that, stories, I wasn’t so
sure that I was comfortable thinking about, say, racism as just a story and
could she please address that?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Two days
later, she said that she’d received that question, and offered a one-line
answer about how, of course, we wouldn’t want to say that racism is a
story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lack of depth and understanding were
deeply troubling to me (and, I found out later, to at least one person of color
in the room).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But also, I think,
symptomatic of what I’ve been circling around with all of this writing – that
mindfulness, as it is often practiced and described and taught today, has had
its radical potential subverted by a paradigm of individual practice geared
towards self-understanding and self-improvement.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">What do I
mean by that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When
mindfulness is something we do on the cushion, with very little teaching about
how to carry it out into the world, it is robbed of its potential.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it is about a detached watching of the
mind, decoupled from teachings about wise action arising from an understanding
of the self and others and the nature of reality, it is robbed of its
potential.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we sit on our cushions
offering compassion to people near and far, and then sit in a meeting unable to
even recognize that we’re Othering the asshole across the table who just.
won’t. listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, where is our
practice then?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And I’m
not saying it’s easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, when people
talk about how they couldn’t do a week-long silent retreat, I want to say, dude
– that’s the easy part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s doing a
life-long engaged retreat in the world that’s really really hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And doing it without engaging in spiritual
bypassing (I just love everyone!) is even harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It requires getting very down and dirty with
some really difficult emotions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because
here’s another secret no-one wants to say out loud about mindfulness – it’s not
all about being peaceful and serene and happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If you’re going to be mindful of whatever arises as it arises?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, my friend, you are going to feel anger,
and fear, and deep grief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are going
to feel agitation, and a very strong desire to run away from all those things
you’re feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what our minds
and bodies do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They feel it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just that our minds keep wanting to
stick with the emotions that we’re comfortable feeling (or that we feel like
we’re allowed to feel – and there are all kinds of social constraints around
that; another essay for another time), and tell us all kinds of stories to keep
us in those emotions.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But, I
think, radical change comes when we feel all the feels, as my daughters would
say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Rev. Angel
Kyodo Williams, in her jointly-authored book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Radical Dharma</i>, talks about mindfulness and anti-racism work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she calls for white folks to come to
anti-racism work not from a space of “what can I do for you (poor people of
color)”, but, instead, to begin by recognizing the pain that the system of
racism inflicts upon us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to center
ourselves, but instead to understand more clearly what Lilla Watson means when
she says, “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you have come because your liberation
is bound up with mind, then let us work together.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">To
understand that my liberation – the cessation of my pain and suffering – is
bound up with the liberation of everybody else?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To feel that in my bones, instead of just in my head?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, my friends, that – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> – is radical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That</i> is transformative.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And it can
be one of the gifts of mindfulness, practiced, well, mindfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it, first, engages with what Kabat-Zinn
calls the whole catastrophe – not just the joy and the bliss, but the sorrow
and rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when it gets its ass off the
cushion and into the world to continue that practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the practice take place not only in the
isolation chamber of our own minds, but in conversation with others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In mutuality with the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">If I truly
look at someone else through the eyes of lovingkindness – eyes that recognize
our common humanity – how could I possibly lock someone up at the border?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Separate someone from their child?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Draw zoning lines that limit the access of
other people’s children to the education my children enjoy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I look at myself through the eyes of
lovingkindness, how can I allow someone to encroach on my boundaries?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dismiss me as worthless?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waste my time with hateful and draining speech?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">If I look
at the world that way, how can I not want to find ways to adjust my consumption
to cause less damage?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can I eat an
animal that has lived its entire life in fear, pain, and misery?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And,
through all of this, when I regard myself with compassion, how can I not sit
with my own fear of failure, my grief that the world is this messed up, the
shame that I have contributed to these systems, the feeling that I am not
enough and can’t do enough – how can I not hold all of that with love and offer
myself kindness for being an imperfect being in an imperfect world?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not alone in my imperfection, nor in the
world, but in community with other imperfect beings.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">If we all
really could hang on to that, off the cushion, the world would tremble.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And so,
when I see all the ways in which we turn mindfulness into an isolated, isolating
practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I see how the ways that mindfulness
is practiced exclude broad swaths of embodiment in favor of those that align
with one dominant model of being in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I see those who raise these issues being dismissed with the
suggestion that they just need to sit with their feelings until they come into
a more right understanding of them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">In
honesty, it pisses me off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It frustrates
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grieve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I also understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recognize those things in myself and in my
own practice and discussion of practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I see that I am implicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I also
feel fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To truly live this way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a commitment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a tremendous life’s work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And people – to do this means, for me, that
I’ve got to learn to set boundaries out of a place of love and care for myself.
And that’s not the only fear. I quite literally cannot imagine what our world
would look like if we lived from this place of loving presence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">That’s what I mean by transformative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And by radical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to me that a practice like mindfulness,
fully engaged with, changes everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And maybe that’s why, when mere mortals engage with it, we do it in our
limited, human way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fit it into the
systems we already know so well – here, in the West, systems which emphasize
individuality and achievement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gets
smaller, but also more approachable and manageable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Explicable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the potential diminishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
practice mindfulness…unmindfully. </span>
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</style>Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-13539532436715919432019-10-08T12:21:00.001-07:002019-10-08T12:21:33.469-07:00Day89: Potential, Part II
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Once I
understood that, not only did my aversion to sitting meditation decrease
significantly, but I began, slowly slowly, to recognize all the ways in which I
had been, at hugely important times in my life, attending with care and
attention to the present moment, on purpose, without (and this has always been
my struggle) judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And with, as I
came to understand later, compassion for myself in my struggle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When I
realized this in my mid-thirties, I immediately recognized that I’d been using
mindfulness to manage a difficult relationship with a colleague.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little by little, instead of reacting to
hostility engendered by something I’d said by apologizing and trying
desperately to make her like me, I had learned to recognize the sick feeling in
the pit of my stomach that drove me to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fix
it</i> at all costs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That didn’t stop me
at first from trying to fix it, but little by little, the practice of awareness
had begun to give me space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in that
space, I could give myself the gift of time to decide – did I really do
something wrong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I didn’t, what would
I like to do to respond to this difficult moment, instead of trying to survive
it? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Mindfulness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And once I
saw that, I saw that my practice dated back even further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the way that I learned to watch the nerve
pain in my leg, rising and falling and changing, without attachment to how it
felt ten minutes ago, or how it might feel ten years from now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Noticing that allowed me to see all the fears
and stories I’d attached to that pain, and to see them for what they were –
fears and stories that also rose and fell away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Or the way
I’d finally learned to manage lifelong insomnia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From my early teenage years on, going to bed
involved hours of lying awake while ruminating and fretting, worrying over what
I should have done differently, or what I was going to do when the next crisis
hit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my thirties, mindfulness (not
that I called it that at the time) allowed me to notice when I’d headed down
those rabbit holes, and to kindly and gently call my attention back to my
breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Note: for anyone who wants
to have a sitting practice, I don’t recommend using this exact trick to fall
asleep – to this day, I have to fight drowsiness when I sit in meditation, I
think largely because of the neurological connections I built at this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m laughing again – the mind is a funny,
funny thing!)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Dating
back even further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To when my first
daughter was an infant, and I was driving back and forth across the Bay Bridge
to visit my husband’s grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thanks to his engineering class, I learned that, in the event of an
earthquake, a portion of the eastern span of the bridge was meant to fall into
the bay, to prevent the entire thing from pulling itself apart (this is good
engineering, by the way).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I obsessed
over what I would do if that happened while I was on the bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I calculated how fast we’d be going when we
hit the water, and that, unfortunately, we were likely to survive the
fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which meant drowning, unless I
could get a window cracked before we hit the water and the electronics shorted
out, so the car could fill and equalize the pressure so I could open a door and
get us out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagined the whole thing
in my head again and again and again. And again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was awful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I read
about neuroplasticity, and about the ability of the brain to rewire itself, and
I decided I was going to get off that superhighway of bridge-collapse-drowning
despair and rewrite the neural connections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But to do that, I had to notice when I started down the story so that I
could step away from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which I did.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Mindfulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I could go
on and on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what this all means is
that, as I have begun to come to realize, I have long had a robust mindfulness
practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One that has given me deep
insight into my mind and its inner workings, as well as into the fundamental
interconnectedness of all beings (the realization of which is, in itself, yet
another essay).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A practice that did not,
in spite of my flirtation with meditation in my twenties, rely in any way on
sitting meditation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And yet,
to this day, when people talk about their years of mindfulness practice, I have
trouble claiming the depth of my own, precisely because it was not a silent
sitting practice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And isn’t
that interesting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My reading
and talking to other people suggests that I am not alone in this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That being able to complete long sits, and,
especially, long silent retreats, are considered some kind of gold standard
against which all other practices are held.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This strikes me as a limiting and limited way of assessing and judging
practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Totally aside from the
problematics of assessing others’ practice, when assessing our own, is it
really productive to judge it on the basis of: I sat for X hours, or Y many
days in a row, or Z number of retreats this year?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a friend recently asked me when I spoke
with her about going on retreat (and I should say here that I am not against
retreats in general, and that my retreat experiences have been intensely
valuable in my overall practice, and that I’m looking forward to finding the
time and money to go on another one):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in
aid of what?</span></div>
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</style>Jocelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10629178958209188719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105432749747104284.post-13303743327317634892019-10-07T17:38:00.003-07:002019-10-07T17:38:55.269-07:00Day 88: Potential, Part II've been thinking a lot about that realization I had the other day that I'm not writing about (some of) the things that are on my mind the most, because I really want to get them right. So, in the spirit of letting go of that a little, here's a short series on something that really has been occupying a lot of mental real estate lately. Imperfect, but out there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mindfulness
is awareness that arises through paying attention, on purpose, in the present
moment, non-judgmentally.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- Jon
Kabat-Zinn</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I don’t
think it would be an understatement to say that mindfulness has saved my
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, it is also true
that I have often felt, and still feel, alienated from and resistant to
mindfulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I
know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s complicated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I’m not
even sure where to start. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I think
that, because I am a linguistic anthropologist, it’s perhaps best to start with
the ways that words like meditation and mindfulness are used, and the
prototypes that build up around those uses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Of most interest to me is how those prototypes exclude certain practices
and people, in ways that are actually antithetical to the practice of
mindfulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In ways that rob
mindfulness practice of its potential to radically transform social structures
and relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">In my twenties
and thirties, living in Berkeley and even after moving down to Southern
California, I knew lots of people who engaged in what we might think of as
present-oriented activities, especially yoga and meditation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that context, my exposure to meditation
often came from people who talked about how hard it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially when talking about sitting for
long periods, or going on meditation retreats, from which they would come back
talking about excruciating physical pain, mental and emotional storms, and, at
the end, a fantastic feeling of peace and oneness with everything that,
inevitably, they would describe as “wearing off”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From my perspective, I could go for a hard
workout, work on my dissertation, and drink a glass of wine with the same
effects, and with a lot less expenditure of time and money.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">More
seriously, I felt (and still do feel) a very deep resistance to the idea of
putting myself into a situation that causes extreme physical pain, just for the
opportunity to watch that pain mindfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As someone who has lived with chronic nerve pain, and who had survived
several bouts of deep depression, I just could not, for the life of me, discern
the need to create more pain for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It felt unkind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And also
limiting, in the sense that it seemed like a practice that couldn’t be open to
everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew people, myself
included, who just physically could not sit for ten hours a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To do so would be to ignore the very real
limitations of my body.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Unfortunately,
in some settings and with some people, to say that is to show, not discernment,
but resistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the prescription is
to get on that cushion and suck it up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I tell
this story in conjunction with the definition of mindfulness above, to point to
the ways in which mindfulness practice, in the West, has come to be identified
almost solely with sitting meditation, and with the project of self-knowledge
and self-improvement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I want to
suggest that, while the self-knowledge gained through individual practice has
been one of the greatest gifts of my life, I feel strongly that by limiting our
understanding and practice of mindfulness to that, we also limit its radical
and transformative potential to the transformation of the individual. (The
assumption being that that is sufficient.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My
resistance to what I perceived to be a potentially damaging practice caused me
to avoid sitting meditation entirely (even though I had had a sitting practice
in my twenties).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have come to see that
as a form of wise discernment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as I
was avoiding sitting meditation, however, that same wise part of myself knew
that mindfulness, and the Buddhist tenets upon which secular Western
mindfulness is largely based, had something important to offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In seeking out information about the practice
of mindfulness, I also continued to carefully watch and attend to my aversion,
exploring its causes and conditions, noting how it felt in my body, and what
stories attached themselves to it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">And I’m
laughing at myself right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because
even though the next part of this story is about how I came to realize that I’d
been practicing mindfulness for more than two decades before I allowed myself
to call my practice “mindfulness”, I had not, until the moment of this writing,
realized that, in all of the careful ways that I recognized and attended to my
aversion to sitting meditation as it was being offered to me, I was practicing
mindfulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">That is
funny!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Two books
changed everything for me, slowly slowly, but surely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first was the wise little book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Buddhism Without Belief</i>, which not only
gave me permission to practice secular Buddhism, but also brought me to an
understanding of non-attachment which let me – a parent who could not imagine
feeling non-attachment to my children – begin to recognize the Four Noble
Truths, and to explore the practices offered by each one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is the subject of another essay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second book was called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Mindfulness Revolution</i>; it is a
collection of essays about the practice of mindfulness, gathered together in
one place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one essay, the author said
something along the lines of: we don’t sit in meditation to get better at
sitting or breathing, or even to get better at meditating; we sit in meditation
to strengthen our ability to be present in our day-to-day lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">What?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Nothing
I’d heard from anyone I knew who sat in meditation had led me to believe that
the practice that took place on the cushion was meant to be a practice that
continued off the cushion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I literally
thought that the goal of meditation was to create a peaceful feeling that
lasted for a while after the practice ended, and then wore off and had to be
renewed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I couldn’t make that make
sense to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this – this made
sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understood it in my mind to be
like going to the gym.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time, I
hated exercise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when I exercised, god
knew it wasn’t to get better at exercising – it was to be strong for picking up
my daughters and swinging them around, for grabbing all the bags of groceries
in one trip in from the car, for going camping with my dog and my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, I exercised so that all the
muscles I built up in the gym were available to me in my real life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">You mean
meditation works <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that way</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Turns out,
the answer is yes.</span></div>
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