Meditation at Pine Neck Beach

    
                                                            Pine Neck Beach 5-21-15
     
      I live surrounded by water, two short blocks to a beach on Peconic Bay, which divides the north and south forks of the East End of Long Island. The beach on the bay side is rockier and the water more shallow than the ocean beaches five miles away. But it's close and friendly to this user,  being a two minute walk away. I look forward to kayaking off that beach or  launching from the little cove behind it soon. Or maybe just hanging out on a noodle in the water when it gets a little hotter.

     I took myself to Pine Neck Beach this morning for my meditation. The air was cool, but pleasant. As I settled myself on one of several memorial benches neighbors have placed there, I closed my eyes and began to breathe a little more deeply. The cool air was from a northerly breeze and it warmed as it came through my nostrils and went to my lungs. The breeze cooled my face, but not uncomfortably. Normally at this hour so close to Memorial Day weekend, the bang of hammers would compete with leaf blowers and other machine noises to disturb the  tranquility. Not so this day. The main sounds were the breeze-driven mini-waves on the bay, various birds calling back and forth, and the odd jet airliner far aloft, heading into New York almost 100 miles away. I could also hear a truck grinding up on Noyack Road. A beach neighborhood slowly coming to life was the setting for my attempt to quiet the mind and heart, and remember my place in it all.

     What I am slowly learning to accept is that I don't have to do this meditation thing perfectly for it to have meaning and impact on my life. Attempting to harmonize my breathing and my body with this air, redolent with life and energy,  is its own result......getting just a little more quiet and a little more peaceful in my acceptance of this moment, that all is indeed well and that I don't have to do anything.......that's plenty of result. Healing my jagged edges and jangled nerves for just a few minutes? Priceless.

     There's something iconic about water for us as humans. We're soothed by it, stretched by it, become better when we're near it often.....not in some moral accountancy way, but in a soul and spirit enriching way. I feel paradoxically smaller and larger being by it -- smaller as a part of a vast web of life and matter above and below the waters -- and larger for being able to celebrate the whole of it, loving its wide vistas and deep currents. Glory and honor to creation and its Maker.

     



   

Millstone Road Messages

         I take Millstone Road just about every day, sometimes more than once. The South Fork of eastern Long Island has a high ridge, a spine of woods and hills that runs east and west. Millstone Road bisects that ridge and runs a few miles through stands of hardwoods and a sparse collection of driveways and side roads with a few houses along the way. It's a lovely ride and never fails to ground me in some kind of peace.

                                                                     May 18, 2015

          At the wilderness men's experience I attended a few weeks ago, our leader, Belden C. Lane, invited us to listen and see what the creatures of the woods around us might have to teach us. Nature speaks, and speaks profoundly, he said,  if we can get quiet enough inside to listen. I am so often not that quiet. Also, the cynical and sarcastic part of me thought of Harve Presnell in the movie version of PAINT YOUR WAGON singing, "I Talk to the Trees." That's where my mind can go. Luckily, my heart had some other ideas beyond smart-ass. In those days in the high hills of West Virginia, I heard several deep lessons from the forest creatures that still echo in my heart. I decided to see if I might get any similar messages driving along Millstone Road.

     So one morning last week, I set my intention as I drove up the road to Bridgehampton. I promptly let my mind wander off to a pleasant thought about a woman friend. Suddenly, a beautiful deer, a big doe, dashed in front of my Highlander, narrowly missing me. "Wake up! Pay attention!" I clearly heard her say in my head, and I could have sworn she looked at me disapprovingly. So I started to pay attention and get present. The trees are still filling out their spring clothing of buds and leaves, and were telling me to stand tall, grow, and put forth life in some new ways today. Three turkeys poked about alongside the road, and their lessons were about being crafty and industrious. The little birds flitting in and through the trees and across the road were saying, "Be swift and try to be a grace note in this life." A final thought as I came out of the woods part of the road to some meadow areas: the life of this beautiful woods draws food and energy from the dead leaves and branches that fall to its floor and decompose. New life, born in part out of death. An Easter thought.

     Thank you, my Millstone Road teachers. I'll try to be a better listener and observer so as not to miss what I am constantly being offered. So much to learn and hear and see. Deo gratias.

             

Being Quiet Is Hard

     My last blog was almost two years ago. Lately I've been concentrating on a major writing and rewriting of my historical novel about early Southampton NY ( of that, more soon).But I'm back, still committed to exploring what a fresh approach to spirituality in our life might look like.
     I recently participated in a men's experience in West Virginia where the leaders  recommended a daily practice of silence (they call it "contemplative sit"). Imagine a cold, gray early morning in the Appalachian foothills; 65 men in various stages of sleepiness walk up a path for a quarter of a mile. They then arrive in stages at a rude amphitheatre of cut logs alongside a strong flowing stream. A leader says a few words of encouragement and then signals the start of the closed- eyes, silent meditation. The social support of 65 guys doing this was very encouraging and made doing it easier.
     I've kept the practice up every morning but one of the last ten days, but I won't lie--it's been hard. My "monkey mind" keeps throwing up images and thoughts from the lofty to the very earthy. I'll have moments of letting go and resting in the Father's love ("beloved son" is my return word)  .....but, boy, does my mind want to hijack me. Our prayer leaders at Rolling Ridge assured us this is normal and to be expected and even welcome .......my take on their wise encouragement is that each of us needs to learn to manage the distractions of our nervous minds -- why? To discover the deeper self, our true face within, where the mind rests peaceful and quiet, even if only for a moment -- that can be enough. A mind not agitated, one that is grateful and not fussing over a thousand things.
     I believe and I know that I am a beloved son of God, in my tradition a brother to Christ and each member of His body, both living and gone to glory. Struggling each morning to silently appreciate that is its own reward. I don't have to be "good"at it to reap the benefit. All I need to do is "suit up and show up." And I find some peace, if only for a few moments. That's enough.


   

REFLECTIONS OF A 9-11 THERAPIST

(Adapted from a talk I'm giving today to fellow therapists on Long Island)

     This day is sacred as perhaps no other day in our time because it connects us to our deepest principles and values as Americans. This day unites us a union of diverse peoples. This day calls us to wrestle with the deepest questions we have as human beings. 9-11 has been a national trauma and our uncertain and sometimes faltering recovery has also yielded a national renewal across many divides. In the helping professions, one deep aspect of this renewal has been a resurgence in attention to matters of the spirit in the therapeutic process. These few thoughts, born in the experience of working with several hundred First Responders, represent a distilling of one practitioner's experience. I offer them to you to strengthen myself, to encourage my colleagues, and to offer to those who fell and those who are still wounded by this day a testimony that their sacrifices will continue to yield lessons and blessings for years to come.

     1. I am forever changed by the stories I heard, the stories I hold, and the stories that burn in my brain. The secondary trauma of listening to survivors hurts, to be sure, but also holds the gift of being able to use that experience to CONNECT with them.
     2. The connection is the key. My respect for the survivor and the empathy I communicate gives him or her the confidence that I can help.
     3. The wound is painful beyond words. I choose when to speak and when to be silent very carefully.
     4. Every bit of my own life helps me connect with survivors. "It's all good."
     5. The courage to open up about the pain comes from the pain. Survivor's pain has to count for something or be meaningless. I look to my own experiences of recovery from deep wounds as a source of hope.
     6. My ability to stay with pain and not "flinch" mirrors a survivor's ability to "get the job done," and can be a connecting point [like "method" acting -- tap into my own times of courage and resilience to meet the client in his/her heart].
     7. The same God will not survive the trauma. But that can open one to Mystery, truth at a deeper and more real level than before.....
     8. Spirituality is a fluid, multi-colored canvas that can shift in an eye-blink for me and the survivor. Perhaps the most important key is attention to the moment (mindfulness) for both myself and the client. Stories, fictional and not (all the arts, really), are an important resource for mindfulness.
     9. The "performance" that is my work as a therapist needs a 100%commitment (especially on days when I feel 40%) -- sometimes I have to "fake it 'til I make it."
     10. My confidence that I can help communicates and strengthens the survivor at his/her weakest moments. (A 12-Step tip: if you need some faith, borrow some of mine.)
     11. I am a container, a human repository of some of the most precious and painful memories available. I have to hold those memories with respect and care. I also have to release them (I need self-care and the support of supervision).
     12. The ultimate gift of trauma may be the compassion it awakens in each of us for each other's pain. Remember the Amish saying: A grief held is doubled. A grief shared is cut in half."

Deer at Dawn

     This morning's walk almost didn't get more than a few steps out the door. I started out walking, tripped and twisted my ankle. Thoughts of turning back immediately flooded into my brain, but a calmer part of me said to keep walking gently and see -- sure enough, within a couple of minutes I was walking freely and able to take in the beautiful, cool spring morning.

    I spotted my 6:18 bellweather train just visible across a field recently turned over for spring planting. A few rabbits hopped down long driveways, while all kinds of birds announced various bits of news in their world, most of which probably had to do with mating, it being spring and all.

     I had just reached the turn around point in this walk when I came to an opening into those plowed fields. In the beautiful dawn sunlight, two deer dashed away from me, kicking up dust and ground moisture as they moved away. Each jumping step made a big puff of floating sparkle in that light. What a grace note!

     Back closer to home, I had to cross one busy road, crowded with the Trade Parade of workers' trucks and cars, hurrying to hundreds of home renovations and construction sites. Despite the ongoing building, there's still a fair amount of woods and ponds and meadows in this area of eastern Long Island, home to uncounted numbers of birds, insects, smaller and larger animals, including those deer.

     Less familiar to me and seeming more out of place in this past week has been a solitary wild turkey, hanging around the small downtown area of our hamlet, Water Mill. He's been poking about the village green and dodging traffic as he crossed an even busier highway than the road I negotiated this morning. So far, he's made it with only a few close calls. I spotted one of his brother birds up island who had an unfortunate encounter with a fast car and was sitting stunned by the side of the highway facing a most uncertain future.

     In my busy life, it's all too easy to go through life with blinders on, oblivious to the wonders of life in front of us every day. Bugs, mice, raccoons, deer, turkeys and even twisted ankles are small reminders to me to pay attention and pause to take it all in. I can be all rattled and separate, or occasionally, at least, quiet and connected in this life we share.

     Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, invited us to see and do all of life, Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam, to the greater glory of God. That's a good invitation.  

Boston

     The events yesterday at the finish line of the Boston Marathon sickened me and brought me to tears. The story of the little guy, Martin Richard, who ran out to congratulate his Dad finishing the race, then ran back to where the explosion happened and was killed, took the heart out of me. When any kid dies, it's sad. When any kid dies as part of some lunatic act of terror, no matter what the cause, it's an abomination. God bless his family in their grief and anger and confusion at such a senseless act. Bless the families of the others killed and  bless the wounded and their families. Bless all the people of greater Boston and their marathon guests from around the world whose wonderful day was so marred by the act of terror.

     Many people have mentioned the First Responders as shining lights on a dark day. Once again, cops, firefighters and emergency medical personnel run toward the danger and the awful suffering, joined by numerous Boston Athletic Association race volunteers and brave spectators who joined in the rescue efforts. Class acts, all of them. That's where I look for the clear signs of a loving God who has to walk with us, his poor creatures, through the worst that this world can deal.
    
     More than once when I've tried to congratulate a First Responder, they somewhat indignantly informed me that it was "no big deal, that's our job!" Some job, guys and gals, some job. You teach us so much more than you realize. Thanks are due.