The Scene: Sitting outside The Tiny, a golden sunset just beyond the oak trees, citronella candle doing its job, roasted Brussels sprouts in my bowl, dog working on her bone, the new Enya soothing my heart from the 42″ sound bar and mighty woofer tucked inside, a good work day under my belt, my beloved sister coming to camp tomorrow, looking forward to my next campground, and it stopped raining in Houston.
Peace be with me.
I usually call Bill when I’m miserable. Today I called to say I’m in fit condition. He welcomes me either way. And he reminded me: This too shall pass. Oh, yeah.
I started pondering why the glow is back deep within my soul. What happened?
The turnaround began last night around 2 a.m. as I was tossing and turning in bed with a tightness in my gut. I thought: Why do I have so much tension in my body? And then it occurred to me that my meditation has been very sparse lately. While my practice has been to put in a good hour every morning in meditation, it has devolved from a half hour, to 10 minutes, to a minute or two. Very not good. My meditation practice, which I began 24 years ago, is how I process most everything that is happening. In my meditation, I can feel every situation rise up for observation and then float into psychic folders. Without that process, all the stuff of life and my reactions to it just float around in my subconscious like those dots on our eyes I suspect I’ll be getting later on in life. With too many of those, the eyes cannot see. Without processing the events of my day, or the events of many days, there are so many bits of un-filed energy that I can no longer see or think or breathe.
I sat up in bed at 2 a.m. and meditated for an hour. In the tradition I follow, sitting for meditation during sleep hours is not advised. But I was desperate. Afterward, I slept soundly until 6:30 a.m.
I started thinking about what got me where I am today, able to leave home in a tiny trailer with my dog and attempt to travel a bit and do my work.
Decades ago, nobody would have suspected that the withdrawn, depressed, defeated, overweight, beaten down, hurting victim that I was in early life could turn out like this. The solution was my 35 years of recovery, the thousands of hours in support group meetings, the thousands of pages of journaling, hundreds of hours of therapy, the dozens of spiritual retreats, the dozens of vision boards, the many challenges for which I’ve sought a spiritual and practical solution (overeating, sugar addiction, alcohol addiction, pot addiction, cigarette smoking, debting, underearning, codependency, and god knows what else).
I do so much right. I stay sober, I weigh and measure from my food plan. I do right work. I hike. Oh yes, I hike.
But I realized I had been neglecting some other critical aspects of my daily practice. I had been missing the phone support groups meetings I’ve enjoyed daily that discuss earning money and serving others and being all we can in the professional world. Still running on Central Time, I keep forgetting to call in until it’s too late. Back home, when I had a home that was fastened to the ground, I had my routines, and when my routines were disrupted, the red flags went up quickly. In my new life, so much changes so often — especially where I am staying and who is around me, where I shop, where I find meetings, the weather, the topography, the laundry rooms, the rest rooms — that when my spiritual practices changed, I barely noticed.
All of this slacking off on what has made me so strong has taken its toll. I began this journey with a large bank account of spiritual and practical power, and now the account is depleted. I have gotten weak. I have not taken care of what I can control in order to be ready for what I cannot control.
This morning, made more aware by my nighttime meditation, I arranged my whole schedule to hike with my dog while one of my favorite and most empowering phone meetings was taking place, and I put in my earbuds and I participated. Coming back to camp, I made a business call and I was unusually forceful in my sales pitch. I went to a noon sober support group gathering in town and shared. Sitting under the massive oak trees, my dog resting at my feet, I was especially funny, which can happen. Previously, when the time came for visitors to the meeting to introduce themselves and say where they are from, I had been saying “Last known residence: New Orleans.” This time I said: “Parts unknown.” Afterward people hugged and loved me up, and loved up my doggie. I sought out a shy young man and listened to a little of his story.
And of course, there is this evening’s Brussels sprouts masterfully roasted in sesame oil and Tony Chachere’s Creole Seasoning. How can that not make one feel blessed?
So these are the practices that must come before showers and dog walks and sweeping the rug outside The Tiny:
- Morning meditation
- Journaling
- Daily phone support group meetings
Darkness has fallen fully now and my new solar accent lights snapped on. Tomorrow, before I hit the road again next week, I have online orders coming here for my favorite Dr. Hauschka moisturizer, my favorite Honey Light Glo Minerals face powder, new boot socks, 5 lbs. of soy nuts, my Armour thyroid, and the dog’s flea and heart worm meds. My new tires are being ordered. My dog is happy and healthy. My light is lit.
Yes, this glow may pass. This glow will pass. But may I do everything I know and have learned to be my best powerful self. Let me feel good. Let me do good. Let it begin with the practices that keep me whole. That is my prayer.