Posted: June 10th, 2010 | Author: april | Filed under: practice | Tags: mind, quiet | No Comments »
A few weeks ago I went for a weekend of meditation instruction. I’ve continued to lose and regain what I learned since, so I’m glad I left this piece unfinished.
The instruction itself was valuable – probably more valuable than I know – but I was also surprised by how much the “supplemental” teaching, the movement stuff, the food, connected me to the awareness work. I maybe shouldn’t have been so surprised. Everything makes more sense to me from a physical perspective. I like ideas tangible.
I attended a yoga class, a tai chi class, and an Alexander workshop. I keep forgetting in the press of the city to be light and gentle, physically. I slog through things, fall instead of walking, hold instead of balancing. All three physical disciplines are part of my body’s memory already, so it really only took a tiny reminder.
And there was silence. Part of the weekend participants (not the teachers) were theoretically in noble silence, though not understanding the concept deeply, most of us opted simply not to speak – not to eschew other sharing of thoughts and information. I like the idea of silence expressed in that link a lot, though.
Even the perhaps lighter-weight silence we practiced drew my attention to stuff. To my own awareness, to my feet on the ground, the breath of the wind and the grand hugeness of the poppies all over the place.
I often feel like reflection and contemplation are… maybe a bit self-centered. It may be true, if you approach those things out of neurosis. But. Getting the silence and the body involved makes that sort of contemplation seem so overwrought, so much unneeded effort. Awareness of mind can be so light. The body can be so light. So happy. It’s pleasant.
Posted: November 27th, 2009 | Author: april | Filed under: practice | Tags: cats, quiet | No Comments »
I brought Stellae (whose full name I admit is ridiculous – RIDICULOUSLY AWESOME), the youngest of the three cats who live with me, to visit with my parents for Thanksgiving. She’s a pretty daring, almost aggressive, cat – she’s here in part to give the others a break from being pounced.
Except. It is really loud here! At home, I listen to music on purpose, or watch television on purpose, and the only background noise is appliance-generated. Here in the country, there are two whole other people making people noises, currently four dogs doing dog stuff, and usually a teevee or a computer or a phone ringing or… lots of things. The area in general may be woodsy and quiet, but the house is a buffet of unfamiliar sounds. Each of which makes Stellae jump out of her skin.
Cats are a bit like canaries [Is there some sort of aphorism about cats and canaries? Those two words seem to fit near each other, and I feel like they're connected by more than mineshafts.]. They perceive things faster than humans, and their reactions are more extreme.
In the quiet at night, Stellae is relaxed and normal. She leapt a baby gate earlier and followed me around the dark house, and is now attacking my feet under a blanket (a timeless classic of feline fun). During the day she’s jumpy and hidey. I feel like I’ve accidentally traumatized this little cat. Then she’s back to normal.
Anyhow. This isn’t intended to be a crazy cat lady post. It’s about people! She made me wonder how all this hubbub affects the humans who surround themselves with it. The last couple of times I’ve been to New York, for instance, my skin crawled with this sense of the television being on everywhere (in New York’s defense, both trips were mostly in Times Square, pretty much a giant teevee). I know everyone gets used to familiar sensations, cancels out the usual noises and smells and such. Do humans – and all animals, really – actually adapt to their buzzing environments completely? Or on some level, is it disquieting?
I appreciate the quiet of my own house more in comparison to these other places. The city around may be loud, but it’s not constant. I feel like people need that – you know, silence, space to think and rest.
