Category Archives: Meditation

Serenity

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At work I get two 15 minute breaks, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. I usually just work right through them paying no attention to the time I could be devoting to other things instead of work. I get into ruts where I put my head down at 8am and pick it back up at 5pm and the whole time in between I’m engaged with something work related.

This can sometimes lead to irritation, aggravation, and this maddening buzzity restless feeling that sticks with me and starts to wear me down. If the weather is good and I’m in the mood for it I will take a jaunt around the campus which can help. Recently however I’ve been trying to find room in my life for meditation and it struck me that if I could find the right place, that I could get away for half an hour. I figure nobody would have a problem if I bound my two breaks up together and used it for something possibly good for me.

That’s exactly what I did this afternoon. Around 3:45 today I polished off the last of the tea I was drinking and grabbed my iPhone and found a little out-of-the-way place here where I could relax and meditate. I didn’t fall asleep, but I was able to get to that magical place. Each time I do it, it gets easier to reach it, each and every time. There are two apps that help keep me focused and keep me from running out of time. The first app I use to create natural sounds around me is called Naturespace and I went ahead and bought the “Entire Catalog” program option which unlocks all of their soundtracks. I especially prefer the track “Zen Wind and Water” as it features windchimes which I really like listening to. The program works with my earbuds to mask outside noises, so there is nothing to upset me while I’m trying to relax. The second app I use is Chronology and I set it for 30 minutes with a double-horn alarm at the end. When I prepare for my session I find a nice quiet place to sit, one that nobody is using and nobody would go looking for me in, and I start Naturespace and Chronology, get everything started and start to concentrate on my breathing. As usual when I’m coming down I can feel the relaxation hit my shoulders and neck first. As I’m trying to quiet my thinking my mind starts tossing stray noise at me to get me to do something else. At first it took a long time for that to quiet down, but after several sessions it doesn’t take that long and once I achieve my goal it’s as if my mind fits into a groove in my consciousness. The stray noisy thoughts are gone and they don’t bubble up. It feels almost like a physical ‘fwump’ as it clicks into place. I could try to bring in some noise but it doesn’t work. It’s just me and my breathing and nothing else. If I stay very still I can even slow my breathing down, I start to lose proprioception and unless I’ve got joints under stress I start to float away. It has nothing at all to do with falling asleep. There are no hypnic jerks, and there isn’t any loss of consciousness. I’m able to act if I must, but it’s quite nice just to exist in that state for a time.

When I hear the double-horn from Chronology I know that my 30 minutes are up. When I open my eyes and shift posture my proprioception snaps right back together but my mind retains this quality of serenity for a long while afterwards. I’ve found it’s easier to read and easier to concentrate afterwards, as if I’m still carrying crumbs of that meditative state around with me for hours afterwards. I still feel it even now, and it’s been about twenty minutes since I left that state. If nothing else, I feel much better afterwards than I did before. The maddening buzzity sensation is gone and I don’t feel quite as busy as I was just an hour ago.

If I notice any other differences, I’ll be sure to blog about them.

Horizon Met

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My horoscope suggested that I try to include a regular new thing in my life, and that now is the perfect opportunity to not only begin, but to make it a habit. So I immediately thought about the things that I always wanted to try to include as a regular practice in my life but never really got it to stick.

That thing is meditation. I’ve read a lot of articles on it, it comes up over and over in Buddhist and Zen texts, and I’ve even gone so far as to get applications that help support it. The articles read a lot like the Chinese websites do about their tea, all about the benefits and nothing to point at any detractors. Much like tea, there is little that exists that could harm me. In fact, meditation contains nothing at all that could harm me beyond perhaps being eaten by some sort of apex predator while I’m meditating. The only downside that I can see to drinking tea is frequent bathroom visits. A lot of the sites I’ve seen and articles I’ve read approach meditation from various angles. Some approach it from a spiritual side, here you have the line that I think I remember Deepak Chopra saying about it, that what lies between thoughts is the thinker and if you stop thinking you can exist all by yourself. There are other articles that I’ve read, books too, that go on at length regarding the neurochemistry of meditation. That neurons that fire together wire together, and that meditation can actually increase the speed of cognition. For that I have no proof and it smells like a placebo, however it’s tea all over again. Even if the claims are bunkum, it’s not like I’m going to harm myself at all so if there is nothing to lose, perhaps anything gained is what I was always after from the beginning. I also remember reading a LifeHacker article regarding daydreaming and how if you just stop trying to drive your mind to unravel a question that sometimes the answer comes ready-packaged and drops into your lap if you back off the whip and let the mind work on it’s own. Do I believe any of this? I am skeptical however over my life and over the times I’ve tried to meditate I have to say that something is indeed there.

So earlier today I took a break from work. I plugged in my iPhone earbuds, set the volume low and ran one of the apps that I recently acquired, it’s called Naturespace. It had 109 reviews in the Apple App Store and the overall rating was almost five out of five stars. Since the app was free I tried it, loaded up one of the sample tracks and sat back in my chair. At work there is a problem, if you sit with your eyes closed, even if you are not pursuing a nap it looks nearly indistinguishable from actually sleeping on the job. I found meditating with my eyes open to be very difficult, but not impossible. The natural sounds helped mask the office noises that surround me in my workaday world and I had a bit of time to myself and thankfully nobody walked in on me and felt at-odds about seeing me sitting attentively in my chair with my eyes closed. One thing I did do was join my hands near my face and steeple my index fingers and rest them lightly against my philtrum, which I’ve heard referred to as a fairy-saddle. The book I read about the neurochemistry of Buddhism went on at length about the existence of an accupressure point right in this spot that supposedly activates the parasympathetic wing of the central nervous system. The parasympathetic slows and relaxes everything and it seemed to be a great way to help push myself along the path to entering a meditative state of consciousness.

My skills for this are picked up like trivia from lots of different places, when I’m bored I tend to graze on information on the Internet and I find myself reading lots of different things so the way I begin is to sit comfortably, make sure I don’t sense any ‘biological imperatives’ coming from my body and then I really should close my eyes to quiet the visual field. The natural sounds help bring on relaxation which I always think of as the foyer or antechamber to a true meditative state. The constant light touch against the philtrum may or may not be anything useful but earlier this morning I found that if I concentrate on my breathing and make it very natural and regular that I can figuratively imagine my mind as a surface of water. As I come down from the natural jitter and jump of being “online at work” I imagine the surface of water that is my mind getting more and more calm as time goes on. There is definitely some kickback as random things pop up out of nowhere and break the surface of the water image in my imagination. As I sat there I actually slipped into a meditative state and it felt ineffably wonderful. Thankfully I had a timer set on my iPhone that would send an alarm after 15 minutes so when I heard it I had to stop what I was doing and get back to work.

Now the only question is, where do I fit this into my life? Do I only spend about seven minutes in this state twice a day or do I devote an hour a day to it and give up something else? I have to admit that the experience was something incredibly positive and rewarding and was so inherently wonderful that I find myself craving to get back to that state. Then I start to wonder if it’s better to fix such a thing at a specific time or is it better to simply assert that I will intend to devote an hour to it and then find the time each day to fit it in. There may be a higher chance of me actually integrating the practice into my life if I give myself a small bit of flexibility without letting myself be totally floppy with timing. If I have no discipline for it I’ll never do it. Like a lot of things in my life, only time will tell. I’ll blog as I progress, which might inspire others to try what I am attempting.

Synchronicity

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Sometimes you can’t explain how things unfold. Previous generations labeled things like this kismet, or fate. A really tremendously great word for what I just dealt with could be called synchronicity.

A few days ago while I was marveling at my silly dress-up vest with the finished pockets sewn closed, I was standing under an old-time fixture that I had installed all on my own. Frankly it was going to turn out to be a nod to the past any way it unfolded. It was either going to be the fixture we eventually chose or a “in the spirit of” Tiffany-style lamp. So either way we were going to install a fixture that prized the past. We noticed the “Edison Style” bulbs immediately and almost in the vein of “love at first sight” these fixtures trumped the Tiffany-style stained glass ones almost instantly. It helped of course that the “Edison Style” was $45 while the “Tiffany Style” was $90. We could afford a small bit of throwback style for half the price.

So while I was looking at myself, all trimmed and shaved (for what it’s worth) in a dress vest, under an “Edison Style” bulb it had to be synchronicity for what transpired tonight. For the past few days I’ve been dwelling, at least mentally, in a space that appreciates how excellent really old designs are and sometimes these designs are actually pinnacle moments. They are wonders, marvels, true magnificence that once expressed can’t really be improved upon. It takes a real romantic to even entertain that an old thing retains value. In some ways I sense that old things not only retain their value but augment their value because they last, or touch something deep inside that means something very important to you.

So I stood there, in the civil twilight of pre-dawn right before work. Standing under an Edison-style bulb and appreciating my reflection in the hall mirror and being filled with a feeling that something quite like this could have been how my predecessors felt in the 1800’s when all this technology was brand new. Nobody then marveled at the warm yellow glow from an Edison bulb as a matter of romance, they saw it as an improvement to paraffin, naphtha, or beeswax candles. So for some strange reason I thought of someone I never met, ever in my life but only know through Ancestry.com. That would be my second great grandfather Fernando Race. The father of my maternal grandfather, Allan (I think). So oddly enough I had technically summoned the shade of my second great grandfather and it was something very deep and meaningful.

I never EVER knew any of these people. The only memory I have of my maternal grandfather is little blazes of bright memory. Me sitting on his lap while his model trains ran around his little train village in the basement of my grandparents home in Ithaca. It’s true that scent can bring you back, and it does for me. Funny enough if I catch WD-40, an industrial cleaner and lubricant, and it’s scent, accessing these memories of my grandfather all becomes very plain and very simple and they kind of burst forth right into my mind. Scents carry memory, alas, nostalgia. So getting just a scent of WD-40 puts me right back there. So thinking about the past also helps put me “back there” and frankly I find it highly entertaining that I find myself preferentially dwelling in the past where things I take for granted would mostly likely be interpreted as high sorcery.

It wasn’t until a few days after my “in the past” reverie that I called my mother out of the blue. No reason for it other than I love her and miss her terribly and the missing feeling goes away a little bit when I talk to her on the phone. So I called her on my way home from the gym. People at work who find me … unique… (a great word, I love it) always ask to visit with my mother to see if that can explain why I am the way I am. Why I’m emotional and ebullient and always say whats on my mind. I laugh at my coworkers who puzzle over my behavior at work. If they knew my parents, they’d understand I wasn’t crazy but that I was as they see me, which is beloved (and special, huge heaps of special) 🙂

Then my mother laid two big whammies on me. The first took my breath away. I don’t really want to delve deeply into it for it’s subject matter, at least not now, but while dashing down I-94 going somewhere between sixty and seventy miles per hour she laid a HUMONGOUS whammy on me. It was a challenge to retain my composure and not drive off the highway into a ditch. The news she shared created a new emotion. It was a complicated knotwork of surprise, shock, and a heavy dose of what would be if you mixed “Eureka”, “Synchronicity”, and patent incredulity. Baked at 350 for one hour and seasoned with a kind of half-joking expectation, almost a kind of odd deja-vu sensation.

So I dwell here, thinking about things and people in my life. It’s important not to say too much lest I give it all away that I know, but I’ve been waiting many years for this to happen and this has awakened the voice of my power animal, my totem if you will. He talks to me in my own voice, and comes from deep within, my intuition and I’ve learned to respect that part of me, or him, or both. I will dwell where I am, quiet and waiting. That’s what I think I should do and that’s what my totem is telling me outright to do.

Anyways, beyond the unavoidable teasing which I apologize for of the previous section, it wasn’t the end of the whammies my mother laid out on me tonight. She shared with me some things which I’d rather not share here, but bear directly on my random mental roulette ball landing on the Races and Tuttles. I could have chosen anyone from my past, and thanks to Ancestry.com and my Uncle John and my Mother I don’t really have to wonder much anymore, that who I thought of first would come, in a way, forward through time and tap me on the shoulder and in a very roundabout way give me a wholly unexpected hug from the 19th century all through the agency of nobody else but my very own mother. I hate to be cryptic about this, but I feel I have to be circumspect. Suffice it to say, in a very strange and surreal way I feel like this part of my life was meant to play out this way, and that Fernando Race, his son, or his grandson – my grandfather dwelled closeby me that day when I was caught in my reverie of the past.

It wasn’t until I talked with my mother tonight that so many tumblers all clicked into place. I don’t know exactly how much she appreciates what has happened, but for me, at the focus of this storm of synchronicity, with so much all colliding all at once as if it fit together so perfectly that it lacked seams, that these two things will likely come to pass if I do not meddle in my fate. Time and time again I have been ringside as I have attempted to meddle in my fate and been handed my hat for my troubles. This time I won’t. It’s very Zen, but in a way, to move forward I have to remain perfectly still.

I can say that the synchronicity thrills me. So if anyone out there puts two and two and the square root of minus two together and expects that answer, then we should indeed talk. Life is happy there, or at least, it could be.

Dreaming about Watches

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Have you ever dreamed that you had a watch and looked at the time in your dreams? I just woke up from a dream like that. It had a number of other qualities 😉 but at the end it also featured me looking at my watch. In my dream I could have sworn that the time was 10:30 in the morning, but actually it is 8:46 AM.

This dream has got me thinking about the physics of that existence. I carry around my self-monitor even when I dream so when the dreams are offering me a chance to explore something I wouldn’t normally feel alright exploring I usually don’t elect to go forward with whatever it is. Its the flow of time that interests me. If everything in a dream is constructed out of my mind, then a watch, indeed the flow of time itself is completely malleable and up to me. There has to be some basic irreducible moments in dreams because you can’t spend an eternity dwelling in a dream-state, you do move forward despite the notion that time is a complete construction in that state.

I think the jury is still out as to the phenomenology of dreaming. I’ve seen competing theories ranging in meaning from dreams as prophetic tools, diagnostic tools, all the way down to a bored cortex that is clamped down with a motor inhibition yet continuously gets input from other parts of the brain that are accidentally firing due to their functions as part of the restorative part of sleeping. I think dreaming is more than a bored cortex making up bits and pieces to keep itself occupied while the limbic system and the hippocampus are busy refining the days memories, chatting up the immune system, and pushing brain chemistry back to a point where we are unlikely lot run into pink elephants.

I do certainly believe that the brain is actively occupied in a lot of maintenance procedures during sleep. Resetting neurotransmitters, dealing with chemical deficits here and there, and conversing with the immune system, but for me, dreaming feels more than just a random series of inputs making my cortex come up with a set-dressed stage to entertain me. I think that when we are in a dreaming state, that we are much closer to the reality that exists purely in our minds. Existence there is not really bound by reality in the real world. I’m sure a more spiritual person would approach this argument that when you dream you are in direct communication with your soul. In a way that is compatible with what I imagine, as the physics of the brain have to point almost by default to the existence of a soul, I just don’t go that far. When people dream, the only real thing that your mind has to go on for stimuli has got to be the noisy click-clack chatter of cells that are firing “accidentally”. I put “accidentally” in quotes because it’s actually very much a quantum mechanical thing, these cells are so small, their connections so fine that a portion of what they are firing for might be the foamy background noise of virtual particles being created and annihilated in the very small spaces between synaptic clefts between neurons.

I can’t escape the theories from David Bohm, that perhaps these tiny spaces between synaptic clefts or even along neuron cells themselves are an interface between classical reality and the implicate order. That the soul is a part of a holographic superstructure that lies independent of classical reality and needs a brain of sufficient complexity to access these special conditions. That it is our larger, more convoluted brains that lead us to consciousness, sentience, and that dreaming is a natural epiphenomenon of that sentience.

If all of of this supposition even has a whiff of being true, that means that the soul is immortal, and that our experience in the world, our persistence in it despite how often our bodies are effectively replaced and how much of our bodies aren’t really ours, but mostly bacteria is all because we are expressions of the implicate order inside flesh. Here we arrive again, like a big circle and back to a really awesome statement: All Is One.

It would be certainly something if our ability to dream Implied a soul, that our bodies were constructed to tune the implicate order and that our consciousnesses, our sentience is not only a fundamental structure of the universe itself but that we are actually all connected in a fashion in the implicate order. The ramifications for ethics and morality are mind boggling. If we are all in a certain way intimately connected to each other wether we are alive or dead, then we are never truly alone and when we do violence to each other, we are doing violence to ourselves.

There is no way to prove any of this. It’s pretty to think about and perhaps someday science will demonstrate wether the brain actually does what I suspect that it does or rather the opposite, that it’s all just a flash in the pan. I really find the entire notion of my soul being a part of the implicate order to be very comforting and puts a rather fine set of clothes on Buddhism.

Little Lights

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When the worst things imaginable happen, the most unlikely people sprout wings and feathers. When Scott’s father began his downward spiral the hidden angels who were always quietly standing there stood up, came forward, gently shrugged and unfurled their wings and surrounded us with understanding, solace, and light.

Losing someone like this is a box of broken glass. Each movement, each discovery, the memories and reminders are fresh and sharp and each one is a shooting agony. There are blessings that surround us. I am most thankful that I was able to deliver Scott in time for him to take advantage of what remaining lucidity remained at his fathers command and that we were all able to say goodbye.

The emotional hurricane peaked at 11:45 when Scott’s Father passed on. The storm built, it came, and it passed leaving the survivors stunned and numb. Saying goodbye, especially in this situation is one of life’s most unpleasant knots. Nobody wanted to let go and nobody wanted to let the suffering rage on. It’s an unloving chain, sickness, debilitation, and suffering. All rushing headlong into something everyone knows is coming, nobody wants to face, and once it arrives, nobody truly can cope with adequately. Losing someone this central, this important can only be assuaged by the flow of time.

I am here to support Scott in his time of need. His and his families loss has left a Daniel-shaped hole behind and I’ve witnessed their coping. Through their loss and the emotional turmoil I find myself preoccupied with helping them cope and through that, naturally extending this fragile emotion through time and looking what is to come.

It isn’t until you lose a father-figure that you realize you had one all along. I have two more. Love, as I described it while consoling earlier today, is both the most compelling blessing and the worlds most horrendous curse. Expressing this emotion is something we all really should do as often as we can, to bask in the blessing before the curse of loss sets in. There are more fathers to lose, and I found myself dreading what is to come.

For Norm, I didn’t grow up with him as a father but he truly is a father to me. I will share his loss with his natural children and I’ll be on treaded ground. The real emotional pain comes when you have deferred telling your loved ones that you love them because they aren’t going anywhere, what’s the rush? Until they are gone and the words ring out in hollow space and the only comfort is the wellspring of your faith. Telling them that you love them, especially between sons and fathers is something that everyone wishes they could do much more of, but end up with the knowledge of the love and watching a mussy emotion transfigured into respect.

For Joseph, that’s a wholly different matter. I am my fathers only son. I was a spectator for Daniel, I am a player for Norm, but for Joseph I am more. In many respects I’m going to be very alone with my father when he passes on. The thing that hurts the most is that the love I have for him is the most understood and the most rendered-respect. There won’t be any regret for any of my fathers, but I do know that this was the easiest for me, and if this was hell, the others I can only imagine.

It boils down to Love. Do you love them enough to honor and cherish them when they are alive? If so, then that Love carries on through death and enables you to let them go. Loving someone enough to want to keep them countered with loving them enough to beg mercy on their behalf and celebrating their lives and the blazing glory of their passing. Love is both a blessing and a curse, and I wouldn’t be shocked in the least to discover that the entire Universes purpose is to explore Love. Love makes the world go round.

On Death and Dying

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My experience with Death is limited to the loss of both my paternal and maternal grandmothers. I have stood witness to their passing as well as the ramifications that sprang from those events.

Both of their passing, and my curious individualistic faith has formed the basis for my perceptions and thoughts about death and dying. I lost my Christian faith many years ago. I was raised as a Christian protestant, in the Presbyterian tradition, but I have developed my own unique viewpoints as I have lived my life and experienced it.

There is no real death in this world. The death that we know is one integral step we must take on our path. Each life is filled with steps, and they all lead somewhere, we are born, we grow up, we lead our lives, and eventually we die. I approach death both with metaphors and metaphysics. My metaphorical approach to death is the bowling analogy. Life is like a game of bowling: the shoes to rent, the ball to fondle, the lane to look down and goals to reach. Our lives are lead as the bowl hurdles down the alley, precariously streaking along a certain path, never one we think we selected but the path that was meant for us, one that could reach the pins or reach the gutter. When the ball strikes the pins, we die. While the pins knock over, they do not stop existing, they are gathered up, reassembled, and the ball is returned for another game. We are the pins, we are the ball, our death is when the ball strikes the pins and the gathering up and reassembly is the job of God.

When our lives end, when the ball strikes the pins, we do not simply cease to exist. There is a part of us, the part of us that is aware of awareness. It’s more than simply our consciousness, as consciousness fits within the crib of our sentience, it is the part of us that is just as permanent as the rest of the surrounding Universe. This part is our soul. When we die, the soul is released from the body but it does not just evaporate into nothingness. The soul is purpose. The soul is both the selector of the path and the path itself.  In each of our lives our souls are driven to experience a certain path, and we take that path whether we are conscious of it or not. For most people, they remain asleep to their souls and consider the events of their lives to be chaotic and random. Other people who are on the path of awakening to enlightenment understand how their live is structured and respect and have faith in the path.

This touches upon Good and Evil. The path selected is a means unto itself. People attribute valuations of “Good” and “Evil” to explain events that defy logical or rational description. It is because the consciousness cannot apprehend true reality that we are lead to make this fundamental attribution error. We don’t know, and without any further proof to the contrary we affix a label to events, calling them “Good” or “Evil”. Then we rail at a God who allows “Evil” into our world. In each situation the “Evil” serves a purpose that we cannot apprehend with consciousness. There is no real “Good” or “Evil”. There are only souls being and making paths for our bodies to follow from lifetime to lifetime. Death is not “Evil”. Death is merely a part of the path, one step that leads to another. It is pointless to upset oneself over “Good” versus “Evil” as any upset to a souls path never is permanent, the soul will select a path to follow that it must, irrespective of free will to the contrary.

The matter of enlightenment still remains. When consciousness awakens and expands it can break free from Maya, the illusion of reality, and catch glimpses of the reality the soul exists in. The rewards of awakening are immediate: you can catch a sense to your path, you are filled with the serenity of knowing you are where you are supposed to be and that you are doing what you are meant to be doing. That you are on the path, your path. I can only imagine that when a person achieves true enlightenment, true awakening, their consciousness has a full view of their souls, an incredible thing to contemplate.

I also approach death analytically. I see the body as a very fragile yet exceptionally complicated tuner. When we are born, we don’t have the biological complexity required to fully ‘tune in on’ our souls, so from birth to about 3 years old we are wholly indistinguishable from our nearest evolutionary progenitors, the chimpanzees. After our 3rd year, our bodies show enough raw complexity that tuning the souls attached to our bodies can begin. This tuning goes on throughout life, constantly getting more and more refined. The soul uses the body at that point, it’s a type of symbiosis. As we age the soul begins to dominate the relationship. Our bodies aren’t immortal, they were never meant to be. They have accidents, become damaged, and erode. When the body is damaged or begins to die, the soul begins to depart the body. Death is not a pinnacle moment, it is a process – we call it dying and when people are dying, their souls gently slide out of tune with their bodies. Considering everything, this is quite possibly the most merciful part of life, especially when the body is trapped in extreme suffering. When I saw my loved ones progressing along the route of the dying I have seen this ‘tuning out’ for myself. The soul moves on, it cannot die because it is not physical – it is energetic. I have seen my loved ones alive and animate, and I have seen their bodies dead and inanimate. The dead bodies closely resemble my loved ones, but they appear different, without the spark of the soul, the body is just a shell. The connection of the soul to the body actually looks like something, when the soul is gone, you know it, when the soul is departing, you can see it go.

Death is not the end. Death is a step, a transformation, the soul released so it can discover a new body. It has been my experience that souls do not flit about like fireflies, but rather tend to ‘flock’ together with other souls. From lifetime to lifetime through reincarnation each of our souls touch each other over and over. The roles, the genders, the relationships, they are always in flux, but the souls always find ways to be reborn together, to ‘flock’ together, if not by selecting bodies that are near each other, they arrange the path to bring the bodies together over and over. Our human drama plays out over and over, we dance with the same people we’ve always danced with, from lifetime to lifetime.

So then what is the purpose of it all? Christians believe that death is the route to the afterlife. A place of perfection and perfect happiness. My experiences, even my past-life memories which I do have possession of, indicate to me that the afterlife is not the destination. It may be ‘a’ destination for some, but at least not for me and the souls that I recognize in this lifetime. I think instead that the purpose of life is experience. That souls enjoy Maya, they enjoy the challenge, the struggle and in some ways they enjoy the suffering. I believe it to be more a matter of a fascination with experience, the new situations and the learning that drives life.

If death isn’t the end of existence and souls are born together over and over again, then there is absolutely nothing to fear and death should be regarded as just another adventure in living. It is a natural and unavoidable destination for the body and a chance for your soul to continue on to find new ways and new experiences. It shouldn’t be full of sorrow, it should be a celebration of a life lived well. Paths selected, existence experienced, love enjoyed.

OmmWriter & Meditation

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While I was in Minnesota visiting family I found myself laying in bed with my thoughts racing around a mile-a-minute and I’d toss and turn and couldn’t find that quietness to really begin sleeping. I suppose there is a difference between just being motionless and truly being asleep. I was motionless.

I tried to relax. I tried some procedures that one would classically attach to meditation, specifically relaxing and quieting the mind. As I lay there my mind was a ship on a roiling ocean. Every once in a while a stray thought or a memory would break the surface like a marlin or a swordfish on the end of a line. I thought it would be interesting to inventory those thoughts and see if they lead anywhere or meant anything.

This is where Ommwriter comes in. This neat app for my Mac machines creates a quiet, nearly idyllic place to collect ones thoughts and write. It would be a great tool to use, so what I plan to do is to reserve some time and attempt to meditate and as the thoughts come up, I’m going to write them down. It only seems natural that if I’m going to write them down I might as well include them on this new journal. To that end I’ll be creating new tags and categories to suit this little project of mine. Maybe it’s just noise, maybe it’s something more. Only time will tell.