I’ve been really fascinated by death lately, but my greatest fear for many years, like a great deal of other people, I imagine, had always been death. I just couldn’t handle thinking about it. Everything would stop. I'd become momentarily paralyzed. It was a horrifying feeling, yet at the same time gratifying to know that my life was full enough that I should be dismayed by the idea of it ending. In contemplating the terrible notion of my beloveds dying, I could feel how this fear actually pointed to the the deep love I held for them.
Something has shifted in me in the last couple years, though. A subtle, slow change. I can now contemplate my own death, and with much less anxiety. This is partially because, as spirituality has become a bigger part of my life, I am now more open to the idea that death is not necessarily an ending. It’s still hard to imagine watching the people I love die, but it’s getting easier. However, I think it’s also because death has become a bigger part of my life. And just as in the way that bigoted people tend to dissolve their hateful views upon spending time with the people they had feared, I learn to engage more fully with the idea of death as it touches my life. I recently completed 6 months as an art therapy intern at a hospice. I spent time with people, mostly elderly, who had a palliative diagnosis. I also counselled the bereaved. I interned at a sleepaway camp for grieving children, which was one of the most beautiful and intense experiences of my life so far. From these experiences, I’ve learned so much about how to more honestly dialogue on the subject. I try now to say ‘died’, instead of ‘passed’. To just be real about the whole thing. I learned that closer proximity to death and grieving does seem to bring about a heightened experience of life, for me. These days, it’s been a very conscious choice to engage with ideas around death and mortality. I read ‘When Breath Becomes Air”, the memoir of Paul Kalanithi, a neurosurgeon who was diagnosed with fatal lung cancer in his mid thirties. Kalanithi contemplated what it means to live fully in the face of imminent death. I’m currently reading “Advice for Future Corpses” by Sally Tisdale, who is a palliative nurse, writer, and Buddhist. She provides practical advice on how to deal with death and dying, while also sprinkling in some Buddhist wisdom. I watched a documentary about a siblings in a family who decide to finally content with their brother’s suicide. It’s called ‘Evelyn’. What am I learning? That to confront death is to celebrate life. That to meditate on death is to more fully comprehend the anxiety that is the human condition. That life is so very fragile, and we are holding this in our bones all of the time. When I was 19 years old, I had just about the most intimate experience of death one can imagine. I won’t share most of the details here, but it was a death I witnessed and it was the passing of the very first man I ever loved. I don’t think I properly processed it at the time. I think that some ritual around it would have been a good idea. Extensive time with a therapist would have likely been tremendously helpful. However, I am now starting to realize that no matter what happened at that time, after the event I had the feeling, for a long time, that someday I would shed it. That there would be 100% healing around this event. And I’d move on. Oh honey, I now realize that is NOT how it works. I will carry this around with me always. The healing will be a lifelong process. This is called integration. The beauty and truth of who I am is incomplete without acknowledging every kernal of my experiences. I’m thinking about death being connected to the truth of existence and ephemerality. Everything is changing, dying...and at the same, contributing to regrowth. The cycles of nature. I’m thinking about death as part of a bigger project to sit with pain and suffering instead of running away and engaging in numbing behaviours. To approach the vast loneliness and confusion that being a self, being human can be sometimes. It’s also so bloody mysterious. I’m not sure anyone can really assert they know what happens (or doesn’t) after death. So...engaging with the mysterious, the painful, the confusing. And the vulnerable. I'm thinking about death. To see it squarely in order that I can fully live. With all the suffering, beauty, and awe that involves. Shaina Lehan On Hearing Of A Death We lack all knowledge of this parting. Death does not deal with us. We have no reason to show death admiration, love or hate; his mask of feigned tragic lament gives us a false impression. The world's stage is still filled with roles which we play. While we worry that our performances may not please, death also performs, although to no applause. But as you left us, there broke upon this stage a glimpse of reality, shown through the slight opening through which you disappeared: green, evergreen, bathed in sunlight, actual woods. We keep on playing, still anxious, our difficult roles declaiming, accompanied by matching gestures as required. But your presence so suddenly removed from our midst and from our play, at times overcomes us like a sense of that other reality: yours, that we are so overwhelmed and play our actual lives instead of the performance, forgetting altogether the applause. Rainer Maria Rilke Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
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The March Curse. I thought perhaps I’d broken it, but dang… March has traditionally been the worst month of the year for me. Breakups, illness, depression, you name it. Two years ago, March was not going so well, but I vowed the Curse wouldn’t get me. And it didn’t. I felt ok. I somehow didn’t let what was going on in my life get me too down. Last year, March was actually wonderful, both internally and externally. March 2019? My life circumstances, as well as my interior world, have felt pretty crap. I’ve been trying to work it SO hard, and utilize what I understand about mindfulness to guide me, to transform my thought patterns. However, I’ve been struggling. One day last week I was walking to the subway in the early evening, and something about the beautiful, waning light of the day brought the practice of metta to mind. So I did a metta prayer as I strolled. Metta comes from the Pali language, and can be translated to 'loving kindness". Loving kindness is something we can try out in seated meditation, but it truly can be practiced just about anywhere and anytime, if you have five or ten minutes of time to yourself. This is the meditation, and it is traditional to start with directing loving energy toward yourself. There are many variations of this prayer. This one is from Jack Kornfield, Buddhist practictioner and author: May I be filled with lovingkindness. May I be safe from inner and outer dangers. May I be well in body and mind. May I be at ease and happy. Next, you can think of someone you love, or who has cared for you greatly in your life: May you be filled with lovingkindness. May you be safe from inner and outer dangers. May you be well in body and mind. May you be at ease and happy. After this, you can keep moving outwards, extending these loving wishes toward various people in your life, even people you encounter only casually. Perhaps a sales clerk, barista, or a co-worker. Next, this wish is directed towards someone you might describe as an enemy, or who you have negative feelings towards. It's difficult. And it's profound. Finally, these thoughts are directed to all of creation. Prior to last week, it had been quite some time since I’d practiced loving kindness in this way, but just five minutes of it turned my mood right around. I regained a sense of connectedness and calm. My problems, my thoughts didn’t melt away, but they did lose their hold on me somewhat. Things came back into focus. Hey, research has shown evidence of the value of this ancient tradition: https://www.psychologytoday.com/ca/blog/feeling-it/201409/18-science-backed-reasons-try-loving-kindness-meditation I don’t really need research to understand, intuitively, why metta is such an effective practice. It makes perfect sense. Sharon Salzberg, another well known meditation teacher, says, "during metta meditation, people are amazed to find out that they have a capacity for lovingkindness, both for themselves and for others. Due to our past conditioning, many of us do not trust our capacity to love". Also, I recently went to a show, spontaneously and solo - José González and the String Theory. Gorgeous and so healing. I include a link to 'Leaf Off/The Cave' because when González wrote this song, he was inspired by Plato's cave allegory and the search for truth and enlightenment. Can we leave the cave (comfort and ignorance) and seek the light (truth)? Shaina Lehan What might life look like if we were to consistently engage with what I call, very simply, the “I don’t know”? Call it humility or presence or whatever you like. I don't know just resonates with me. I don’t know precisely where right and wrong sit. I don’t know all of you, the many layers of life that encircle you. I hope to gently unpeel a few, but there will always be parts unrevealed. I want to assume less about your intentions. But I do assume. Far too much, far too often. I'm working on this. I don’t know when my life will end, nor how. I do know that I will die. These days I’m trying to edge closer to an acceptance of the swirling and often terrifying mystery that is death. I know that I’ve been very privileged in this gorgeous life I’ve been given, and I hope that I can honour this and live it as fully as possible. I don’t know what the future has in store for me. This is a tough one for me, for many of us. It also has the potential to be pretty damn exciting. I don’t know exactly why I was moved to write this piece. I don’t know what forces are at work in this universe. I don’t know looks like: shutting the hell up a lot more often. I don’t know involves asking more questions. I don't know can involve acknowledging ignorance. I don’t know overlaps often with vulnerability and softness. I don’t know is indeed quite a vulnerable position. I don’t know means minds can change. I don’t know can bring increased connection, awe, and synchronicity. Truly, it can. I'll tell you one thing I do know. I know I’m only human. Just like you. Shaina Lehan Book recommendation: The Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts Music recommendation below: My last blog post centred on acceptance of the moment, but it also touched on awareness and regulation of emotion. Learning to take a step back and notice our automatic (and sometimes overblown) reactions to things out of our control can be a useful practice. In fact, I’ve recently taken part in a mindfulness group on emotion regulation. I’m studying to be an art therapist, and have noticed I’m a little too easily moved to tears when I’m with clients. It’s understandable, sure, but this could potentially create situations in which clients no longer feel safe as boundaries have become blurred. Therefore, it’s something I need to work on. However, today I’m writing about something personal, that’s actually all about letting emotions flow when need be! I want to share how I love. Let me be a little vulnerable with you. One way I show and experience love is with my tears. Sometimes it happens on my early morning subway ride to work, hearing a song that pierces my (admittedly quite tender) heart, or while writing my daily gratitude list. Feeling connected. You move me to tears as well. When you reveal your deep secrets and feelings to me, there’s a chance you may see something glimmering at the corner of my eye because I’m so honoured you’ve shared a part of yourself with me. I’m a teacher and there are these funny little moments during class when the pretense of authority falls away from me, and I just have a guffaw with my students about something or other that is marvelously stupid. I feel raw emotion, a tug at my heart. My face flushes, usually the first sign that the waterworks could begin. I restrain myself, but it’s there. Sometimes it’s a small child, doing something so novel, surprising, and ridiculous that I have to appreciate the stunning beauty inherent in creative action. Perhaps I am also mourning how much of that creativity we tend to lose as we become ‘adults’. That’s the thing. This love, these tears, this connection. Tears of joy, absolutely, but so often tinged with the melancholy of impermanence and loss. The tears spilled (in a public place) as I recently read the ending of a book that has touched my heart: The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz: “I turned my head to the sky, to the sun, to the stars, and put a little piece of my love in every star, in the moon, in the sun, and they loved me back. And I became one with the moon and the sun and the stars, and my love kept growing and growing. And I put a little piece of my love in every human, and I became one with the whole of humanity. Wherever I go, whomever I meet, I see myself in their eyes, because I am a part of everything, because I love” My heartstrings are connected to my tear ducts. And I’m ok with that. I’ve recently started a morning practice of sketching. Just like jogging, drawing from real life is a skill that almost anyone (with enough use of their bodies) can accomplish if they stick with it on a regular basis. While I’m always creative and drawing in some capacity, I haven’t sketched in many years, so I feel a touch of shape. Sketching what you see is a process of learning to listen to the eyes and not the mind. If I ask you to think of a tree, you can likely picture a tree in your mind. Maybe it’s a tree that you’ve seen, or maybe it’s a symbol of a generic tree, like a simple clip art picture. Those mental understandings of how something looks can get in the way of drawing accurately because we draw from the image in our mind rather than what we see in front of us. While contemplating the act of drawing during my new morning ritual, I have been relating this to the ways in which we “see” other situations from our mind rather than our senses. If I’m having a grumpy morning I’ll assume that person looking at my hair is judging my bad hair day. If I’m having a great morning, I’ll assuming that person looking at my hair is admiring its beauty. For all I know they are staring at the bird in the tree right behind me and have not even noticed my hair! Yet, we create stories all the time about people’s intentions or the meaning of various events. We have pictures in our mind of what a mother, boss, or lover on the street ought to do or say based on our experiences, culture, media, desires, etc. It can be a daily practice to see the person standing in front of us for who they are right now, rather than who we want them to be or fear them to be. People who have experienced trauma, for instance, are more likely to interpret innocuous events as threatening. It can be a daily practice to tease apart our triggers or perceived threats from real threats. My new drawing practice is a mindful contemplation inviting my observer self to notice and recognize when I am no longer present with my subject. Whatever your morning routine is, I invite you to be present and intentional with it. What does it have to teach you that you can bring into the rest of your day?
So, nothing has been going according to plan lately. I mean, the smallest things, plus big (to me) crises, and everything in between. Personally, romantically, professionally, financially. I react in all kinds of ways. Sometimes it truly is necessary to to be deeply angry or sad. Catharsis is so important. However, I also have to bring awareness to, and question, my emotional reactions. They're often unconscious and overwrought. I’m learning so much from this and I’m finding that when I simply shrug my shoulders when the unexpected happens, a bit of lightness enters my being. Spaciousness and grace. It’s hard to write about this without sounding trite and cliched. It’s also hard to overstate its urgent importance in these troubled times, when reaction and division seem to rule the political landscape, as well as our personal relationships and experiences. Here’s a recent example. I decide to try out a barre class for the first time at my yoga studio. However, when I show up, the class is already full so I’m unable to join in. First world problems, am I right? I experience a few moments of frustration. It had taken quite some energy to drag myself here in the first place. Then I experience a calm and loving feeling enter me as I accept the moment. I just. Accept it. And I realize: now I get to go for a walk! I walk outside and it is so freaking beautiful. Mid October, leaves changing, a dramatic sky. I luxuriate in joy and peace. In letting go, in accepting how little I am in control of, I experience a deep and gorgeous feeling of expansiveness. This simple walk through my neighbourhood is infused with wonder, awe, and contentment. I feel so grateful to be outside, on my own, able to enjoy this lovely evening. This was a nothing problem, a silly thing. However, much bigger issues have arisen recently in my life, as I've mentioned. At times I’ve screamed and I’ve cried. I've used a variety of swear words with creativity and great frequency. However, more and more, after each emotional outburst, I’ve discovered new and important ways to ground myself and perhaps even find a portal to something else, something surprising and gorgeous and wondrous. And sometimes I even find myself barely reacting at all... The universe is delivering me a set of lessons. I'm starting to wake up to this curriculum which, truly, is just what I need. Heeding the teachings isn't always easy, but it's so worth it. And I remain grateful. In this moment, where are you? What is happening? How can you practice just being here in total acceptance of the moment? This gracefulness is a part of something called Radical Acceptance. I’ll be writing more about this concept soon - stay tuned! Writer and teacher Eckhart Tolle asks: “What would you do if you surrendered to your life, just as it is, in this moment?" It's so easy to get caught up in the personal momentary experience. We are the central protagonists of our own lives, after all. It's important to be engaged in our own lives and to delve into the depths of the minutial of our personal experiences. It's beneficial to be asking ourselves questions like:
It is equally important to take a few giant steps back to remind ourselves to lighten up. I have been working on ways to detach and find a larger perspective, since I've started a new job and I've found myself getting caught up in the minutia, while losing sight of the big picture. I am finding a sense of perspective in the natural world, a sense of time, and the vastness of the universe. One of the most effective strategies I've used so far is to literally step out of the building where I work at lunch time. This allows me to have that oh-so-precious moment of, "Oh yeah! There's a world beyond the tasks I'm focused on!" I spend 15 minutes visiting some trees, feeling the sunshine or rain, watching a robin take a bath in a puddle or a dog run around. Through this process, I am reminded that I have a life beyond the work day. I also imagine a bird or a squirrel watching the mayhem that our species creates and laughing at our harried ways. When I go back into my work building, I feel refreshed as I bring a little bit of the outside world and the lessons it holds within me. Especially apparent in the spring, are the growth cycles of the natural world. I find it useful to think about the perspective that can be brought about through time. In a day from a now, a week, a year, or ten years from now, I'll have the distance to look back on these moments and laugh at the humor of being so wrapped up in things that have obviously resolved themselves by then. While a toddler struggles to make it up some giant stairs, the 10 year old doesn't think twice about running up the stairs skipping three at a time. Similarly, we grow and overcome the seemingly insurmountable challenges that face us in the present moment. Lastly, I look to the vastness of the cosmos. I don't know much about astronomy or astrophysics. I know that it's very big, on a scale that I can't really wrap my head around. I know that it's very beautiful, with some gorgeous patterns and structures. And, I know that it is full of mystery. For instance, about 68% of the universe is made up of dark matter, something that scientists don't really know much about. This helps me to feel as though I am a very tiny piece of a massive, swirling mass of mysteriousness. While I have moments of understanding what lessons I'm meant to be learning or what my next step is, there are so many moments and questions that I may never have the answers to. But, just as each of the estimated one billion trillion stars in the universe, I have my own place and light to shine. Until I get more answers, I'll try not to sweat the small stuff because in the cosmic scheme of things, it's all very, very small. Literally connecting with nature, thinking about a larger sense of time, and reflecting on my tininess in this vast universe are some of the ways I've been gaining perspective and detaching from the day-to-day challenges of a new job. What are some strategies that work for you?
Ever have those days when disaster seems to follow you everywhere? Spilled coffee, malfunctioning computer, missed bus, miscommunications with friends and colleagues. And have you noticed that your head seems to be in a confused and messy state on these days? And then what about those magical days? When everything seems to just go well. When the mind feels at peace, and the world as you experience it seems to reflect that back to you. Meditation is an incredibly helpful tool to engender a shift in a more positive direction when it comes to the mind. However, today I’m going to focus on a different strategy, but one that is still grounded in mindfulness: thought experiments. There’s a lot of research being done on neuroplasticity: the idea that the brain can change itself. This connects with thousands of years of Buddhist thought that states that though we have little control over external circumstances, we do have a tremendous amount of power over our thoughts, given some practice. The thing that’s becoming more and more apparent to me is that direct experience is the best way to learn. It’s great to study, research, discuss, but we need to try things out ourselves! What I mean is, rather than taking my word for it, try it for yourself. So I’m proposing experimenting with some different ways of thinking. Yeah, just experimenting! Approaching with an open and CURIOUS mind is important. It’s something I’ve started doing pretty recently. I’m calling these exercises thought experiments. I realize that thought experiment sounds, perhaps, vaguely menacing. Also, it’s the term to describe what philosophers and psychologists have been doing for centuries to test out theories. No matter. Think of ‘thought experiment’ as something you do to test out the power of thought, that’s all. You could spend a couple hours on each thought experiment, or perhaps a whole day. Thought experiment number 1: throughout your day, treat each experience you have and each person you encounter as learning opportunities. Whether they be pleasurable, neutral, or challenging, what can you learn from these situations? Thought experiment number 2: take a leisurely walk through your neighbourhood and try to experience each building, signpost, garden and so on as new. Imagine this is the first time you’ve ever been there, seen these things. What do you notice about them? What feelings arise? Afterwards: do you notice a shift in the way you feel, however small? Thought experiment number 3: notice your judgements. That’s it. Notice the positive and negative attributes to ascribe to people, experiences, and objects. Try not to judge yourself for those judgements. Just...notice. Thought experiment number 4: imagine that everything and everyone that you meet in a day is conspiring to bring you joy and love (this has even got a name: ‘pronoia’). With all of these exercises, I would suggest that at the end of the day, reflect upon what you noticed. Try journaling about it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen…? Shaina Lehan You know that silly game where you add the words "in bed" to the end of the statement found in your fortune cookie? Well, I've been doing something similar by adding the words "and that's okay" to the end of most of the statements that run through my head or that I hear other people say.
I told one of my best friends about this new game of mine. I then went on to vent about whatever challenges I had going on at the time. Her only response was, "and that's okay." It was brilliant! It highlight the difference between focusing on the problem and relaxing into the ebb and flow of the changes and challenges in my life. This blog is well over a week late. And that's okay. I didn't go to the gym today. And that's okay. I've been struggling with some challenging feelings. And that's okay. It really works at the end of any sentence, including, "holy crap, everything is going wrong." Or "this is so not okay." At the end of the day, if I trust that I am where I am meant to be, learning the lessons I am meant to be learning, I know that it's okay for things to look messy and not okay. That's part of life. They will be become clear and more pleasant again when they are meant to be. And that's okay too. As I continually endeavour to find balance in my life, I am trying to be honest about where I'm at these days, emotionally and energetically. Sometimes what I can contribute to this blog is a bit more petite and perhaps less personal, but meaningful nonetheless, I think. |
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February 2019
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