An active mind can be a tyrant. I’ve spent a great deal of my life living on a cerebral level, always immersed in the thoughts that buzz like bees through the hive that is my brain. The bees themselves are not the problem. It is my attachment to these constant thoughts, doubts, judgments that keep me forever pulled in a thousand different directions. I imagine a little girl holding tight to the strings of several kites that are being tossed about in the winds of a storm raging above.
I find solace occasionally in Buddhist meditation and/or mindfulness practices which teach me to view my thoughts as passing clouds, acknowledging them as they pass by, but letting them go just as quickly. I’m taught to ground myself in something sensory, an anchor, such as my own pulse or rhythmic breathing. It helps, it does, but it is a practice I have yet to strengthen. And patience is not my strongest asset.
I yearn so much to be present in this moment. What life must be like for monks or other spiritual gurus who spend their lives pursuing to live there, in the present moment. How much more do they experience when they are not distracted by the noise of their minds? How much more salient are their senses? How much deeper are their capacities to feel? How much more peace do they feel on a daily basis?
Laying in bed with a beautiful person, I want so much to be there and only there, in that bed, with their energy wrapped so lovingly around me and yet, I can feel myself being pulled away. They tap my forehead with the pads of their fingers, asking me where I am. “I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. I want to be with them, completely present, in this moment. But the humming bees in my head have other plans.
The best I can do, I suppose, is try everyday to do better. Look out the window and collect the various shades of green created by the sun shining through the leaves on the trees. Ride the waves of dynamics in the concerto that sings through my earbuds. Taste the simultaneous bitterness and sweetness in a bite of dark chocolate. Relish the storm of goosebumps that rise in the wake of another’s fingertips tracing across my skin.
Presence. When did it become such a novel idea to be completely and consciously here? How do we find our way back to the present moment?
Write to Live 