Post run thoughts (when i go on and on)
Just got back from a run. I wish I could keep the momentum going through my day…I’ve much to do in terms of getting settled here. I’ve been battling my fears of not being able to find work to support me and what I think I want to do (which, in this human existence, sometimes requires money), and at the same time, trying to remain as open as possible to the connections that are all around me, that may just lead me to the way I can best serve this community and myself. The thing is, I’ve been a little stressed about the the timing of it all. My bank account says it needs to happen NOW.
So,it was funny that I should end up sitting in meditation with a group of Buddhists last night. Now, those of you who know me can verify this: I am very adept at being with my thoughts while engaging my body in all sorts of physical activity, whether it be swimming, yoga, skiing, hiking, hell, even driving, but for me to sit still and be with my thoughts, well, now, that’s like trying to make a fire be still with its fuel source.
Anyway, I sat. and I had lots of thoughts, about what I needed to be doing to get a job, who I wanted to meet, wondering why I left California, feeling really lucky that I’m here and not in the line of a hurricane…and through all this, I kept trying to come back to my breathing—to the feeling of the air moving into my lungs, the filling of my diaphragm, the slow falling of my chest as the air moves through my nose back to the room around me, warmer now then when it entered my body. Then, of course, i began to wonder whether or not that was even the right thing to be doing...i don’t know what you’re supposed to do when you’re meditating! Next thing I was aware of was Michael Stipe singing “Stand” in my head (I’ve noticed that usually always beneath my thoughts there’s a song, and somehow it reflects something about my present state of mind). Well, I was TRYING to Sit in the place where I was, and I found myself getting angry at all this mayhem in my brain that needed to assert its significance. I watched myself try to push this feeling away, and I watched it rise again. I thanked it for its vitality and resilience, and then, went back to my breath. It was then that I was given a gift. As I breathed in, I heard, “This is you of the world,” and as I exhaled, I heard, “this is you in the world”. With each breath, these words cycled. Eventually, i took it on: the You changed to Me, and soon, the phrase just fell away to prepositions. “of” was my inhale, “in” was my exhale. During each moment, I was engaged. I was where I was, both being created by and creating the world around me. I was connected and connecting, supported and supporting, being altered by and altering everything and I was sitting still.
But I know that’s not really what y’all want to read about…you want to hear about the two professional beach volleyball players I met after meditation, right? Well, it’s true. I met two women who live here in Durango who make their living playing volleyball in the sand in little bikinis. They’re both like, 7 feet tall with beautiful bronze skin and sinewy muscles and they make more money in losing one game than I do working for a year. They both played on the Atlanta Olympic Team and that’s when they realized that there was much more money in the sand than on the court. So. It's in the contract that they have to wear the uniforms given at each game. Curse? Blessing? Both? Well, I've been told that they live in a palace. You tell me.
One of the women is off to Mexico today to complete a tournament she started in Brazil. Then, from there, she flies to Kuwait. Kuwait?? I asked her, incredulous. Sure, there’s sand there, but, hey, isn’t it a war zone?
It is, in fact, that she is going to play as relief for the troops. I can just hear the bush administration’s thinking: “yeah, you know, all our boys need is a keg and some good lookin’ women, that’s all they really want anyway.” Well, we’ve got a campaign going here to have her invest the money that she gets from the government to play eye candy into some sort of effort that might actually benefit the people who “choose” to enlist in the army. Perhaps someday, our government will realize that all our boys really need is a way to survive the U.S. economy without having to go to war!
Okay. I’m done for now. Really.
So,it was funny that I should end up sitting in meditation with a group of Buddhists last night. Now, those of you who know me can verify this: I am very adept at being with my thoughts while engaging my body in all sorts of physical activity, whether it be swimming, yoga, skiing, hiking, hell, even driving, but for me to sit still and be with my thoughts, well, now, that’s like trying to make a fire be still with its fuel source.
Anyway, I sat. and I had lots of thoughts, about what I needed to be doing to get a job, who I wanted to meet, wondering why I left California, feeling really lucky that I’m here and not in the line of a hurricane…and through all this, I kept trying to come back to my breathing—to the feeling of the air moving into my lungs, the filling of my diaphragm, the slow falling of my chest as the air moves through my nose back to the room around me, warmer now then when it entered my body. Then, of course, i began to wonder whether or not that was even the right thing to be doing...i don’t know what you’re supposed to do when you’re meditating! Next thing I was aware of was Michael Stipe singing “Stand” in my head (I’ve noticed that usually always beneath my thoughts there’s a song, and somehow it reflects something about my present state of mind). Well, I was TRYING to Sit in the place where I was, and I found myself getting angry at all this mayhem in my brain that needed to assert its significance. I watched myself try to push this feeling away, and I watched it rise again. I thanked it for its vitality and resilience, and then, went back to my breath. It was then that I was given a gift. As I breathed in, I heard, “This is you of the world,” and as I exhaled, I heard, “this is you in the world”. With each breath, these words cycled. Eventually, i took it on: the You changed to Me, and soon, the phrase just fell away to prepositions. “of” was my inhale, “in” was my exhale. During each moment, I was engaged. I was where I was, both being created by and creating the world around me. I was connected and connecting, supported and supporting, being altered by and altering everything and I was sitting still.
But I know that’s not really what y’all want to read about…you want to hear about the two professional beach volleyball players I met after meditation, right? Well, it’s true. I met two women who live here in Durango who make their living playing volleyball in the sand in little bikinis. They’re both like, 7 feet tall with beautiful bronze skin and sinewy muscles and they make more money in losing one game than I do working for a year. They both played on the Atlanta Olympic Team and that’s when they realized that there was much more money in the sand than on the court. So. It's in the contract that they have to wear the uniforms given at each game. Curse? Blessing? Both? Well, I've been told that they live in a palace. You tell me.
One of the women is off to Mexico today to complete a tournament she started in Brazil. Then, from there, she flies to Kuwait. Kuwait?? I asked her, incredulous. Sure, there’s sand there, but, hey, isn’t it a war zone?
It is, in fact, that she is going to play as relief for the troops. I can just hear the bush administration’s thinking: “yeah, you know, all our boys need is a keg and some good lookin’ women, that’s all they really want anyway.” Well, we’ve got a campaign going here to have her invest the money that she gets from the government to play eye candy into some sort of effort that might actually benefit the people who “choose” to enlist in the army. Perhaps someday, our government will realize that all our boys really need is a way to survive the U.S. economy without having to go to war!
Okay. I’m done for now. Really.
posted by amy at
11:40 AM
1 Comments:
I wanna hear more about you meditating. Meditating has released some deeply hidden emotions for me lately. I like to hear others experiences with meditation. I was talking to a girl just yesterday about yoga and meditation and she told me her story. She said she dove in head first to yoga and meditation. For six months everyone knew her as the girl who broke down and cried in the back of the room. Now she teaches yoga, meditation, and reiki. Her teacher is the same teacher that is teaching me. The first class I took with this woman I had a nervous breakdown and I cried for 45 minutes.
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