There are amazing miracles happening all around us at every moment yet we sometimes dwell in a place where it seems nothing special is happening. Often when I sit to write an entry into my "daily" journal I can't think of anything special to say. Sometimes I even write "Nothing special to report". How can that possibly be the case!
Our Western culture does not value subtlety much. We are nearly constantly bombarded by sensational attempts to grab our attention, both from the media hype necessary to get us to buy things we don't need, and from the people that we come in contact with who often carry very dramatic emotions which can overwhelm us.The result is that we often become uncomfortable just allowing space to surround us and observe rather than do.
It takes time to get there! Sitting still is about the last thing the mind desires. This represents a kind of death and as such is avoided at all costs. Just about anything will serve to fill the space created by sitting quietly, and usually what comes up in the mix is the feeling of how wasteful it is to do nothing with one's time.
Of course we are not just doing nothing. We are allowing something to happen. We are trusting that this will bear some sort of fruit, that some sort of flowering will happen in our consciousness which will nourish the seeds of happiness and help us open to the miracles that surround us.
I once had to spend a week alone camping while waiting for a transmission to be installed in a car. The rest of my group had to leave me and return to town for work. We were camped right beside a lake in a very beautiful place in the mountains of North Carolina, lake Santeetla. While I was surrounded by the activity of the group, busy with this and that little project or adventure, everything seemed perfect. It was paradise and I really appreciated the beauty. Then they all left and suddenly my little paradise became a kind of hell!
The first three days nearly killed me. I was so bored I thought I would die. The minutes were like hours. I felt caged in the middle of the wide open spaces. It was a humbling experience. My mind raced here and there alternately plunging me into depression, fear, resentment, self-loathing, jealousy, and on and on. It seemed my mind could not just settle down and allow the present to flower. My mind was like a little Hitler.
On the fourth day I began to surrender somewhat. Cooking breakfast I realized there was no point in rushing things. I took time to watch how the dry oatmeal floated on the waters surface in the pot and how it danced with the bubbles created by the heating water. I took time to move the spoon from the bowl to my mouth, watching how the movement gracefully arched to my awaiting lips. I noticed the feel of the oatmeal as I slowly savored it in my mouth. I traced its path to my belly and felt its warmth as it coated the lining of my stomach.
I did this with everything; building the fire, cleaning the campsite, watching the light sparkle diamond-like on the water's surface. Every action became an observing meditation. I entered the present moment in a way that I had never done before. At the end of the week I had regained my little lost paradise and was sad to have to leave my little spot by the water.
That is where happiness can flower, away from the constant demands of the mind moving between past and future but never alighting in the present. Trusting that with enough silence, enough stillness, our earthly tethers will slacken their hold just enough to let the soul breathe.
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