Distracted

Over recent months I've been noticing that I find it harder to maintain my concentration. Yes, I'm getting older and, yes, I have a job where there are dozens of things going on at any one time,  but this is something different...

For example: I'm sitting in the lounge and watching a film, and an actor I recognise comes onto the screen. 'What else have I seen him in?' I ask myself, and in a matter of moments I have a tablet computer in my hand and I'm googling to find the actor's career history. Once I discover that, I'm then onto Amazon to see how much some of his other films cost to own on DVD.

This leads me to the 'Customers who bought this also bought...' section, and before I've realised it, twenty minutes have passed. And all the while, the film I was watching has carried on playing. I turn my attention back to the film, but this time the tablet stays on my lap, just in case.

I'm increasingly distracted, disconnected; I can't seem to do just one thing any more. And this leaves me feeling dissatisfied and empty. Lots of information, very little engagement.

In her wonderful article 'On time, technology, and a celebration of slowness', Terri Windling writes:

Nearly everyone I know feels that some quality of concentration they once possessed has been destroyed. Reading books has become hard; the mind keeps wanting to shift from whatever it is paying attention to to pay attention to something else. A restlessness has seized hold of many of us, a sense that we should be doing something else, no matter what we are doing, or doing at least two things at once, or going to check some other medium. 

It’s an anxiety about keeping up, about not being left out or getting behind. 

This is very much akin to how I feel: as Terri Windling says, I fear being left behind, not getting enough done. Why simply watch a movie when I could half-watch it, and browse the web at the same time? Why merely call a colleague on the phone, when I could simultaneously read and reply to my emails? Why give all my attention to a conversation with my wife after dinner, when I could also have one eye on my Facebook feed?

At least I am aware of this, but something has to give. Multi-tasking is an empty promise which yields half-hearted, shallow results. As Terri Windling goes on to say: 

The cult of productivity has its place, but worshipping at its altar daily robs us of the very capacity for joy and wonder that makes life worth living.

Joy and wonder. That, I know, is what I'm seeking. May I learn to walk slowly enough, that I may find it. 

(Radio) Silence

I was listening to the Today programme on R4 this morning. Just before it ended, there were a few seconds of silence which were, in fact, part of the link to a brief article about silence.

The bulk of the article was an interview with Dr Helen Lees who spoke about the importance of silence in our lives. In her responses, Dr Lees mentioned a forthcoming film about this topic, called In Pursuit of Silence, in which she features. The trailer for the film (below) is astonishing...



Just watching the couple of minutes of the film trailer started me on a train of thought in which I realised how little silence - real silence - there is in my life. There is, I suspect, a strong link between that fact and the lack of stillness, peace and 'belonging' which I often feel.

The film is due to show in only one place in the UK, and I think that a trip to the US to see it is probably beyond my means. I wait for the film to be released on DVD in due course and, in the meantime, seek out some of the silence which it celebrates.

Coming home - again

The last few weeks have been more stressful than usual. A cold-type virus which lasted nearly a fortnight, and a very heavy workload have meant that my regular yoga practice hasn't been at the top of my to-do list. Indeed, I began to think that my yoga practice could easily take a back seat for a while.

I was wrong.

For the first few days, my not practising meant that I could squeeze in a few more emails, or finish off another piece of written work. It also meant that I didn't have to slow down. But I soon began to notice how restless my mind was, and the extent to which my thoughts were occupied with nothing but work. Not good.

I also began to feel guilty about not taking time out for yoga. Why would I let something I love drift away? Where was my commitment, my discipline? What would happen if I didn't start up again?

Then I remembered this article, which reminded me what I was missing, and why it was important to restore the balance.

So today, I unrolled my mat, and came home again.

And as I began to move, and to find the breath in my body, I realised that yoga is always there, waiting for us to come back to it. There is no judgement and no demand for explanation; rather there is a welcome and the reminder that we are mind, body and spirit.

It was good to be home.

Soaring

One of the joys of my day off is being able to take a longer yoga practice. Sometimes I revisit the poses and sequences from the yoga class I attend each week; other times I fall back on a routine of tried-and-tested poses which form the foundation of my practice. But today, I followed a video sequence from one of my favourite YouTube channels, Yoga with Adrienne. 

As I follow some earth-centred paths these days, I sometimes try to link my yoga practice with things that are going on in nature: shorter, darker days in Autumn and Winter might call for a more gentle practice; the energy of Spring and Summer may invite us to open up to the energy of the Sun.

Today, however, I felt inspired by where the Moon is in her cycle, and to focus on Half Moon Pose.

Half-Moon Pose (This not me, by the way!)

Although I'm no expert at it, this is one of my favourite poses; I am always amazed and delighted when I get anywhere near achieving it. The yoga teacher Judith Lasater says of this pose:

Combining balance and stretch, Half-Moon Pose (Ardha Chandrasana) partakes of the cool radiance of the moon in the midst of the heat of active standing poses... Remember the soaring feeling of Half-Moon Pose when you are stuck in the doldrums of life.  

I'm glad to say that, today, I wasn't in the doldrums, but I was reminded that when we practice yoga we are there in that moment, connecting mind, body and (hopefully!) spirit. We are moving beyond the usual experience of life, reaching for something both within and beyond ourselves. We are soaring. 

Walking back to happiness

In the last few weeks, something in Nature has changed. Or, rather, practically everything in Nature has changed. Alternate days of very warm and wet weather over recent weeks has notched the setting of the garden up to 'lush'. There is now so much more of it! Every branch is feathered with leaves, and blossom hangs heavy, tempting sleepy bees and promising fruit.

Something changes in me, too. Outside is now where I want to be. This desk, which was a welcome observation point in the winter and early spring, is now a burden. The Earth is trading its energy with the Sun, and I feel that I want in on the deal.

So I take the quickest and easiest route I can think of: I head out into the garden, barefoot. I've been doing this for several weeks, of course, but only as far as the clothes-line, with the washing basket in my arms. The feel of the damp grass has been pleasing, but the trip has merely been a means to an end. This time, the journey is the beginning, middle and end.

Onto the grass - in the presence of Dandelions

In a sense, that is the most important part: I am walking for the sake of walking, and for the sake of knowing that I am walking. I am not going anywhere, I am just going. And I want to feel the journey, however short it may be, and to feel myself present on the earth.

As I walk, I feel the transaction between my feet and the earth. I feel that there is an energy, a presence, a life beneath my feet. I am aware of temperature, texture and traction. There is a give and take, an adjusting of pressure in each footstep, an awareness of the difference between stone and leaf. 

In the wood, with holly leaves, humus and stones

There is a sense also that I am empowered: I have chosen to walk barefoot, and to attempt to become more conscious of the natural environment. The busy world laughs at those who go barefoot, or is embarrassed by them, but those who choose to do so discern something of the richness that is gained only when we remove our shoes and dare to stand barefoot on sacred ground.

The earth leaves its imprint on us, too

Walking barefoot reminds us that we are part of this world, connected to this earth. It makes the link that is missing when we wear shoes - that there is a slower, more mindful way of going through life, one that takes notice, one that feels, one that concentrates on things one step at a time.

In and out of the water

I have a few days off this week as a post-Christmas break. Given how busy the last couple of months have been, I feel like I really need it. However, it's proving very difficult to get work out of my mind.

For Christmas, a dear friend bought my wife and I a set of wonderful Druid Animal Oracle cards. We dipped into them this morning, to see what wisdom they might bring. Here is the card I drew:

The booklet which accompanies the cards gives this explanation of the meaning of the Frog card:

... unites the elements of water and earth, bringing joy, delight and healing in its singing and hopping, and leading you to the sacred spring  from which you may be refreshed and renewed... 
Nothing is what it appears to be, and life is more fun than you at first supposed!.. Look for the beauty and the magic behind appearances.

In five days' time, I will be back at work (and, to prepare for that, I may have to fit in some work even while I'm 'off'). I hope, in the short time between now and then, I can find time to linger by the sacred spring and that, despite myself, I can find the magic and fun behind the first appearances.

A different season

There is something about this time of year that feels different. It's not just the onset of Christmas, nor even (for those that observe it) the preceding weeks of Advent, though it is connected to both of those seasons. I think that it's partly shaped by the change in the light (darker mornings and evenings, longer nights) and the weather (colder, wetter, greyer) - two things which I feel increasingly sensitive to. As these things change around us, I've noticed that I feel differently about certain everyday things. For example:

Music: at this time of year (it's currently mid-December) I find that I need to listen to quieter, older music. I veer towards voice-led pieces in minor keys - things that I imagine to have been originally sung in the hall of the Manor house at the edge of a deep wood, or sung around the Winter Solstice fire. Or I seek out solo voices singing lullabies which were written by moonlight on a lute. My usual playlist of 70s classic rock and progressive metal (it exists - look it up!) will not work at this time of year (except, perhaps, for a few tracks on the ever-wonderful Songs from the Wood): it's either too brash or too complex; too obvious or too new; too epic or too demanding.

Shops: a mixed blessing - at this time of year they need us, and we need them. But I sometimes find it hard to like anything they sell, or I begin to tell myself that I could make such-and-such an item myself for a fraction of the cost ('All I would need is six metres of red ribbon, four of purple, a dozen silver bells, a square metre of green felt, pine cones, holly leaves, driftwood, needles, strong thread, and an apprentice with three years' experience of theatre set design and I'd be done!'). More realistically, I find myself being drawn to things friends of mine have made with their own hands and are selling as gifts (God bless them, every one).

Work: for an Anglican priest this time of year is going to be busy: there are countless Advent and Christmas events and services, plus the preparation each once requires, to swiftly fill the diary. But there are still emails and meetings, rotas and reports, and it is these that feel the most draining, and which keep us out of step with the season. It feels that we would benefit more from being with people than from communicating at a distance; gain more from sitting together at tables than being occupied at desks. Whatever our work, could there be more giving of practical help and fewer online chores?

There seems to be something about this time of year that draws us to quieter and simpler things. Perhaps it's something to do with being in a season which throws us back onto our own resources a bit more. Or perhaps the stripped-back state of the natural world helps us to appreciate the richness of a hand-made item or the quietness of an ancient song? Or are we more inclined to invest ourselves in making and creating because it brings us back to the limits and opportunities of what and who we are as humans?

 

You, me, a tree

I received a short email post from The Girl God blog this morning, which drew a link between the nature of trees and that of human beings:

A tree that is beginning to grow sends roots down into Mother Earth even as it reaches and opens to the sky above, seeking nourishment from the sun and the moisture in the air and in the rain that falls. In the same way, we can envision ourselves as tree-like beings, imagining that we have roots reaching down into the earth, energetic strands that keep us connected... 

Part of what I have been learning over the last couple of years, both in my yoga practice and in my participation in Forest Church, is that I am connected to, and part of, the energy of the Earth. I had never thought of this before, and had assumed that I merely lived on the Earth, and not as part of it. 

The email post went on to say:

Contemplating the ways in which trees and people mirror one another brings us into alignment with the reality that we are part of Mother Nature.

One of my favourite yoga poses is Tree pose (Vrsksasana). I certainly don't find it easy: there's the balancing, to begin with, and then the combined process of both rooting down into the earth and also reaching skywards. I enjoy this pose, but I have a long way to go yet.

For me, Tree pose allows me to take the tree as my teacher, to connect myself to the Earth's energy and to bring my awareness back to my body. Occasionally, I am also able to become still enough to realise that I, too, am part of Mother Nature.