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How do I move through the world, what responsibility do I take for myself and others.

Whilst in hospital having an eye operation last week a particular moment stays with me.  Well in fact lots of moments stay with me but most of them had to do with surgeons, nurses and things inside my eyeball.

I had been doing a lot of waiting; for nurses, for doctors, for the surgeon.  I was calm but a bit impatient to know what was going on and when anything was going to happen, but I had a good book and was able to relax into the novel.

I was also people watching.

I saw a male nurse walk past me, I guessed that he was over 50, I could see several earrings in one of his ears and a long ponytail tucked inside his uniform.

A bit later, he walked toward me and as he went past me, he made eye contact; he didn’t quite smile but I caught his twinkle of engagement with me and I smiled at him.

Later as I think about this moment, I realise that I had received a gift, something of value and that it raises a question for me.

The gift is human to human connection, it is nothing to do with our roles (nurse, patient, doctor etc) it was just about his choosing to ‘be present’ with the people around him.

The question it raises for me is that as I seem to like and value this way of behaving, so, do I behave this way?

As I have pondered this my answer is both yes and no, sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.  This has led me to contemplate what is going on that causes the difference.

When I am feeling internally light, not taking the world or myself too seriously, noticing things outside of me – I can twinkle.

When I am feeling heavy, serious, caught up in my ‘stuff’, the twinkle disappears.

Having both states seems inevitable – losing focus, switching off or feeling low is just part of the deal but paying attention to it feels important.

Are you twinkling today?

 

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I walked into one of my favourite cafes today (Boston Tea Party), bought a drink and went in search of a table to do some writing. 

The café was busy with very few spaces except at a large table where a woman was sitting by herself. 

I asked her if I could sit at the table, she said sure, so I sat and said ‘I didn’t want to disturb your privacy’. She turned back to me and asked ‘What do you mean by privacy?’

We then fell into a conversation that started with thinking about what privacy means, how it is different from personal space, how this is affected by culture and then we headed into an array of other areas, both personal and conceptual.  It was the type of conversation that cuts through all the day-to-day debris that can fill our lives.

At some point we described it as an oasis – two humans feeding and being fed by each others' attention, ideas, presence and engagement.

I wish to offer her my thanks and share the delight of that moment of grace.

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Sometimes there is a simple way through my personal debris and often it is remembering to take a breath. 

Do it now, take one, a clear breath, paying attention to the air entering your body and leaving it again. 

What do you notice, where is your focus and centre?  Are you at ease or are you caught on some treadmill of behaviour – just reactions with no space for a response.

This is not about mastery; it is about living here and now in the best manner that you are able.

Perhaps you need to take three or four breaths.  Allow yourself the time to do this – everything else can wait, the external world is unlikely to disappear and sometimes breathing supports a change in focus.

Each time you open your eyes can you see the world anew.  Can you look with wonder, gratitude and compassion, no matter what is happening?

In the darkest moments can you find this place?  What happens if you have no idea of this place, if every moment is a tortured and painful one, with no sign of relief or a change of view?

I want to believe that it is possible for every human to experience a moment of grace – to know what ease is.  However fleeting a glimpse, it may be enough to support the possibility of change.

 

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Sitting in Blagdon with my old and dear friend Renee who has successfully pushed me into action - hence this first entry.

I'm hoping to use this as a way of thinking about life, conflict, work, relationships - in fact, everything.

Do you carry a sense of being ‘present?’

Do you own your space? 

Are you able to comfortably share your space with others?

Do you think about how to take responsibility for who you are and how you behave?

Do you ‘show up’?

In his essay ‘On getting a black belt aged 52’, George Leonard talks about the practice that his Aikido teacher requested of him prior to his first black belt grading.

He had been working diligently at techniques and throws and the various elements that need to be in place before taking a grading at this level.   He had identified the areas that needed more practice and was focussing on these.

Surprisingly, his teacher, Robert Nadeau, asked him to practice getting onto the mat. 

In aikido there is a clear ritual attached to this, you turn your back to the mat, slip your sandals off, step backward onto the mat, turn, kneel and then perform a bow.  By the time you take a black belt grading you have spent a lot of time getting on and off mats, even if you can bring awareness to it, there is still  likely to be an element of habitual behaviour  in the process.  What his teacher was asking was that he changed his mind when performing this act; that when stepping onto the mat he saw it as ‘his’ mat and a place to which he could also welcome and invite others.

Nadeau was asking for a change in air, he was requesting a shift in attitude – a way of ownership, compassion and preparedness.

The dojo – the place where we practice aikido – is a defined space; it is treated with respect and there are rituals alongside spoken and unspoken codes of behaviour whilst within it.  The rituals and the codes create a sense of separateness from daily life, a degree of safety, an atmosphere that encourages thoughtfulness and engagement with the practice.  It supports the letting go of what has been happening to you up until this point in your day and stepping into the possibility of new learning and development.

The dojo is no different from any other aspect of our lives, there are defined spaces where we do specific things and those spaces will have their own spoken and unspoken codes, some defined by us, others by our society.

Do we fall into bed when we are tired or can we lie down with an awareness of transition from one place to the next?  When we walk into our place of work, do we ‘step onto the mat’ or do we just shamble into the office or the building site, when we get into  our car or onto our bike, when we step into a friend’s house or walk through the door of our own home, do we notice what we are doing?

I am stepping onto my blogging mat right now and what I hope to do is offer thoughts and ideas that continue to develop this theme.