Crafting moments of tranquility

 

The Japanese expression wakei-seijyaku is made up of four characters – wa means harmony, kei is respect, sei stands for purity, and jyaku for serenity and appreciation. It means taking the time to deliberately ‘craft’ an experience of inner tranquility, to rest in the present noticing a moment of beauty.

During a time of a global pandemic, such a concept might seem sweet but irrelevant, better suited to happier times when it made sense to stop and smell the roses from time to time. And yes, there is a lot to be anxious about, on a personal but also a global level. The impact of the pandemic has been massive, and no one knows what the long-term effects of this upheaval will be. This is not a sprint, not even a marathon – there are likely to be some permanent changes to our way of life, but it will be some time before we have a sense of what this may look like.

One of the strengths of the human species is our adaptability to changing conditions. We can’t control everything which happens to us, and we have complex interpersonal and emotional lives which mean that our reactions to a crisis are also complex and deeply-felt. Yet we do have some choice about how we respond to our circumstances. For most of us, a certain amount of anxiety during this time is a given. It’s not helpful to ignore it, but neither do we need to add extra fuel to the fire. In the same way that a skilled craftsperson takes time and care to create a valuable object rather than a cheap piece of throw-away junk, so we can take the time and care to create some beautiful moments rather than just rushing through the days. We can use the skills of mindfulness and attention to enhance the fleeting special moments which are already there, and to also create some new ones.

I like the idea of ‘crafting’ some moments of beauty and tranquility, instead of just hoping they might suddenly arrive in our lives. To craft an object means to collect the necessary materials, to practise certain skills, and to set aside time and mental space to create new objects. We might ask ourselves – ‘what are the materials which I could gather for my moments of tranquility’? These are different for all of us – for some it might be time in nature, listening to music, baking bread, knitting, meditating or praying. Once we have these materials, how often can we practise with them? Who can guide and teach us, as the master craftsperson used to teach the apprentice? What helps me to create the time and mental space to consciously craft a few moments of calm, harmony and appreciation?

The Japanese tea ceremony creates a setting where every detail is designed to enable those who participate to experience it richly and fully. It has evolved over many generations, as have the rituals of other cultures which enable people to stop and simply experience the preciousness of the moment. We don’t need elaborate rituals, but it can help to deliberately cultivate the conditions which lead to moments of peace.

An aspect of wakei-seijyaku is that of appreciation, of having respect for what we have, and I have found that mindfulness often brings out these qualities in us. We may not have a Japanese garden with its own tea hut, but the act of making a cup of tea or coffee can become a mini tea ceremony in our lives, if we bring to it some of the qualities of wakei-seijyaku.

Mindfulness practice:

Set aside some time and reflect on what the ‘materials’ in your life are which can give you moments of inner peace. Without aiming to be ‘peaceful’ all the time, how can you use these ‘materials’ to cultivate small sanctuaries of tranquility in your life?

Anja Tanhane

 

Finding balance

This is a difficult time for all of us – within a relatively short time, life as we knew it has come to a halt. For many, there is the added anxiety of financial hardship, or knowing someone who is ill, or being separated from loved ones in circumstances where normally we would be celebrating or grieving together. Many of our assumptions have been swept aside, and the future looks uncertain. At the same time, we may also be aware that we are still better off than many others around the world, and we may take strength and comfort from things like cooking a delicious meal, connecting with others online, having more time to explore long-neglected interests, and being less busy in general.

For me, what has been important during this time is trying to find a good balance – and what this looks like will change from day to day, sometimes even moment to moment. There are times for acknowledging feelings like grief and anxiety, for feeling overwhelmed and exhausted; and there are also times when I can focus on looking after myself, temporarily switch off from the bad news, and enjoy the many blessings I still do have. It’s easy to think of one of these as being the norm and the others as aberrations, but it’s probably more balanced to vacillate between a range of feeling states, allowing each to have its place in our life without going to an extreme with any of them.

What we are going through requires a massive mental adjustment, and for us in Australia, the pandemic follows a very confronting summer of devastating bushfires. There are no glib easy solutions for any of this, but even in the midst of these insecurities, the small gestures of kindness, the fleeting moments of connection, the presence of mindfulness, can help us to navigate this time with a measure of balance and grace. I’ve been heartened by the rainbows which have appeared on footpaths and in people’s windows, with encouraging messages and thanking those working on the front lines. We need to keep our distance from others, but we can still smile and say a friendly hallo from a few metres away. Last week I sowed a lot of seeds for winter vegetables, and I look forward to peeking into my mini greenhouse each morning to see if they have sprouted yet. At the same time, I’m more tired than usual, and I have moments of feeling quite overwhelmed by it all. I’m also aware that for people who are already vulnerable, this will be an incredibly challenging time – there is no getting away from that, and there is only so much that we, as individuals, can do about it.

Simple moments of mindfulness, of taking the time to tune into the here and now, can make quite a difference, both in that actual moment and also for the long term. There’s a place for escapism, for wanting to forget all about it for a while. And it’s also natural that we want to check the news, particularly as the laws change from day to day. However, spending most of our time either escaping the news or obsessively reading them is not helpful for our sense of health and wellbeing.

I’ve appreciated having my regular meditation practice, and I also make time throughout the day to pause for a moment and tune in – tuning into my body, and what I can see, hear, feel, smell, and touch. I notice the golden light of the autumn sun, the movement of the breath in my body, and I remember Thich Nhat Hanh’s gentle half smile, and it’s easy to smile when I look at my cat. Washing our hands activates our parasympathetic nervous system, which is the resting and regenerating system, and so I try to make washing my hands an opportunity for mindfulness rather than stress. They’re little moments, but they all add up. I’ve quoted this line by the  Australian poet Noel Davis in a previous blog, and would like to offer it again as a blessing for these difficult times:

‘Let tiny drops of stillness fall gently through your day.’

Anja Tanhane

 

Just for now

Just for Now,
Without asking how, let yourself sink into stillness.

by Danna Faulds

It’s such a liberating phrase – ‘just for now’. We don’t say to ourselves often enough – ‘just for now, this is what I’m doing. Just for now, it is enough.’ Instead there can be this sense of ‘Yes, I’m doing this task, but there are plenty of other things I should be doing right now as well.’ Even though we haven’t yet worked out how to clone ourselves and actually carry out all these different tasks simultaneously, we may still feel as if we should. And this way of living can be the cause of a great deal of unnecessary anxiety and angst.

I’m aware of this when I’m in the garden and notice all the work to be done, instead of (just for now) enjoying the plants which are growing well, and listening to the insects and birds. I’ve even caught myself, when I’m doing an essential task like bringing in the washing, feeling guilty for not doing something else. Perhaps it’s because many of us are trying to cram so many things into our lives – somehow it doesn’t all quite fit, and so we’re constantly playing catch-up. Whatever the reason, it can cause a low-level anxiety which is quite exhausting over time.

We might pride ourselves on our multi-tasking, but research shows that there is actually no such thing as multi-tasking – we’re constantly switching our attention back and forth, and for each switch we pay the price of losing a little bit of energy and efficiency.

The opposite of ‘just for now’ is a sense of ‘what if’ or ‘it’s never enough’. How would it feel if, throughout the day, we could instead say to ourselves.

            ‘Just for now, I’m doing this,’ or

            ‘Just for now, I will allow myself a few moments of peace and stillness and contentment.’

Mindfulness practice:

Take a moment to pause several times throughout the day, and say quietly to yourself – ‘just for now, I’m doing this’, or ‘just for now, I pause and rest’. Notice how this feels – could this be something worthwhile to incorporate into your everyday life?

Anja Tanhane

The wisdom of not knowing

 

When families or communities experience a crisis, the temptation is to look for an easy solution and for someone else to blame. The unconscious thinking might be ‘if only x hadn’t done y, then everything would still be okay.’ If we can quickly ensure that x no longer does y, then the crisis is quickly resolved, and our lives can go back to what they were before the emergency.

Of course, very few crises are this easy to fix, or have only one person or group of people to blame. Usually the conditions which led to the crisis have been festering for years, perhaps ignored or hidden away, and there are many people who should have acted sooner or spoken out. It follows then that the solutions may also take years and involve everybody to some extent, and that a successful outcome is far from certain.

 This is where we can benefit from the ‘wisdom of not knowing’, what in Zen is sometimes called the ‘don’t know mind.’ For complex issues such as climate change, there is no one person in the world who has ‘the solution.’ We can make decisions based on the current best available evidence, implement changes in our own lives according to our values and encourage others to follow along, but we don’t know what the unintended consequences of our actions might be, or whether the best knowledge available now will still be correct in five years’ time. In Australia, we have plenty of examples where people thought they’d come up with a good solution, only to find the solution was far worse than the original problem it was meant to solve. A well-known example is the cane toads which were imported to deal with beetles affecting sugar production, and which have decimated wildlife in parts of Australia.

 The wisdom of not knowing lies in the humility of accepting that we don’t have all the answers and can’t single-handedly solve complex problems. The wisdom of not knowing lies in the humility of accepting that we don’t have all the answers and can’t single-handedly solve complex problems. It is not a disengaged apathy, but rather a stance of remaining open-minded and curious about new information. One of our strengths as human beings is our ability to cooperate across large complex systems. Traffic flow in a large city is one such example – apart from the occasional rogue bad driver, most people cooperate on the roads, and are supported by a vast network of road agencies, local councils, road workers, police, town planners, and many others. If a car breaks down or has an accident in a modern city, help through the emergency services is almost immediately at hand. It takes a lot of complex organisation and planning to be able to offer such a timely response no matter where we are in the city. We tend to take this for granted, but it’s just a small example of how good us humans can be at working together to find solutions.

A crisis, because of its unexpected nature, tends to bring out the best and the worst in us. In the recent bushfires, while many people were putting their lives on the line to protect their communities, others were peddling outrageous conspiracy theories on the internet, or coming up with elaborate scams to swindle people out of money. It’s easy to point the finger of blame on ‘the other’. And while people in power do need to be held accountable for their decisions, we all have a part to play in finding ongoing solutions. Meditation can help us to sit with strong emotions without trying to shift blame outwards. We can sit in uncertainty, instead of rushing into looking for easy solutions. This can be helpful when our community is going through upheaval, but also for difficult times within our families. The meditation teacher Pema Chodron calls it being ‘comfortable with uncertainty’, and learning to spend more time in this state can be a powerful way in which we can contribute to the collective wellbeing of our families and communities.

Mindfulness practice idea:

Set ten minutes aside for a quiet meditation. If feelings of discomfort arise, notice how these feel in your body, being open and curious about your experience. How does it feel, to be able to simply sit with the discomfort?

 

Anja Tanhane

 

Back to basics

 

For the past few months, I have gone back to focusing on counting the breath during my meditation, which is a form of meditation I probably first learnt more than thirty years ago. For this practice, the focus is on the breath out, and to help with concentration, I count a slow, silent ‘one’, ‘two’, ‘three’ and so on during each outbreath, up to ten, and then start back at one again. It sounds pretty straight-forward, but can actually be surprisingly difficult to do, as my mind would much rather be busy planning or strategising or fantasising than simply being present with the breath.

It can be very grounding and reassuring to go back to basics, whether in meditation or in other parts of our lives. There is a sense of ensuring a strong foundation, on which we can then place the many often complex components of our lives, like the wooden beams and bricks of a well-built house. Ensuring a strong foundation is not nearly as exciting as choosing curtains or buying new furniture, but a house with unstable foundations can soon start to show the cracks. Sometimes, we can be tempted to look for complex or high-tech solutions, while neglecting the fundamentals such as nourishing food, exercise, sleep, and rest.

I often find myself unwittingly doing this – trying to devise intricate systems for managing my life when much of the time, what I need to be doing next is actually quite simple and straight-forward. Our lives are filled with countless tasks we dismiss as ‘chores’, but these chores are like our foundation. When they’re taken care of, there is hopefully still room for excitement, creativity, for the new and the stimulating. It’s about finding a balance which works for us – some people are quite content at home, whereas others love travel and excitement. It is terrible to be caught in a life of endless drudgery, but it can also be destabilising to be constantly in search of new excitement. When I was backpacking around India in my twenties, I sometimes met travellers who had been on the road for years. They often seemed a bit lost, as if they’d spent too long in the company of strangers, without the familiarity of a community and routine.  

We’re often encouraged to search for external solutions – buy this, subscribe to that, go to this workshop to turn your life around. All these external resources can be helpful, but they can also become excessive, superfluous, an end in themselves. I recently heard the meditation teacher Ayya Santacitta talk about how we can ‘leak’ our energy through our thoughts and behaviours if they’re too uncontained. Going back to basics could be about reducing some of those leaks, developing a stronger container to be filled with essentials rather than living like a sieve which barely notices what passes through.

It is one of the aspects I used to enjoy about going camping – all your essentials could be carried in a backpack, and a single rubber band become a valuable commodity to be stored with care. Going back to basics is not about being simplistic, but it can help to ground us, and to nurture that which is most sustaining in our lives.

 

Mindfulness practice:

Think about an area in your life which is feeling overly complex. Is there an activity you could do to bring this area ‘back to basics’? Set aside some time to do this activity in a slow, mindful way, and notice yourself becoming more grounded and focused as you do this. What did you notice?

 

Anja Tanhane

Exploring colours

 

When Europeans first came to Australia and started painting the landscape, they used the colours they were familiar with from their training in Europe. We can look at these paintings now in art galleries, and although they are meant to depict Australian scenes, to our modern eye they don’t look Australian at all – the colours and even the shapes of the trees seem to come straight out of Europe.

Humans vary in the number of colours we can distinguish, but estimates range from 1 million to 100 million different colours. Artists are particularly highly trained to differentiate and reproduce a wide range of colours, but as the example above shows, not even an artist can necessarily ‘see’ true colours without the influence of their cultural upbringing.

 It is an interesting exercise to look around and notice just how many different colours and shades of colours there are in our environment. Some of the questions we can ask ourselves as we explore colours might be:

  • How different do colours look in sunshine and in shade? In the morning, or at noon?
  • What do I notice when looking at man-made colours, or colours in nature?
  • Do I have different emotional responses to different colours?
  • How many different gradients of colours does a single flower have?
  • What colours do I enjoy wearing, and which ones do I feel uncomfortable in?
  • If I were to do a meditation breathing colour into my body, what colour would I choose today?

People often comment that colours seem brighter after a meditation retreat, and I have noticed this for myself as well. We can explore colours through painting, crafts, fashion or photography. Or we can sit in front of a painting, or in a park or at the beach, and allow ourselves to become absorbed in the different colours and notice the effect they have on us. There are psychological theories about the impact of various colours on our moods and our health which are interesting to learn about. However, we can also explore these as a mindfulness practice for ourselves – becoming more aware of the great richness of colours around us, and of their impact on us.

            As the painter Wassily Kandinsky said once,

            ‘Colour is a power which directly influences the soul.’

 

Anja Tanhane

 

Cultivating connections

 

‘The most precious thing we can give to another is our presence, which contributes to the collective energy of mindfulness and peace. We can sit for those who can’t sit, walk for those who can’t walk, and create peace and stillness within us for people who have no stillness or peace.’  

Thich Nhat Hanh

If you enter a room full of meditators, it might seem as if each person is caught up in their own little bubble, watching their breath and their thoughts with little awareness of their surroundings. And while it is possible to meditate in this way, my experience of meditation retreats has been the opposite – that over the days, as you drop into stillness and become more attuned to what is happening for you, you are also becoming more attuned to the people you’re sharing the space with. And even though the retreat might be in silence, there can be a strong sense of community, of supporting each other in our practice, and working harmoniously together to make the retreat experience a meaningful one for everybody.

Of course, we don’t need to be at a retreat to cultivate this sense of connection to ourselves and others through meditation. While we are often interested in learning meditation for personal reasons, such as managing stress better or dealing with illness or other challenges, over time a meditation practice will also enable us to be more present to others in our lives. As human beings we’re highly social creatures, and we can immediately sense whether someone is really listening to us, or whether their mind is elsewhere.  A particularly mortifying experience is talking to someone at a social gathering who is clearly looking out for a more interesting or important person to come along. As Maya Angelou expressed so eloquently:

‘I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.’

We don’t need to be calmly floating around all the time for people to have a sense of our presence. Whether we meditate or not, we will all have our good days, our distracted days, and our downright unpleasant days. Yet it is heartening to remember, as we make the commitment to meditate more regularly, that meditation can help to cultivate connections, to add to the collective energy of stillness in the midst of busy lives. It is a simple practice, but the ripple effect does extend out to our families and to others we interact with. We might be sitting in meditation on our own, but we’re doing it both for ourselves and for others.

 

Mindfulness practice:

Next time you meditate, think of the practice as an offering to others. In some traditions, meditators formally dedicate their meditations to benefit all other beings. Experiment with a few words of your own, and notice how this feels.

Anja Tanhane

Waiting times

 

‘What do we want?’

‘Patience!’

‘When do we want it?’

‘NOW!!’

 

As this joke so cleverly illustrates, we have, by and large, become a rather impatient culture. Many of us do yearn for a sense of stillness among all the rushing around, some time for quiet reflection and rest, but we often want it now, quickly and easily, available to us whenever we need it, like flicking a switch on and off. Busy. Stillness. Busy. Stillness.

Yet the times which call on our patience, at a deep, psychological and even spiritual level, tend to come when we least expect them, and mostly not by invitation. Often these times occur at those crossroads in our lives where we move from one life stage to another. The teenager taking her place in the world of adults, the young carefree man who grows into the responsibilities of fatherhood, the woman whose children have left home and who is now maturing into a new sense of self. Other times might be an extended period of study, where we are developing towards a new career but are still unformed in our knowledge and competency. Pregnancy is a long wait towards the birth, and recovery from a serious illness or trauma can take months or years.

These are slow, deep processes of development, much of it happening below the level of our everyday consciousness, but all too often we want to transition straight from being a caterpillar into the butterfly, without the waiting time of the cocoon. Like the characters in ‘Waiting for Godot’, we’re waiting around with no guarantee that Godot will ever come. Shouldn’t we be going somewhere, doing something, ticking a few boxes on our endless lists of things to do and, while we’re at it, get the bucket list happening as well?

Waiting can seem disempowering, as if we’re a damsel in distress waiting for the prince to rescue us, rather than taking responsibility for our lives. It is certainly true that we can spend too much time in waiting, getting stuck at a point in our lives while opportunities pass us by. Yet there are certain processes which can’t be rushed. We sow some seeds in a pot and then wait weeks for the seedlings to emerge. We want to make some changes in our lives but need to be patient with the deeper processes of transformation.

While the act of growing seedlings can’t be rushed, we can provide optimal conditions for the plants to emerge and thrive. Similarly, in our own lives, we can endeavour to create opportunities for the waiting times to develop in their own natural rhythm, so they can bear fruit when the time is right. In the modern world we don’t always have a narrative which honours times of waiting, of being in the cocoon for a period of time.

For a while now I’ve been trying to teach myself to be more patient with the need to wait. One small example is when I’m in a hurry and find myself stuck behind someone slower (a slow car, an elderly person, a family with little children). Instead of getting impatient, I pause to silently thank them for slowing me down. It’s a small gesture, but it turns around for me that constant imperative to rush. As Milton said in his famous poem ‘When I consider how my light is spent’:

‘They also serve who only stand and wait.’

 

Mindfulness idea:

What are some of the waiting times in your life? Can you slow down a little, for example through meditation, and find a way of consciously valuing these times?

 

Anja Tanhane

 

 

 

           

           

Wise hope

 

‘Everywhere I looked, hope existed – but only as some kind of green shoot in the midst of struggle. (…) Hope, I began to realise, was not a state of life. It was at best a gift of life.’ Sr Joan Chittister

 

Hope as a quality is ephemeral, and at the same time it can profoundly impact how we experience our lives. To have lost all hope means to be in the pit of despair. On the other hand, what does it mean to have hope? We can have all the hope in the world that everything will turn out okay, yet we know this is not how life works. Things go wrong all the time, and none of us are immune from accidents, illness or other calamities.

Zen teacher and writer Joan Halifax talks about ‘wise hope’, by which she means finding value in our efforts to make the world a better place, even as we understand there is no guarantee what we’re working towards will succeed. She was writing in the context of her work with the dying, in prisons, and for social justice causes. All of these require her to remain engaged and give a lot of herself, yet may show little in the way of ‘outcomes’. The opposite of ‘wise hope’ may not be despair but apathy, a pervasive sense of ‘why bother?’ The problems are so numerous and overwhelming, what difference can one person really make?

Whenever doctors need to give a prognosis, they are navigating this difficult terrain between hope and disempowerment. It would be unethical for a doctor to tell a patient ‘don’t worry, you will be just fine’ when the patient probably has only a few months to live. On the other hand, a doctor’s words can be very powerful, and they need to somehow convey the reality of the situation without inadvertently taking away the patient’s will to live. A prognosis is only a statistical average, not a foolproof prediction, but can potentially be internalised by the patient as a self-fulfilling prophecy. Whether we have hope or feel resigned will profoundly influence our life, but we cannot have hope at the expense of denying reality either. If, as Sr Joan Chittister said, hope is a ‘gift of life’, then what are the conditions which can allow the ‘green shoot’ of hope to flourish in the midst of our sometimes difficult reality?

When life is very tough, we can become vulnerable to the pedlars of false hope who promise us miracle cures or ever-lasting salvation or immunity from suffering. We long for a way to control life rather than being swept up in its vagaries. Yet this doesn’t mean we should just be resigned either, or never look outside conventional understandings for innovative solutions.

Some of the core attributes of mindfulness, such as acceptance, beginner’s mind, non-judgement and trust, can be helpful qualities to explore in relation to hope. Hope can be complex, nuanced, and difficult to describe. It’s not something we can obtain and then possess, we may not even be able to describe what hope feels like, but we do feel its absence keenly. One of my favourite quotes about hope comes from Vaclav Havel, the Czech playwright and dissident, written during the Russian occupation of his country:

‘I just carry hope in my heart. Hope is not a feeling of certainty, that all ends well. Hope is just a feeling that life and work have meaning.’

 

Mindfulness practice:

Set aside some time, such as ten or twenty minutes, and either through journaling or during meditation, keep asking yourself the question – ‘for me, hope means…’ What emerges for you as you keep sitting with this question? Does anything unexpected arise for you?

 

Anja Tanhane

           

           

           

 

 

 

 

Valuing deeply

 

‘We must look at our life without sentimentality, exaggeration or idealism. Does what we are choosing reflect what we most deeply value?’ Jack Kornfield

 

It might sound straight-forward – to look at our life simply as it is, without embellishment or idealism. Yet when we take time to pause and reflect, we may notice that what we perceive is very much coloured by our notions of how our life should be. There is a constant dance between ‘life how it is’ and ‘life how we’d like it to be’, and if we rush through our days without much awareness, we can find ourselves caught up in stories and fantasies which are mainly in our minds, and not always connected to the reality around us. As Mark Twain expressed it so eloquently:

‘I’ve experienced some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.’

This increased awareness of ‘life as it is’ does not need to be cold and harsh – in mindfulness there is also an emphasis on developing friendliness towards ourselves and our experiences. Yet it does help to be clear about what is actually going on, if we want to make choices which are informed by our values. And this can mean also being clear about the areas in our life where we struggle, which don’t come easily to us.

 

Sometimes, our apparent weaknesses can actually be a strength in a different context. For example, someone might be very sensitive to noise, and find it difficult to concentrate in a busy environment such as an open plan office. Yet this same sensitivity might mean this person is particularly attuned to others, and can work with people or animals in a way which is very intuitive and kind. Our psychological profile might make us unsuited for some jobs, but excel at others. Sometimes people with a disability can struggle to find work, yet when their strengths are matched with a suitable environment, employers often find they’re some of their best staff.

 

When we find ourselves confronted by something which challenges us, we can take a few moments to explore it in a way which opens up new possibilities rather than shutting everything down. It requires courage to stay with life as it presents itself in each moment, instead of distracting ourselves or trying to change it into something else by investing it with additional meaning. Yet by deciding to stay present in this way, we are more able to choose a way of life which aligns with our values, and this can offer us a greater sense of peace and stability among the various pressures of life.

 

Mindfulness experience:

Take ten or more minutes to sit in silence somewhere, either in a formal meditation posture or else comfortably in a quiet place, and ground yourself by noticing your breath and the sensations in your body. After a few minutes, ask yourself the question – ‘what is really happening right now?’, and notice what arises. During the day, pause from time to time to ask yourself the same question. You may like to write down any insights which develop from this practice over time.

Anja Tanhane