Time Tunnels and Meditating Lions: Searching Beyond Memories for Who I Was Then, And Who I’m Being Now

There is a lion, a leonine version of a Teddy Bear, sitting on the back of the couch in my den. When I look at him, I don’t know what to make of him.

 

When I was young, maybe 5 or 6, my parents gave my brother and me stuffed animals. I thought my lion had a very dignified expression and so I was a bit reluctant to cuddle with him, even though I was of an age when cuddling with stuffed animals was the way of things; and where the imagination was so powerful that simply holding something in mind made it real. The lion resided at the end of my bed, absorbing not only my presence but my dreams, pains, and wishes.

 

And although I wasn’t conscious of it at the time, it spoke to me of my parent’s love. I was so engulfed in it then, I didn’t distinguish it from the home I lived in, my brother, our cousins and neighbors, our dog, the flowers, the rose bushes my mom had planted, the maple tree in the front of the house. It took a while for the maybe inevitable separation to occur.

 

I certainly didn’t realize when I was so young how many people didn’t have the love and resources in their lives that I did, or how much my parents had given me. I was deeply disturbed by but didn’t understand the lack of loving care in many lives, and certainly didn’t understand the poverty, hate and violence that too often plagued the lives of so many. But when I was in college and 3 friends came home with me and stayed overnight, they woke me up to how privileged I was. They joked they wished they had had my parents, and my dog, and maybe the lion, for themselves.

 

I don’t know exactly when, and I don’t know to where he disappeared, but for many years the lion was gone from my life. Probably most of us let go of childhood creatures of comfort, as we no longer feel a need for them– or don’t want anyone else to know that we once felt a need for them. But sometime about 10 years ago, after both my parents had died, my brother found him amongst their possessions and returned him to me.

 

And as I look at him now, I don’t know what to make of him. He’s certainly an artifact of my deep past and is somehow larger in meaning than anything I could say about him. Sometimes, he seems to be me, or to be my 5-year-old self, sitting there on the couch. And he’s trying to talk with me from down a long tunnel made of silence, trying to share some secret, or some game we had played. Or maybe to share what life felt like back then. When I see him, my mind and emotions often jump back and forth, searching beyond memories for the sense of who I then was.

 

We’re all surrounded by such time tunnels, of people, images, buildings, trees, and maybe little lions and bears or the equivalents. Their silence takes us back to memories, feelings, or just to presence. There can be love and joy there. There can be fear, pain, and terrible loss there, not only in the memory but in the journey.  And by taking time to stop and just focus on what’s around us, or on a breath, the feel of air on our face; acknowledging what’s there, noticing as best we can in that moment what lives in the tunnel without feeding it, our lives benefit greatly….

 

*To read the whole post, please go to The Good Men Project.

Returning from the Realm of Ideas to the Immediacy of Now: The “Golden Moment”

When our lives seem as scary and threatening as they do now, thinking clearly, critically, and calmly can be even more difficult than it usually is. We might want to hide reality away. Decisions can feel too weighty and complex. So, I find myself trying to remember what was most helpful when life was a little easier.

 

Maybe 20 years ago, I was lucky enough to take a mindfulness workshop with the author and Buddhist meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg. One teaching that stood out for me was on “the Golden Moment.” This is the moment when we realize we’ve drifted off from what we were doing. We become aware that we’ve lost focus, been distracted, and had ceased being present. And we re-focus on what we’re doing. We return from thoughts, memories, and plans⎼ we return from the realm of ideas to the immediacy of now. This results not only in deeper meditation but clearer questioning and thinking, thinking more engaged with the multiple realities of a situation. It has been helpful in so much of my life.

 

It took a while for me to realize the depth and breadth of the teaching. It reminds us to take a minute; to let all the information and the different aspects of a situation settle in our mind before acting. This is such an old insight. My parents often told me as a child to sleep on a weighty decision. We can take a walk and step out of an old viewpoint so we see a new one. Or we practice mindfulness or meditation.

 

When we slow our breath, being aware of the long exhale, the pause.  Then the inhale, pause, and exhale. This technique is called box breathing. Slowing the breath with awareness naturally slows the rush of thought. It releases us from what binds and blinds us. We feel richer in time⎼ that we have more to give.

 

And we become aware of feelings and emotions. Feelings spur action. They can alert us to important perceptual information we often ignore or don’t take time to notice. We might feel an inner message of danger, of pain or pleasure confronting us; notice energy arising to step forward, retreat, or freeze. We can become aware of details that prove crucial in decision making. So, we need, as much as possible in that moment, to let ourselves feel what we feel. And then we can rationally examine the situation and what we’ve felt.

 

We become aware of awareness itself, the quality of our mind right now, and whether we’re interpreting what we perceive more fully or accurately. Of course, there are limitations on conscious awareness, limits on how much information we can process. So much of what our eyes and other senses pick up is not registered consciously.

 

And there’s what’s called inattentional blindness….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

How We Look Is Not Separate from What We See: Giving Form to What’s Most Intimately Ourselves

Sometimes, we surprise ourselves with what we can do, with what we know and don’t know.

 

I retired from teaching secondary school ten years ago. But last night, in my dreams I was once again teaching. In many classes, ten, twenty, thirty students or more showed up. In others, only one or two.  Maybe students had begun to assume that I would always be there and took me for granted. Or maybe they were too distracted by their personal lives, or I was getting too tired. Whatever it was, my dream-self decided it was time to retire.

 

In one room, a large group of students came to hear and join me in saying goodbye. It was surprising how full of feeling the situation was. We accepted each other so deeply. And I had nothing planned. It was all spontaneous. What I said emerged extemporaneously, as if from all of us together, and included nothing about goodbyes.

 

The way a moment forms has so much to teach us and is teaching us so much as it forms. There is so much there if we can see it and feel it. It’s the ultimate teacher. In fact, we are this forming of a moment. But will we look? Feel?

 

And I woke up. Sort of. The light outside was a gray mist emerging from the dark night, a dawn just beginning to gray. Outside the window, almost no discernible objects emerged from the mist, no trees, or bushes. But in the mostly dark inside, I could discern the placement but not the details of the bed, dresser, and other furniture. And as I wrote down the dream on a pad of paper by my bed, I wondered if anyone in the dream, any student had understood what I was saying.

 

Then I realized the answer in the dream was also a question. Do I understand my own answer?

 

Research and theories by psychologists and neuroscientists speculate one purpose of dreaming is to integrate emotional, and other material from our daily lives. Was the dream an example of that integration process? Was it telling me what my conscious mind couldn’t figure out or was it merely putting into words what I had already concluded? We often underestimate the role the unconscious and the resting mind plays in conscious and critical thinking. Our conscious understanding never gets it all. But if we humbly accept that, sometimes what we find surprises us with its depth and value…..

 

**To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

How Can We Determine What to do with Our Lives?

We just don’t know. We live surrounded by so many unknowns that if we think about it, we might never do anything. When we’re in high school or college, for example, we might not know what we’ll do after we graduate, or if we’ll get a good job. We might not even know what we want to happen. But in reality, that is the lesson. We don’t know. Yet we have to act nevertheless.

 

Some deal with this by selecting a theory, belief or desire for what will happen and treat it as a fact. We tell ourselves and anyone who will listen how we will do on the next exam or who will win the next election or baseball game. Facing something or someone you know is usually easier to do than facing the unknown, (think about driving your car in some place you don’t know without GPS or google maps) especially if the known is shaped in our favor. Thinking positively is helpful. It makes us feel stronger. If we are taking a test or going on a job interview, we are more likely to succeed if we feel we can succeed.

 

Some of us perpetually do the reverse. We fear failure so much we don’t even try to succeed. Or we try to win by labeling ourselves as losers before anyone else can do so.

 

But if we delude ourselves into thinking we know what we don’t, we close our mind. This might serve as a temporary comfort or rest from something that frightens or stresses us, which can be helpful. But if we pretend we are finished learning when we’re just beginning, then we stop learning.

 

After I graduated from college, I went into the Peace Corps. When I returned, I was a bit lost. I tried traveling, writing, acting, psychology, teaching and decided to get a MAT in teaching English. After graduate school and a few years in education, I got lost once again, and tried out a few more areas of interest, like the martial arts and meditation.

 

At that time in my life, it was difficult to separate fantasy and desire from legitimate paths to a career. It was difficult to face a fear of failure and fully commit to any possible job. For example, I made a far-out proposal to a university that they introduce a new class in their education program.  The class would teach theatre improvisation techniques to teachers, both to improve their skills and to use with students to teach course material. However, I never expected a reply to my proposal. But I got one. A Professor wrote to me. There was no job opening at the moment, but he would like to talk with me about my idea. Because he said there was no job opening, I never went to speak with him. Later, I realized that was a legitimate opportunity lost.

 

But emerging from each moment of being lost was a clarity about one thing: I wanted to do something meaningful, steady, and creative….

 

To read the whole post, go to The Good Men Project.

Relieving Student Apathy: Apathy Is A Symptom of Greater Societal Problems

Recently, I read a discussion on a FB page for educators and social action (the Bad Ass Teachers) that hit home for me. The discussion was about the omnipresence of student apathy and the expectation that teachers were responsible for entertaining and freeing students from this curse. I remembered this exact feeling from 20-30 years ago. Not only did I have to shape lessons to fit a wide variety of student ability levels and interests. I felt I had to be as clever and exciting as the tv or movies they were used to watching. (There were no or few cell phones then.)

The situation has become even worse today. One teacher-author, who had written a post about the situation, spoke about teachers being expected to “be all things to all people” and students have become “consumer learners.” She described a workshop where she was encouraged to design her teaching to be like a video game. How else could she expect to hold student attention? She questioned if a video game is the best model for how to shape a lesson. 

Teachers face a long list of problems every day the corporate and media attacks on public education, the detrimental effects of standardized testing, the tremendous inequality in school resources and funding, the poverty, homelessness and increasing anxiety and depressionexperienced both by young people and adults, etc..  And, of course, let’s add the addiction to drugs or digital devices. But should we also add apathy to this list?

Student apathy is not the main problem. It is but a symptom of all the problems listed above all of which can reach deeply into a child’s psyche. Many students can’t find the motivation to engage in their own education because they can’t find themselves. They don’t see themselves in their own lives or are afraid, or too traumatized, to do so.

They have been taught to think their emotions come from someone or somewhere else, not themselves. When they feel anger, they think the object of the anger is the cause of it. Or they experience love or jealousy and feel the object of their love is in control, not them. When they get bored, they think someone other than themselves is responsible. They do not understand how their emotions arise. 

Students feel apathy and boredom when a wall has been constructed between what they feel, think, or yearn to engage with and what is presented to them as the possibilities of their life and education. They have been conditioned to not let anything too real get too close¾or their lives have been too real and frightening, and they can’t or don’t know how to face it. This might help explain why one of the biggest concerns for young people in this nation today is safety….

To read the whole blog, click on this link to the Good Men Project.

Using Mindfulness and Empathic Imagination in Teaching the Story From Day One

I’d like to share with you what I learned from teaching a middle school class called “The Story From Day One,” which integrated mindfulness and visualization exercises with the language arts curriculum.

We often teach myths as merely literature, divorced from the cultural, spiritual, and historical context. But we pay a price for this approach. It limits the depth of meaning students can derive from their study.

Combine this with the narrow focus on the now that social media can foster, and students easily feel isolated on an island of self, cut off not only from their contemporaries, but from a sense of the continuity of life. They have little grasp of how their lives today emerge from yesterday.

 

Suggested Myths to Teach in Your Class

 

In my Story From Day One course, we read several myths from around the world, of creation, of tricksters and of heroes, including:

 

Integrating Mindfulness with Academic Content 

Start lessons with a mindfulness exercise so students can calm and clear their minds, better understand how their inner lives affect their outer ones, and notice how they respond to words, stories, and other people.

After mindfulness practice, ask questions that challenge assumptions and reveal what was hidden, so each lesson becomes the solving of a mystery. For example, before teaching a class on language or vocabulary, ask:

 

How can words (mere sounds or collections of marks on a page or device) mean anything?

Do words have meanings, or do people give words meanings?

Imagine a time when words were almost magical, when to give your word was deeper than a legal contract today. If you felt your words were like magic, how would that change how you spoke? (Share this old Eskimo poem.)

 

To read the whole post, please go to Mindfulteachers.org.