What arises (at times) is a sense of gratefulness that there’s a presence or awareness which holds these crises – or the feelings they bring up – in love. And the crisis can be a way of remembering that this loving, tender presence is there, and is a deeper aspect of myself than the mind, which seeks to escape the ups and downs of life, or to have everything in control (which never really works, and seems to cause more suffering and physical contraction).

That’s my best answer for today!

This moment! That’s being a little mischievous though. ???? There are so many things I’m tempted to say. Breakfast. Connection. Sunshine. Love.

Yet it’s true – all those things are in this moment, and I think in a way they’re all one, different ways of seeing and naming this moment. Breakfast is love in a sense, and so is sunshine, as love is sunshine and breakfast. And aliveness, and goodness. And gratefulness. I feel that all these words emerge from the mystery that this moment is, and point to an experience I can’t name, but is here at the source of all names…

Such a sweeping question! I think mistrust may be the word that connects all that holds me back – mistrust that I’m lovable as I am, that others will see and accept and value me with my needs, feelings, wildly idiosyncratic opinions, sensitivities and faults, that life isn’t rejecting or abandoning me when loss or trauma or health conditions arise, and that it’s okay to really give from my heart and my possession, because life is abundant and the basic human desire to share and help one another is stronger than our desires to hoard or divide or have power over one another.

My first thought. Kind of daunting to actually imagine really letting go of all that. I think for me it may be more of a process than an immediate happening. It’s helpful to see where I want to go, and be able to share that here!

I think mostly of the food I’m eating for breakfast – who farmed it, who drove it to the coop where I bought it, who works at the coop. I also think of this house I’m in, the people who built it who are no longer alive, the electricity that made it possible to cook my food and the people who maintain that electrical grid. I also think of the earth and what anonymous soil grew this food, and what anonymous plants the seeds came from, and the anonymous sunlight and rain that nourished them. And I’m with others here offering gratitude for those who created and maintain this website! Thank you 🙂

So many people, it’s amazing to think of it. It’s funny, when I write “so many people” because my childhood dog was actually the first being whose kindness came to mind. I imagine he didn’t think of himself as being kind, but just naturally expressed his desire for belonging, touch, and affection, and naturally shared his presence. (He also seemed to have a great sense of humor, I have to add).

Maybe human kindness can be like this too. The kindest moments are when I feel I belong in life, when someone or a group of someone treat me in a way that conveys this. And although I think having the intention to be kind is often needed and helps us get out of the cloud of self-focused thinking, I also think some of this is natural to who we are as human beings, an expression of our desire to belong openly and deeply, to welcome and include, to share in the life of nature that we’re all inextricably woven into and made from…

This question resonates for me, I think because it feels to me there’s a crucial difference between measuring time by a clock and measuring it by moments (which seems to be a different kind of measuring altogether). I think of times immersed in nature when I forget time altogether, and only the changing of the light and hunger in my stomach give me a sense of how much time has passed.

At these times, it feels I’ve become attuned to a time that isn’t of my mind, that isn’t wired into all my thoughts around what I imagine is important to do in order to keep my life in the world together.

I’m not saying these things aren’t important to do – but it’s also so important for me to be able to drop them, and to remember the heartbeat and flow of nature’s rhythms, and that this rhythm is also the heart of my own life.

What happens when clock time falls away for me is a sense of my deep connection to life, a kinship with life, an encounter with trees and moss and clouds and sun not as the objects my mind makes them, but as the mysterious, living beingness that is also my deepest, truest self.

That seems to be the essence of the shift for me – when all of the mind’s measuring recedes into the background (without completely disappearing), and the life of which I am a part takes the foreground, where I know in my bones and my blood that there is a belonging beyond all my thoughts…

Laying down on the earth at a park by the woods near where I live, with a pine tree I especially love there, or with my friend whose actual name is Wilderness, or with a group mostly of strangers I met last night who took a moment in stillness to bless the new home and life direction of my downstairs neighbor, or with my friend Kaela practicing shiatsu massage which is so gentle and reconnects my body-mind to the heart and caring touch of the still nervous system and the chi flowing at rest, or with Steve Reich’s “Music for 18 Musicians” which isn’t still at all but gives rise to stillness as my thoughts gather and dissipate in the chant-like rhythms, or while whirling in a spin at a local contra dance, meeting the eyes of my dance partner, and feeling as though we are for those few moments a still point that the whole universe of light and color is whirling around…

So good to remember various places and people where stillness can be contacted! Thank you for this question! 🙂

I felt delight yesterday walking around the woods in Greenfield noticing the patterns and colors in tree bark, feeling the warps of wood as they curve and swoosh and pitter patter in textures like the rhythm of rain. I love taking time out these days to really pause, to lay on the actual earth and let go of clock time and to do lists and cars and computers, and let my body rediscover the time of sunlight and clouds and wind, and let my heart open to the unique forest beings around me with their deep and rich lives, and let myself take my own place in that web of being…

I love reading the simple joys that people are sharing here today. For me right now, the multiple colors and kinds of stone that compose pebbles by a river come to mind. And tiny white and yellow and purple flowers beside the sidewalk trembling in the breeze. And reading the words of anyone sharing their heart honestly with compassion and curiosity. And sitting with a friend on her porch reading Mary Oliver poems out loud in the sun. And the barely-emerging light green leaves on the branches of trees. And the little galactic spirals of ferns. And the smell of ginger tea. And a beautiful folky melody. And breathing in what I’m carrying in my heart, and holding it in love…