When I part with members of my family after visiting them in the UK (I live near Madrid), as I walk away with my bags, I feel a strong pull in my chest, and it really feels as if invisible strings were linking my heart to theirs, that the atoms in my heart are being physically stretched to the limit of my chest as this close heart-bond is being pulled away from the loved one in question.
I have the same feeling sometimes when I’m sad about something. The other day it was because one of my sisters had recently given birth and I’m 1500 miles away in Madrid, and was desperate to see her and the new baby. I’ve arranged to go in May, but those invisible heart strings were feeling stretched in that direction now, and it was a hard, heavy feeling.
So I decided to try some walking meditation. Just a long slow walk from home to a neighbourhood park. I remembered the idea of embracing difficult emotions like a mother embraces a crying baby, and I put all my concentration into embracing and feeling the heavy feeling in my chest as I walked slowly.
It was surprisingly easy. Easy to have something to focus on. Easy to be there lovingly for the feeling in my chest. And slowly the heavy, sad, stretched-heart-strings feeling began to diminish, feeling lighter and lighter all the time.
By the time I got back to our street I felt completely fine, happy. I’d decided not to go rushing off to the UK in a huge hurry, as I knew it would put stress on the rest of my life, and that I don’t want to live in that rushing-around mode any more, as I have done for years. I can happily wait for May.
This for me really was a miracle of mindfulness. From a depressed, sad feeling, to light and free in the space of an hour’s walk spent embracing a difficult emotion. It works. Since then I’ve gone back to doing a little walking meditation every day. I’m no good at sitting on meditation cushions, but taking my heart for a walk, especially in spring, is a real joy.
I may have mentioned this before, but having watched it again last night, I have to recommend it again. The film La sal de la Tierra/The Salt of the Earth, about the life and work of photographer Sebastião Salgado.
It’s not just for photographers. It takes us through the darkest of humanity’s destructive madness through to our most radiant possibilities for change and hope. Highly recommended.
Dear mum, dear dad, dear school, mostly dear mum,
I can’t do it anymore. I can’t change the world. I can’t be famous, or a number 1 Best Seller or photographer. I can’t do it. It’s too much. It’s exhausting. It’s too much. I admit it.
It always felt like I had to. I suppose that’s why I used to read obituaries of famous people, desperately looking for the secrets to how they got to be there, in the papers – the height of recognition! Though ironically they were dead.
But I can’t strive for all that anymore. All that striving has led to exhaustion, and lack of self-esteem as those Great Expectations weren’t met. As I looked around for praise and fame that would make me think I was doing enough.
So I can’t do that any more. But what I can do is all this:
– Be satisfied with all I’ve got, which is so much!
– Be happy with what I’ve done so far with my life, which is already so much!
– Be calm, nice, quiet, and pass quietly through life.
– Be grateful, happy, and enjoy simple things in the present moment.
– Do what I love, what makes me smile, without a single expectation of greatness.
– Stop running, striving.
– Stop feeling inadequate and accept myself as I am, that this version of me is wonderful and enough. I am enough, just like this. There’s no need for more.
– Carry on watching and actively participating in the wonderful unfolding of life, which will all on its own bring as many wonders and adventures and surprises as I’ve been lucky enough to have already.
Dear mum, I hope you understand. I think you do.
Lots of love,
I often write letters to my mother, even though she died 8 years ago. It’s wonderfully therapeutic. About this one, that I wrote a couple of months ago: her parents, my grandparents, were on the fringes of the Bloomsbury Set, the Virginia Woolf literary crowd in 1920’s and 30’s London. Ever since then, that side of our family has been expected to move in such circles, but we don’t. Our whole private schooling expected it too. I think that’s where all this comes from. It’s been a recurring theme in my life, striving-for-great-heights, that’s finally calming down. That’s why I share this here, because I have a feeling it’s common to many people these days.
These images are from last Easter Friday’s procession, from the Nuestro Padre Jesús de Medinaceli church, in the center of Madrid.
Spain’s traditional Easter processions even amaze many Spaniards… they are without doubt extremely unusual. But very moving. There were probably a thousand people involved in this one, and many more thousands turned out to watch.
Two days ago I was walking through our village with three six-year-old boys, my son and two of his friends, on the way back from getting the first ice cream of the year. They were happily babbling away in Spanish, it was gloriously warm, a perfect spring afternoon.
I was struck by how funny it was to be walking along with three kids chatting away in Spanish, but how normal too – how odd it was that this had ended up my normality! That Spanish should go in and out of my head as easily as English after all these years. That I should have a Spanish son with Spanish friends. How curious life is!
And I felt completely happy. This happiness involved no internet, mobile phone, gadgets, entertainment, just the realisation that the present moment was perfect just as it was. Being outside, with three happy children, was enough.
It reminded me of a few lines that spilled out into a notebook of mine the other night:
That perfect state
That perfect energy
When now is all there is…
This very moment
And all it has to offer
I’m convinced that mindfulness, or awareness, or ‘being awake’ is the perfect state. When we realise that we have enough with simply that, and what wonders of life cross our path from moment to moment. What keeps us from that state? The mind and its inventions, needs, desires, perceived lacks… But we need so so little to be happy.
I’ve recently been driving myself mad trying to decide which camera lens to buy next – but the one I have already takes great pictures – I have enough! My wife was wondering whether to take on new yoga classes at a prestigious center, but a little too far from home – but then she realised that she already has enough classes nearby to be happy.
I think the idea of having enough conditions for happiness already is so important – we just have to keep an eye on our dear mind and how easily it’s tempted – and let’s face it, we live in a society that is absolutely designed to offer us more and more of everything all day long – more things to buy, more things to experience, more things to learn, to do – we must consume all of this to keep it all going, and marketers will do their best to ensure we do! It’s no wonder we drive ourselves mad wondering what else we could ‘add’ to our lives to make them better.
‘I have enough, I have enough’, with this perfect moment, and all it has to offer. What peace there is in that way of living.
When I’m in need of a lift, or boosting my inner energy banks, I draw an oak tree. Last year I had to help organise a tremendous series of mindfulness events, and looking back I can’t imagine how I and the rest of us did it.
For my part I put it down partly to drawing an enormous oak tree with colour crayons a few months into the process. It gave me huge strength, I’m sure of it. The one above is similar, but in charcoal, from a couple of days ago. Big A2 paper, branches right up to and over the edges as an art teacher showed me.
It’s life-enhancing to draw a tree like this. And not so difficult. I highly recommend it if you need a boost. (By the way, I plan to fix the charcoal with skimmed milk!)
Meanwhile, more from the streets of Madrid…
My son loves the next shot, he thinks the Plaza Mayor’s headless man is great…
The final image is of the most peaceful evangelists I’ve ever seen. They stand in busy parts of Madrid with these adapted shopping carts full of leaflets, but never approach or stop anyone. The poster here says, “Jesus saves us, but from what?”
I don’t know, but it made me think of another banner I saw on a church recently that said:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28.”
It struck me firstly that just about everyone nowadays is burdened and weary and needs rest, and that this invitation is so beautifully worded that you feel better just reading it. And secondly, that this same rest is exactly what is offered by the buddhist wisdom I’ve been immersed in for the past 7 or 8 years.
I love it when I find these coincidences between philosophies or religions because it makes it clear that at the bottom of everything we are all the same, and all concerned with the same things, notably in this case, just a little bit of inner peace.
My mother died 8 years ago. Her birthday was yesterday, the traditional first day of spring.
Are you here?
Are you the flowers on the table,
Or the purple umbrella I bought
Without realising it’s the same as the one you always used to carry?
Or are you the spring rain falling outside,
Or the gathering green rising out of the earth?
Or are you a thought or a memory?
A feeling in the heart?
A special sensation never lost, you’re always there, dear mum, ever present.
It’s lovely to have you around.