Cultivating Space

Cultivating Space to Hold the Present Moment

The way to connect with the past is by being fully present, now. The present moment contains within it all things past. It stands to reason that the present moment also contains within it all things future, and that the way to connect with the future is to be fully present now. All that will ever be is already contained within the present moment--a door unlocked by an expansive breath of acceptance, imbued with presence, which permeates throughout the thought of time. It is in this moment of the Now where all that has ever been and all that will ever be, already is. There is nothing to do. There is only to be. The deeper one relaxes and reclines into the luxurious breath of the present moment, experiencing the space between cells—like the space between stars—the more one truly let’s go and allows all that is, to pass through everything we already are.

As a species we are habitually programmed to identify the reality of who we think we are as separate from everything we assume is other. All matter in the observable universe is suspended in a vastness of infinite space, which holds everything in existence within it. If we entertain the thought of time, we recognize that we now have a greater capacity to connect than we had before. 

Into what space have we expanded our capacity? Has that potentiality always been available? Could it be that there is a mutual reciprocity and recognition already existing in what we had conceived of as yet to be? Can we allow ourselves to be, now, that which we wish to become later? What happens when we take a breath and release the impulse to get to what’s next, by cultivating the capacity to hold space for that which we wish to bring

forth?

Not-knowings

How do we feel about change? Especially when it is not what we’ve intended? 

Many of us often long for change as an affirmation of the hope we carry that our lives may still transform into something we envision will offer us an even more authentic experience of who we feel ourselves to be. However, taking action that will lead to unforeseen consequences—for better or for worse—is often a heavy lift, requiring uprooting our sense of security and challenging the habit of ourselves. And this is often the best scenario, when we are granted the inspiration to be philosophical and consider the luxury of shifting our position. 

What happens when change is thrust upon us, like a shift in the weather that we didn’t see blowing in from the horizon? How can we ground ourselves into the realm of responsive choice when we are at a crossroads that demands decisions be made? 

We all carry a sense of continuity--of familiar acceptance of our place in the world--how we assume others value our presence. 

How easily our contentment is disturbed when the ground beneath our feet trembles, warning us that what we have and know is no longer static. Who do we become when we must confront the unsettling realization that we are being forced to grow out of our comfort zone?

It’s easy to get stuck in the loop of strategizing and mapping out the options we conceive will alleviate the discomfort of impending change. Since choice is inevitable, how can we connect to the still-point within ourselves, so that we can take action from a place rooted in who we are?

Taking space. Taking space and time to be in nature. Taking space to breathe. Taking space for remembrance of past imposed-change. Taking stock that we have survived and thrived to this very point in time, through multiple past not-knowings. 

Perhaps what we choose isn’t as important as the discoveries we make about who we are in this moment. Let us catch our breath and sit in the not-knowing, becoming open to what new animal we may become at this juncture.

Moonrise

The full moon rises on the prairies,

a glowing orb, shining upon the hilltop cemetery.

olden stones shimmering with light.

Here, we walk

on land from long ago,

above neighbors who have moved away

to someplace the train will not take us.

The hues of evening turn like leaves.

Night covers us in a blanket of darkness as we turn in from the cold.

The elegant breeze whispers soft and serene.

Gravity

Gravity is said to be the byproduct of space bending around mass in the field of time. It is also said that the gravity of situations is the weight and consequentiality of the moment. The physical forces of the universe push and pull, slingshotting existence in never-ending motions of orbit and connection--moments whose sway and influence alter our trajectories with unexpected mutuality. Any attempt to deny the existence of that which demands our attention is a futile endeavor. The forces of the Universe are the natural order and laws of nature. On occasion, unforeseen elements are introduced, and the appearance of order is altered by the gravity of that which we did not foresee becoming inherently part of what is an ever-expanding equation. 

Places and people call us, like sirens, to which our souls innately yearn to endeavor. In the most intense moments of gravity we acknowledge that, from which we cannot turn away. These brief glimpses of timelessness dance through the windows of existence which we call ourselves. Our lives. Our stories. 

The earth does not try to break away from the sun, nor slow, nor speed, its orbit. It revolves under an influence it cannot deny. As do our lives. Accepting Life, and ourselves, on their own terms--meaning, what is, as opposed to what we think should be (or what we think should have been), seems to be the most comfortable way to move through the cosmos. As do the planets. As do the stars. As do the galaxies. 

As do we. 

Perhaps, rather than feeling the pressure to embrace Life, we might consider allowing Life to embrace us. Perhaps, like a radio, cultivating reception is what compels us to tune into the moments where authentic living resides. The capacity to receive, and the courage to act, intersect where the essence of vision manifests into existence. The future is always decided in the present moment, which is all there is. Our lifetime of experience directly contradicts our brief investments in the illusion of fear. Gravity is nowhere to be seen in and of itself. But it cannot be denied. It is the magnetic connection born of the dance between ourselves and that with which we are undeniably tethered--intrinsically linked--orbiting in the field of existence. Gravity seems to be more than just a byproduct of space bending around mass in the field of time. It is the bond that binds us. It is the relationship with the other that creates the orbit of ourselves. Embracing gravity defines us by acknowledging the glorious tensions which hold the most sway. We long, and wait, for moments that have weight. We say, "That's heavy," to imply that an experience is deep, but are we not really saying that those most authentic of moments have not just depth, but weight, as do we, who are anchored to the earth by what we call gravity. It is said that attention is love. Gravity holds our attention. That's heavy. That has weight. That is worth waiting for. That cannot be denied.

Investing in the Present Moment

The best way to invest in the future is by investing in the present.

Everything that we’ve experienced has one thing in common; it all came before this moment. Every memory that we tap into moves the past into the present and moves the present into the future. Yet, what the past and future have in common is that they both do not exist, except in the placement of our attention outside of this present moment. It is only where we place our attention, filled with the energetic charge of emotional regret or hope, that creates a space that removes us from the only place where we can truly invest our energy. Our focus on the present moment releases us from the consequences of the false belief that we must experience distress as a result of choices we made this morning--or even, ten years ago--or the tension of planning what we hope is yet to come. The Buddha said, “If you want to know your past, look at your present. If you want to know your future, look at your present.” I assume that the Buddha knew a thing or two. 

What would happen if, for a moment, or two, we actually put down whatever we were doing, took a breath, and considered how it might feel if we chose to believe it was true that the present moment is where we reside, and that we are fully capable of peacefully accessing it, without the fear that we had to change, or do something about it, or create a new habit, or worry that we’ve wasted time? What would it feel like to simply stop--right now, this moment--and allow ourselves to feel what it’s like to reside in this present moment? With nothing to do. Nothing to accomplish. Nothing to fear. No choice to make. Nothing to do over. 

What does it feel like to take a breath and surrender to everything exactly as it is in this moment? To realize that this very moment is the same very moment that has always been. How deeply can you allow yourself to just let go and relax--sinking deep into your self and releasing anything other than peace?--just for this moment, so we can catch a glimpse of the experience, and know it. Knowing how something feels for a moment is enough to recognize it for a lifetime. That is choice. There is nothing to hang onto. Nothing to make up for. Nothing to forgive. The past has no bearing on the choice we have in the present. When the future arrives it will take place in the present. The best way to prepare for both is to stay anchored in this moment. Oscar Wilde said, “Be yourself, everyone else is already taken,” It could similarly be said that we should be in the present, because there is truly nowhere else to be.

(Un)comfort Zone

 Getting Out of Your (Un)comfort Zone

It’s hard to notice how comfortable we are with the habit of ourselves until we notice how excruciatingly uncomfortable it is when we are forced to step outside of our comfort zone. It’s so easy to be the ourselves we believe ourselves to be when we are in the habit of our daily lives, and it’s not until an unexpected twist or turn derails us into unknown territory that we notice how we had taken the routine of ourselves for granted. We all know that life is full of inevitable losses, yet we move through our daily lives in denial of this fact, and rightly so, as it is in the best interest of our health and survival to keep moving forward with acts of assigned meaning, rather then contemplating the losses inherently built into life itself. Plainly stated, we move through life with the delusion that tragedy is what happens to others. It is only when there is a crack in the illusion of safety in our own lives that we feel a panic which we desperately try to avoid. Perhaps it is the loss of a job, the end of a relationship, the death of a pet or parent, that shifts our perspective tectonically. We will do almost anything to avoid being uncomfortable by defaulting to taking the actions we’ve always taken, as we hope to claw our way back to some semblance of the self we thought we knew. When it becomes clear that we must move forward and through, it’s seductive to think that we can think our way to change, based on some big thought which we could label an epiphany, or an aha-moment of insight and clarity, or a realization. But what about action? Thought without action is philosophy, and although philosophy might lead us to understanding, will it lead us into a actionable state of knowing? It is only from a place of knowing that the inspiration and invitation for transformation can take hold. The tricky part comes after the moment of knowingness passes and we are left with a fading belief in the authenticity of our experience. It is in the contemplation of doubt when the brain automatically fires the old patterns of neural connections which want to re-establish the feelings that we label our identity. This is the moment of choice: do we take stock of the experience which granted us the ability to witness the reality of our own habitual making, and therefore make a conscious choice to take action towards retraining our behaviors based on the new information we’ve gleaned? Our habits are just our automatic reactions and repetitions from the first time we repeated an initial choice that made us feel safe. We’ve repeated the action blindly ever since, as if our very survival depended upon it. The comfort it brings gives us a sense of being who we are; the safety we feel by not taking risks which seem to threaten the survival of our self-proclaimed, familiar identity which is physiologically reinforced by a decreased cortisol level and an increase in endorphins, helping us feel as if we’ve avoided death itself. Let’s face it: change is big and scary and hard. In Dr. Maxwell Maltz’s 1960 book Psycho-cybertetics, he writes that “Our self-image and our habits tend to go together. Change one and you will automatically change the other.”

When was the last time you asked yourself if the choices you make are still relevant and appropriate to who you are now? It used to be said that it takes 21 days to form a new habit, but the European Journal of Social Psychology has recently published findings that it actually takes sixty-six days to form a new habit. There’s also the 21/90 rules that says you should commit to a new habit for 21 days and then, once established, continue to do it for another 90 days until it is the new automatic behavior. It is now well-known that the brain is capable of neuroplasticity so as to adapt and evolve. So, the two questions that may arise are: 

• How can I experience knowingness?

and…

• How do I go about creating new habits?

It is in the moments of stillness where knowingness resides. Being in nature can provide an environment in which our natural rhythm can breathe itself into being. It is easier to experience knowing than it is to take action based on moments of seeing behind the veil once we return to the habitual environments of our lives. Our job is to carry within us that which we’ve been gifted while outside-of-time, where the moment of now constantly resides.

Friction: The Abrasive Nature of Creativity

Einstein said; “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” I’ve never heard anybody say that they were seeking imagination yet we all seek knowledge in the form of information. We want to appear knowledgeable in our field of study. We want to be well-informed before making a decision; to have a sense of knowingness so as to mitigate risk, and therefore to avoid harm. And what is this harm we are so intent on trying to avoid? Is it the severe mental, and therefore physical, discomfort from being pulled out of the familiarity of what we know to the point of feeling overwhelmed. Panic, anxiety, and depression are the trinity of anti-change. They are the indicators that we are onto something; that we’ve tapped into a vein of significant meaning. Nothing new can be created from the familiar. We all seek a sense of contentment that seems so coveted yet elusive. It is from imagination that newness is born. Yet, it is in taking action that change is made manifest. And here is where life happens, or doesn’t. 

The radical act of creativity is not so much a bringing forth, but rather a destructive force that tears down everything we thought we knew so that something new can emerge from the remnants. The friction and tension that must take place within an individual to break free of the familiar is a staggeringly uncomfortable process of transition and transformation. The World Health Organization estimates that more than 300 million people worldwide suffer from depression, and that it is the world’s leading cause of disability. And, what is disability? Dis-ability. To shun the ability to take action. The internalized fear of change. To turn inward and remain stuck in the recurrence of self, with the knowledge that we’ve become paralyzed in the shame of not taking action to move in the direction of creation by letting go of the known and familiar. Let’s face it; change is scary. It is the re-creation of self, and the dismantling of that which we’d known ourselves to be. Then there is the shame born of the self-judgement of the disability, which only adds a further hinderance. 

One in thirteen people, worldwide (7.3%), suffers from anxiety, with the highest rates in the U.S. at 40 million people (18.1%). Can we agree that anxiety is a prolonged state of panic that can lead to depression and the inability to act? And that inability to act is the disconnect between our imagination envisioning a state of creation from where we are capable of becoming, and the falling back into the routine of the familiar. This state of impotence is where depression lies. So in the end, risk-avoidance offers a guaranteed pain in the suffering that comes with self-judgement, as opposed to boldly leaning in the direction of change. Hellen Keller said that “Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure.” The friction that is inherent in the abrasive nature of creativity is the husk being torn from the corn. If we want to eat we must get under the skin.