Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash
Beginning in Stillness
If you’re living, do something, my mind whispered, as I studied the tub’s diverter valve. What 13-year-old thinks of taking a bath? It continued. But my body was craving a blanket made of warm standing water. It was exhausted and grateful. Exhausted from fighting peer pressure but grateful because I knew my borders — what/how things could enter my body — and what didn’t belong in my body (thoughts, drugs, or otherwise!).
My specific story isn’t relevant, because what type of adolescent peer-pressure doesn’t involve the body? What is relevant is that once in a while the unofficial mantra, If you’re living, do something, still visits me. And gets me moving. And moving always leads to making connections.
After enough time lounging in the same position on the couch, much like staying still in the water, I choose to get up and move. Re-energize and calm myself from stress, from thinking ahead. One of the current thoughts being, I should finish reading my book first.
But I get going. I get going because my heart’s been beating fast and my breath’s shallow from the screaming neighbors and from pressuring myself to meet my “steps quota” for the day. But I know better. I know that I need to just take it one step at a time. So I choose to practice walking meditation along the sidewalks.
Finding My Pace
Thich Nhat Hanh’s phrase “I have arrived” plants my left heel on the pavement. The right heel follows after its own phrase, “I am here.” Each foot switches from inhale to exhale. By habit, I power walk many steps and lose the phrasing. But yes! I’m getting my initial stress out, emptying my fast heartbeats out into the universe. Hanh’s teaching comforts me because he believes that while walking, we return home. Home is where running stops. And we can give ourselves permission to stop.
Uphill and hidden from traffic, my body drops its weighted stress from my head into my legs. I begin playing: placing one foot in front of the other as though the edge of the pavement were a strip of tape, hushing each phrase before taking the next step, and pretending I’m slowing down to study a house. I’m finding all the contributing sides of honesty in this play even when it includes my fear of being judged by passing cars and pedestrians.
I, The Body
This meditating allows me to be aware of the cool temperature outside and the warmer temperature inside my skin. It pairs really well with being “bodyful” — experiencing and reflecting on the body’s showing and telling. An important example is when my eyes, ears, and limbs are listening and concentrating on the sound of cars as I move between sidewalks.
My nervous system tells me what’s real and what needs my focus to remain safe. This would be where I break from meditating and hone in on just taking my time and being actively attentive rather than passively aware. If I’m passively aware and continue going with the flow without considering the danger that could be created, I could walk directly into an injury.
Ironically, focusing — whether through passive steps or actively watching — wakes me up for the rest of the day. I’m even wearing a smirk on my face that wasn’t there when I was nearly running down the driveway.
Where One Pause Meets Another
After about 15 minutes of walking meditation, I begin my regular stride around the neighborhood. Toward the end, I come to an intersection. I immediately challenge and fight myself: Can I take my time and Hanh’s phrases with me while crossing? “Can I take my time?” Um, yea I have a right to!
I pause at the paved comma that connects my last thought with a new one: being mindful/bodyful while walking in front of a vehicle? Crap. Simultaneous pauses and eye contact between the driver and me ask “Am I going first or you?” A wave gives me permission to go first. With that permission, with that person in power of steering, I give myself permission to be patient and gentle as my body heads straight. They don’t decide how I take care of my body, I do.
Sliding
But my regular pace finds me at first, my legs making wide triangles. I know I can’t be completely passive and “in the flow” as in a real meditation. I just need a sliver of its calm. After I am more than halfway across the invisible crosswalk, the alternating phrases from before guide me home from the initial running spurt.
Is it okay if I don’t run? My worry asks. I let myself feel judged for staying calm on my walk. But what if my calm is contagious? Maybe the driver takes his/her time accelerating again. I may be passing along the message “be home, stop running” to one person. Possibly to the two other cars behind us. We’re directing our societal way of thinking from “I have to hurry home” to “I am here.”
If you’re living, do something. The intersection experience taught me that we’re our own diverter valve: if we let our body and mind work together, we can slide thought types from cold to warm.
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