Creative Sanctuary

meditation

The Nourishing Power of Gentleness

By Allison

blades of grass

©Danesh Mazloomdoost

“Once in a while we meet a gentle person.  Gentleness is a virtue hard to find in a society that admires toughness and roughness.  […] Gentle is the one who does ‘not break the crushed reed, or snuff the faltering wick.’  Gentle is the one who is attentive to the strengths and weaknesses of the other and enjoys being together more than accomplishing something.  A gentle person treads lightly, listens carefully, looks tenderly, and touches with reverence.  A gentle person knows that true growth requires nurture, not force.  Let’s dress ourselves with gentleness.”  –Henri Nouwen

 One evening several weeks back, I experienced a transformative moment that continues to stir in me.  It was a delicious fall evening.  The air was cooling, and the trees were still green.  Night had not fallen, but the blue hour was approaching.

My friend and I were leaving his office, laughing about God knows what.  When we stepped out, we encountered a young woman in crisis.  Her clothes hung off her bony frame, she was covered in sores, and she seemed to be doing some sort of distressed dance on the lawn.

I was startled and scared for her, and I froze.  My friend maintained his calm.  He approached her gingerly and asked what was wrong.  His voice was steady and soothing.

The young woman was apparently addicted to heroin, had been clean for seven months, and had recently relapsed after the death of her uncle.  She was sobbing.  Her story was disjointed, but her fear was clear.

She asked us to call an ambulance to take her to the University of Kentucky hospital.  As we waited with her, my friend maintained his compassionate, caring way.  He saw her, acknowledged her, and validated her.  He trod lightly, listened carefully, looked tenderly, and treated her with reverence.  Though I mostly stayed quiet, I held a space of compassion for both of them.

Within about 3 minutes, firefighters, EMTs, and police officers arrived.  The lights and sirens were jolting, and it must have been overwhelming for her to suddenly be surrounded by nine men in surgical masks.  But they were kind to her and helped her to the ambulance.  As she lay on the gurney, she thanked us profusely.

I have always admired my friend’s steady demeanor.  He is a gentle soul through and through.  That evening he reminded me that gentleness is life-giving.  His tender approach fortified a young person in crisis.  He helped her find the courage to wait for the ambulance and to maybe seek help. 

His gentleness also nourished me.  I witnessed its power to soothe and effect change.  After a long day at the office, he exercised focus, restraint, and compassion.  I aspire to this.  I have since deepened my commitment to gentleness and its beauty.  I imagine wearing it like a cloak, flowing softly and creating an aura of safety and tenderness.

Inspirations

Self-Soothing in Hard Times

Extreme Rest

Between, Within, Beneath

Pandemic Life: Self-Soothing

By Allison

light on floorLike many of you, I am beginning my sixth week of extreme social distancing.  My work life, social life, and family life have all moved online.  I am very happy to maintain my connections with students, friends and family.  My advanced literature course has turned into a fabulous Zoom book club discussing Zola’s Le Ventre de Paris (The Belly of Paris).  And raucous family happy hours (“cocktail hour” as Mom calls it) launch me into each weekend.

Yet in spite of the abundance of positive and supportive interactions, I’ve had to find ways to keep my pandemic anxiety at bay.  I’m coming to understand that when daily existence is dramatically different from anything we’ve previously known, we must call on our own spiritual or philosophical foundations and tap into our personal strength as a means to soothe ourselves.  I expect that you each practice your own calming rituals.  Today I share a few of mine, as a few of you may want to adopt and adapt one of these practices.

Long Walks and Audio Books

Reading has always been my balm, but with a heavier work load, expanded screen time, and physical stagnation, I’ve found it very difficult to settle down with a book.  Audio books have rescued me!  Every day that it doesn’t rain, I walk for an hour and listen to an audiobook, borrowed from my public library.  All of my pandemic reading has been escapist:  The Most Fun We Ever Had (Claire Lombardo), The Burning Chambers (Kate Mosse), and A Long Petal of the Sea (Isabel Allende).  A family drama, an historical novel set in Toulouse, and the great Chilean author’s most recent novel.  Each and every one has been a joyful, intriguing read.

No Waste Kitchen

My grandma always said that cooking was her therapy.  It’s my therapy too, but I’ve had to change my approach during the pandemic.  I can’t pop out to the grocery store on a whim like I used to.  I must work with what I have on hand, and I have become very strict about waste in my kitchen.  No parsley stem goes unused.  Each and every knob of ginger gets worked into a dish, and I constantly strategize about how I can best use freezer space.  Some of my meals have been deliciously memorable.  A few have flopped.  But each and every day, the process has been grounding.

Reading with Nora

Before the coronavirus, I had never taught small children.  But when I learned that my six year-old niece Nora wouldn’t be in school for the foreseeable future, my duty as aunt and educator inspired me to step into the role of first grade reading teacher.  Every morning at 11:00 Nora FaceTimes me, and we spend 30-40 minutes working on reading and writing.   We’ve found a pleasant, loose rhythm in our class.  We take turns reading to each other from the Scholastic Learn at Home program, and then we move to a more advanced Beverley Clearly book:  Beezus and Ramona.  Nora reads most of the dialogue, which is challenging without becoming frustrating.  And I read the rest.  Some days she is enthralled!  I’ve learned to be flexible in my pedagogy.  Some days she just wants to tell me about walking in the woods with her dad or building a snowman.  Other days, writing and drawing take precedent over reading.  A few days ago, she wanted to make a prank phone call to Uncle Jack, so we did.  For me, the priority is keeping everything fun and wrapping up the lesson when I see Nora’s attention lagging.  The regularity and lightness of our class has been stabilizing for me.  Although I have always felt that I know Nora well, I am getting to know her better each week.  Not just as an aunt, but as a first-grade reading teacher and as a confidant.

Tea.  Always Tea.

I have long been a devoted tea drinker.  My favorite tea shop is still shipping and offering curbside pickup, so my tea cupboard is staying stocked.  I have also used long days at home to dig deep into my tea collection.  I’ve pulled out rare oolongs that need multiple steepings to bring out their nuances; I’ve dug into samples that tea friends have gifted me in the last few years; this afternoon I sipped a wild Pu-erh from my friend Nana Ding’s Strasbourg shop.  The ritual of preparing tea is soothing in itself, but scientific research is beginning to demonstrate the health benefits of tea that come from caffeine, EGCG, and L-theanine.

How are you self-soothing these days?

Yin Perspective

By Allison

stained glass angelThe depth of nothingness is directly related to the experience of everythingness. —Matthew Fox

On the cusp of winter, I feel myself falling into a state of yin—darkness, passivity, slowness, and cold.  Although I usually give into my yang tendencies—speed, light, energy, action—these deliciously still yin moments bring balance.  They allow me to integrate the experience of everythingness.  I settle, I breathe, I go within.  When my mind finally clears, I sink into the depth of nothingness.  In this state, breath trumps thought.  Sleep comes easily, and every so often I catch glimpses of how life’s pieces fit together.

Shifting to a yin awareness is not necessarily comfortable and definitely not easy.  Mind and body resist the quiet descent to dense nothingness.  When my instinct is to pursue and achieve, the breath helps me to yield and allow.  In my emptiness, breath swirls, clears, and cleanses.  My yin perspective becomes regenerative, making space for creativity.  Winter is dreary and cold, but when we nourish yin, this dark season reveals its abundant creative potential.

Inspirations

Hygge for One

Tea Meditation

Original Blessing by Matthew Fox

The Complete Guide to Yin Yoga by Bernie Clark

The Euphoria of Returning Home

By Allison

cherry rose green tea and journalI am just back from a brief business trip to France and basking in the glory of home.  My days in Nantes passed in a flash—meetings, a bit of research, a few get-togethers with friends, and inordinate amounts of bread, cheese, and Muscadet.  Then… poof!  The week was over and I was headed home.

Leaving France is always bittersweet.  This particular trip was chock-full, but I returned to Kentucky feeling energized and happy.  Coming and going allows me to see how much I value my space—a small house bursting with books and decorated with meaningful objects I have collected over the years.  Travel makes me love home all the more.

But what is home?  And why are homecomings euphoric?  I’ve moved enough times to understand that for me, home is not architectural and not even geographic.  I carry the idea of home inside me.  It’s an evolving, comforting feeling that grounds me and reminds me of who I am.  Home is supple, nebulous, and affirming.

Coming home is a euphoric return to my center.  I take up my daily rituals and reunite with those who are dear to me.  I reengage in work.  I undertake creative projects, many fed by my travels.  The intense excitement of homecomings doesn’t last… and it shouldn’t.  It is healthy that we fall back into the comforting, ho-hum daily routines that give structure to our days.

Inspirations

Morning tea meditation

Beauty in Grief

Colors of the Soul

Extreme Rest

By Allison

pears versaillesEvery so often I take a day or two to engage in extreme rest.  I have created a structured life for myself, so it is never convenient, never easy to drop everything in favor of rest.  But I’ve found that stillness staves off burnout.  Letting my thoughts fall away energizes me.  And successive naps in the span of a few days reengage my creativity, helping me to maintain levity and optimism.

So what does extreme rest involve?  It is boring!  My quiet interludes are lazy.  I can hardly read a page without dozing off.  I find it difficult to get lost in a series on Netflix.  I putter, I take walks, I do a little yoga.  I may try a new recipe, but I am more likely to live on avocado toast and eggs.  I always sip tea.  I always put the phone away.  I never push myself.  I am unambitious.

Life has its glamorous moments—trips abroad, professional achievements, family milestones—and those events should be celebrated.  I propose that we also honor downtime.  Occasional spans of extreme rest are necessary parts of my self-care.  Taking care of oneself goes beyond massages, manicures, and a night out with the girls.  For me, self-care is a harmonious blend of the sense of purpose I find in work and family, carefree escapes from my responsibilities, and the diligent, daily work that involves rest, nourishment, and exercise.  Extreme rest is incompatible with Instagram and against the ethos of Twitter.  Yet, for me, it is a delicious, indulgent, and necessary element of life.

Inspirations

Luxurious Boredom

Light and Sky

Hygge for One

 

Snowy Day Breakfast Salad

By Allison

snowy day breakfast saladHere at the hermitage, in deep snow, everything is ordinary and silent.
—Thomas Merton, 1963

Last week, snow slowed me down.  After many busy weeks, I welcomed a few quiet, snowy mornings.  I moved slowly and intentionally.  Minutes and hours seemed to expand.  These mornings were ordinary and uneventful.  I gave more time to waking up and more time to breakfast.

My “breakfast salad” is so simple that it doesn’t require a recipe.  But it does have a few components and is not for busy work mornings.

Here’s how to pull it together:

“Jammy” Eggs

Bring saucepan of water to a gentle boil.  As water is coming up to temperature, prepare an ice water bath in a large bowl.  Place on counter, next to burner.  Once water boils, use a large spoon to ease eggs into the bowl, one by one.  Boil gently, for 6.5 minutes.  (7 minutes if you want a more solid yolk.)  Use spoon to move eggs from saucepan to ice water bath, to stop cooking.  When they’re cool enough to handle, remove peels under running water.  Set peeled eggs aside.

Bread

Prepare toast and set aside.  I made pita toast last week.  Use whatever bread you have on hand.  No need for butter.

Salad

Chop English cucumber, tomatoes, and radishes in to bite-sized pieces.  Place in a small bowl.  Toss with a little extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper.  If you don’t mind onion in the morning, add a little red or green onion.  Set aside.

Yogurt Base

For each serving, scoop 3-4 generous tablespoons of whole milk or Greek yogurt into another small bowl.  Squeeze juice of ½ lemon into yogurt, more if you’re preparing multiple servings.  Add a pinch of salt and stir.  Spread onto breakfast plate(s).  Set aside.

Assembly

Gently place salad on yogurt.  Slice eggs(s) the long way and nestle into the yogurt.  Drizzle a little extra virgin olive oil, squeeze a little lemon juice, and sprinkle with salt and pepper (Piment d’Espelette, if you have it.)  Serve with toast.

Revel in your slow morning.

Shape

By Allison

Without darkness, nothing comes to birth.
As with light, nothing flowers.
-May Sarton

Early morning stillness…  the Earth rests.  I flutter in and out of a last dream.  What time is it? Still dark.
I roll on my side.  Push myself up.  Feet dangle over the carpet.  Gentle movements.  Deep breath.  My feet touch the floor.  Warm socks, cozy wrap.

Time to shuffle downstairs.  What shall I drink?

Cool water in the kettle.  Tea tins in the cupboard.

Black tea?  Yes.

How about a Ceylon?  Smooth, elegant.  Just right.

The water trembles.  Shy light filters through the blinds.  A couple of teaspoons of dry leaves slipped into the teapot. The water begins to bubble…  Just a little longer.

Ritual gives shape to our days.  I await the first sip, and the events of today take root in my mind’s eye.  As the day unfolds, they will push through the surface.  Now, though, I focus on the breath running through me.

Our Imperative

By Allison

During my last visit to Paris, I spied a few of these messages of love, all sprayed by the same hand.  They delighted me.  Moving about Paris can be stressful, especially given the security measures of recent years—more soldiers, more police vehicles, more security checks.  In short, more fear.

The unexpected love signs were an antidote to the tensions.  They brought a pause, a smile, and a reminder of loving kindness.  This week, in the wake of mind-numbing violence in my own country, people are grasping for words.  I have not pieced together my own thoughts, and I don’t know that I will.  Yet the Paris love graffiti wells up in me.  Its clear, direct message resonates.  Love is an imperative.  Love is our duty, our privilege, and our pleasure.  And this week, it is our balm.

Between, Within, Beneath

By Allison

<img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-768" src="https://www.creativesanctuary.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/collioure-succulents-water-300x300.jpg" alt="Collioure Succulents Water" width="300" height="300" />Life is lush in this Mediterranean village.  Located in the south of France mere miles from Spain, Catalan culture pervades Collioure.  Tapas, espadrilles, sunshiny wine…  People glide between French, Spanish, and Catalan.  Vivacious and expressive, they draw me in.

I initially came to Collioure to spend a few days on the water.  I discovered the light that moved Matisse, making way for Fauvism.  I ate fresh, briny anchovies.  I watched the sun rise over the medieval lighthouse-church sitting at the edge of the water.  This bright village of 3,000 gave me both solitude and company.  I made friends at every turn—at the hotel reception, walking along the jagged inlets, sipping Banyuls wine at a waterside café.

I also experienced the grace of stillness.  In “Song of the Reed,” mystic poet Rumi counsels,

Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note 

I practiced inhabiting that hollowness.  Allowing my mind to settle beneath the buzz of the village, I connected to the minute elements of its landscape.  From that still, internal space, my attention moved to the generous succulents that dot the village, to the smooth, flat stones that make up the beach, and to the laundry artfully hung outside the windows of pink, yellow, and blue homes.  Inside my hollow note, the surrounding hills and massive château lost their grandeur.  The vividness of Collioure made its way to me through the secrets hidden within the notes of overlapping voices and juxtaposed colors.

 

Inspiration

Rumi’s “Song of the Reed”