Blueberry Picking

I’m excited, I’ll admit. Love fruit, and blueberries top my list. We have a local place where we pick organic blueberries and buy them for two dollars a pound.

It’s just outside the town’s southside, a ten minute drive. A hot cuppa coffee in hand, we leave about 6:30, me, my wife, and our neighbor, Barb. Barb and Walt introduced us to this habit about eight years ago, I guess. I have photos of the first year’s harvest. The morning air reminds us we’re in the mountains, and higher mountains are not far, providing nature’s air conditioning.

Arriving at the gate under the sprawling trees at the end of the dirt road by the creek, we wait for the opening at seven. Our car will probably be tenth in line or so, and we’ll sit, sipping coffee and chatting until the gate opens. When it does, the cars will be motioned forward, one by one, and directed to a parking space on the lawn to the right. Collecting our gear, we’ll move toward the next queue by the bridge over the creek.

Our gear is gallon jugs with cutouts in their tops. Besides it, we have buckets. Strapping them to ourselves with rope, belts or bungee cords, we wear the jugs and pick, then return to the buckets and fill them. We’ll do this for one to two hours on Saturday morning, collecting eight to ten pounds of berries. Affected by the weather, especially the moisture and heat factors, predicting the crop and harvests is difficult. You usually don’t know until you get there.

It’s a meditative practice. Out there with caws crowing, jays arguing, and woodpeckers hammering, the air feels scrubbed pollution free. A church-like ambiance shrouds the activities as the sun slips through and over the trees and mountains. Spotting deer strolling by or eating isn’t uncommon.

Then more people arrive. Children arrive. Daylight grows stronger. The air warms. Chattering rises. I eavesdrop on conversations about office politics, vacation plans, family updates, pending weddings, and ‘whatever happened to’ updates. I do a lot of thinking and some writing in my head.

About sixty people will be on the field by the time we leave, with others coming and going. It’s still meditative, reflective, picking berries in a swarm of living, on an early Saturday morning, in the mountains.

Turbulence

Bounced around the spectrum yesterday and today, pissed off at the world, frustrated, tired. Buckle up, I’m in for a bumpy ride.

I’m not certain which spectrum I’m addressing. The spectrum of happiness, satisfaction, or self-actualization. This could just be a broader spectrum, the ‘life’ spectrum.

Reading others’ blogs and posts, I see many battling similar conditions and why not? How many billions of humans live on Earth right now?

The best way to describe it is that I feel out of sync, with rough energy that escapes my control. Feeling this, coping with it, I wonder about cause and effect. Maybe it’s boredom, or weariness with routines of food, people, drink, habits. Is it my diet, I ask, thinking through it, searching for the food or drink that may have poisoned my spirit, or perhaps I’m experiencing a nutritional deficit or chemical imbalance. Is it hormones from my time of life, month or year? Maybe the world is just too much with me of late, and I’m suffering news fatigue, or digital fatigue. Would I be this way, I query myself, were I richer or poorer? If I was richer, could I escape myself by booking travel to a island somewhere, or someplace ‘fun’, or use shopping therapy? If I was poorer, would more critical concerns distract me?

I don’t know. I can play those games and search for answers but this is an emotional condition, not logical, not a product of intelligent thinking, but a product of emotions. What triggers these emotional switches, and why is it so much deeper now? I ponder the birthday aspect, coming up on one, and whether the stars, moons and planets – or other energies we don’t know – afflict me, conjuring up Twilight Zone and Outer Limit scenes of aliens, ghosts or Gods toying with me. It’s all in bright, fuzzy black and white.

Meditation and affirmations help. Don’t know how dark I’d be without them. I’ll go walking. Walking, with its combination of distracting my thinking and emotions, but also stimulating me with the chemicals the physical activity produces, will help. It will give me time to be by myself, and that may just be the issue here.

I want to be alone.

For a while.

Sliding

I’m sliding along the spectrum of emotions today. The spectrum itself is on a fulcrum. The slightest shift tips it sliding one way or the other.

Some are wild slides. I slip from depression to elation to bitterness and frustration, zing zing zing. Exhausting, but I’m older, experienced in my mind and body’s ways, and have some sense this will pass. Last night and the early morning both had me sliding toward the spectrum’s darker end. Self-pity and regret stifled my breathing. Reading helped me out.

I’ve not been reading much, I thought, then corrected, I’ve been reading non-fiction and news, but not fiction. So I retreated into The Signature of All Things. I started reading it a month ago. I added new books to my tower of reading and realized I needed to finish Signature before permitting new reading. A book of a woman reaching understanding of herself and heartbreak, the novel enabled some quiet reflection and delivered new insights into me and my existence.

I believe this mood will pass, recognizing it for one of the more prolonged types of funks that sometimes shroud me. They’ve always passed before, prompting speculation about what sort of guarantees that provide (none), but it does give some expectations, and helps me stay upright as I slide along.

Luminicious

Opened the blinds a little before six AM and then set about doing items and prepping for meditation. Without much thought, the angle, release, came to me for my meditation. Deciding what that meant and how to apply it, I headed back toward the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast while pondering what held me that I wanted release.

Sunshine billowed in from the east in a golden blast that filled the room. It looked so luminicious. Such a wonderful sight, I thought, yes, release. Release. Let it all go, don’t worry, trouble and struggle. Release. Breathe deep, take in the sunshine, join the moment and release.

Release. Just let myself not worry.

Release, and don’t let myself be anxious. Dismiss that ugly fuzzy energy within. Let it go.

Release. Just let myself feel good.

Release. Flow with the day, and it’ll carry me.

Release.

Drift

I’m drifting this morning, unable to meditate, unable to determine why.

Fidgeting through home worries (animals under the house, egads), the cats (what can I do to end these small wars) and my wife’s health, I drift.

Thinking about the weather and the wildfires down south in California, I drift.

Contemplating the economy, housing market and POTUS election, I drift.

Recalling the Stellar Queen, which returned to me after lo these many years (there’s a book, there, Return of the Stellar Queen!), I drift.

Wishing for the ocean and a shore of spray, longing to smell the sea and hear its thunder, I drift.

Listening to the jays and the crows calling and arguing, and the neighbors starting their cars and driving off, I drift.

Recalling enjoyable companions and amber moments of my life, I drift.

Giving up on meditation (for now) I drift into the kitchen and make coffee.

Promises

I awoke after a night of wild dreams, and dined on them as I rubbed the sleep away. Nothing nourishing was gleaned from the noshing.

Cats fed (first thing, other than some body functions – it’s in the cats’ contracts), meditation complete, I enjoy hot coffee and cool air with warm sunshine under a velvet blue egg sky. Energies are up, spirits are up.

They fertilize plans. Early morning yard work, writing (well, editing….), of course, some light housework…who knows what else?

This day is making some fine promises.

I am One

Went  with the ‘I am One’ with everything meditation today.

Sometimes I feel rattled and unsettled, searching for something in myself. Personal matters gnaw me. The Orlando murders probably escalated my need. I’ve already been feeling disturbed and frustrated with the pending Trump nomination. From what I see of his supporters, (and recognizing that I’m minimizing and stereotyping them, which doesn’t help anyone), they’re shallow, hateful people, without solutions, but ready to attack anyone different from them. They see the world in black and white, and want to protect “what’s theirs”. Immature and bullying, a master of playground name-calling, Trump feeds their anger and fires up crazy dreams that he can be POTUS and change their shit. But their festering shit is inside them. No POTUS can change that.

My questioning of them makes me question myself. Some say, “Better Trump than Hillary, who is a lying capitalist thief,” and I think, What? Where do they get their information? She isn’t perfect, but I trust my information (probably as they trust their information, we’re into such a destructive, widening cycle), even if I keep challenging my information. Full disclosure, I’m a Bernie Man. I support Black Lives Matter and the Occupy movement. I support strong pubic education, a single payer universal health care system, feminism and the ERA. I support equal rights for everyone, period, and I want automatic weapons banned from civilian ownership in America. I despise the wealthy 1% and decry the trend toward consumerism, which drives misguided values into arguing things like, “Let’s not building affordable housing because it will pull down property values.” I can’t stand animal abuse. Torture sickens me, and it doesn’t worry. People who do things because they’re fearful worry me. So do people who quickly abandon their principles and critical thinking.

The ‘I am One’ helps calm, relax and restore me, returning me to my center of balance. I am One, I think, and then count the manner and items with which I’m one. I’m one with my future, present and past self, I am one with my physical, mental and emotional self. I am one.

Then I reach out to my surroundings, imagining myself one with my house — the walls, paint, wires, pipes, roof, foundation — and all its materials, and the furnishings. I extend myself out in ever growing circles, imagining myself as one with the surrounding yard, plants and grass, the trees, expanding to my town and its people, animals, and construction, reaching for the rivers and lakes, and the coastal waters, imagining myself as one with the sun and the seas, the moon and the star, eternity and infinity, and all the energies they encompass.

Many probably accuse me of being full of New Age woo-woo fuzzy gooeyness. And I laugh, and I meditate. (They stopped reading long ago, anyway.) Then, feeling restored and closer to being centered and balanced again, I go on. I don’t have answers, but I have a better sense of who I am.

The Morning Chant

no fear

no doubt

no anger

no resentment

no bitterness

no hatred

no frustration

no pessimism

no sickness

no illness

no disease

no poverty

no starvation

no war

no killing

no apathy

Expectations for the Brain

This week, I enjoyed discovering and re-discovering reading regarding the brain and how it works, how we can change its workings, memory, and meditation’s effects on the brain. This all seems to be about practice, expectation, and changing expectations.

DelanceyPlace.com is a website that publishes excerpts from fascinating non-fiction. Back in 2015, they published an excerpt from a 2014 book. By Matthieu Ricard, Antoine Lutz and Richard J. Davidson, the book, Mind of the Meditator, is about how mastering a task transforms the brain’s pathways.

“The discovery of meditation‘s benefits coincides with recent neuroscientific findings showing that the adult brain can still be deeply transformed through experience. These studies show that when we learn how to juggle or play a musical instrument, the brain undergoes changes through a process called neuroplasticity. A brain region that controls the movement of a violinist’s fingers becomes progressively larger with mastery of the instrument. A similar process appears to happen when we meditate. Nothing changes in the surrounding environment, but the meditator regulates mental states to achieve a form of inner enrichment, an experience that affects brain functioning and its physical structure. The evidence amassed from this research has begun to show that meditation can rewire brain circuits to produce salutary effects not just on the mind and the brain but on the entire body. …”

Addressing how ‘the adult brain be still be be transformed through experience’, HuffPost had a related story this week, To Increase Your Well-being, Train Your Brain. Mimi O’Connor wrote, “Dr. Richard Davidson, neuroscientist and founder of the Center for Healthy Minds at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, believes that practice is the key element in changing our brains for the better. He is well known for his pioneering study with Buddhist monks. In that study he hooked the monks up to fMRI machines and observed their brains as they meditated. The monks produced gamma waves, indicating intensely focused thought, which were 30 times as strong as the control groups.’ Additionally, large areas of the meditator’s brains were active, particularly in the left prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for positive emotions. This study showed that conscious effort can change the neural structure, activity and function of the brain.” Dr. Richard Davidson was one of the other book’s authors, of course.

“Similar to the inspiring theme of the film Field of Dreams, “Build it and they will come,” Davidson’s motto seems to be, “Exercise them (neural pathways) and they will strengthen.”

Offering another point of view that affirms the same was Sophie McBain in Head in the Cloud. Her article addressed human memory and studies regarding the impact of computers and digital systems on our ability to remember. What becomes clear from her intriguing article is that, part of what affects our ability to remember, is our expectation of a need to remember. Here, in essence, we’re seeing the opposite impact of the other articles, where people who have computers to help them remember, don’t practice remembering, thereby weakening their ability to remember.

They’re all ripple effects, aren’t they, a sort of Doom Loop on the one hand, of expecting less and trying less, and so spiraling into achieving less, or conversely, a Halo Loop, of expecting more and trying harder.

Of course, I need to tie this back to writing. Practice writing, pursue it, try to master it, and the pathways and areas of the brain used for writing can be strengthened and transformed. Instead of believing you can’t, believe you can, and try. Being human, it’s rarely that simple, and people like Judith Sherven, PhD, can inject insights and ideas for re-working the subconscious programming behind the Doom Loop.

I’d also like to tie all of this back to time, reality and the nature of existence, but that’s for another post. Instead, I need to go off and write like crazy, at least one more time.

The Balance

My cycles ebb and flow, pushing my moods, diluting my motivation, diverting my willpower.

I seek the balance. It’s not sufficient to state what I won’t be. Nor is it great enough to say what I will be. There’s the balance of each, what I won’t be and what I am not, what I am and what I will be. Reassurances, tiny ego strokes.

Sometimes, when seeking the balance, bitterness, weariness, frustration, anger, despair, or many other negative energies, rise up like a revolting population. My fingers grow heavy just typing. Sometimes just thinking of those negative energies lash me with aches and make me tired. I want to curl up and sleep, or go have a drink and forget it all.

I know neither works. If I sleep when such darkness comes, I’ll wake up more tired and sour. Drinking under the influence of darkness leads to obnoxious, sneering drunkeness, shameful and pathetic.

So I seek the balance. White, male, decently intelligent and attractive, living on a military pension, with all the ‘good things’ people want, like a house and a car and no bills, I have enjoyed and still enjoy a comfortable life. Yet there are days when it feels like colossal wheels roll over me. I’m part of the pavement and they just keep coming, crushing me. That’s emotion, and has nothing to do with logic. But I try to treat it logically.

Or I used to. I rarely succumb to that urge any more. I sit and bare it, reminding myself, breath in…release.

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