People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can’t
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.

Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won’t even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.

Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.

by William Stafford

Many of the poems that we feature here in this blog, that feel mindful, take us from the busy distracted mind towards moments of space, peace and presence. We need to be taken through this door, and poems are little doorways. This poem however, by Twentieth Century American poet William Stafford, begins in the luxuriation of a moment fully embraced – a ‘piece of heaven’, and then seems to concede to the inevitability of going back through the doorway into the melee of a busy mind and life.

Yet even though that necessity to return exists, because the fulsome early morning moment was deeply absorbed, might the day ahead feel just slightly different? The piece of heaven that was not ‘left lying around’ and was instead taken to heart may well live on clandestinely in the body as the poet gets up off the couch.

There’s something so particularly enticing about the way Stafford makes these moments feel contraband. Quiet little rebellions of mindfulness that are intimately secret. He encourages us to swim against the pervasive tide of doing, monitoring progress and conforming. He seems to be saying ‘Claim this moment as yours to enjoy, don’t give a care to what ‘they’ think. Let taking joy in the moment matter.’

Throughout the day I’m aware of many forks in the road. I can continue full pelt through the to do list and end the day frowning and rung out, or I can claim moments of appreciation for just being in between tasks and stay loyal to a human timescale, rather than a mechanical one. Might time be elastic? If I rebel against the urgency of getting on with it all, will I really end up regretting it and failing to keep up? I’ve been entering into the stealthy experiment of claiming these ‘little corners’ as gifts to myself for a couple of days now, and I feel enriched! There’s a gentle mirthful joy about it, like a serene smile with a wink. And my world hasn’t fallen apart yet.

Will you join in the experiment?

PS if you’d like to practice pausing and claiming ‘little corners’ of time and space alongside others, there’s a new Mindfulness level 1 course starting soon…

Photo by Laurence BL on Unsplash

When they’re at rest, they’re gone.
Evaporated. They don’t exist.
It’s only busyness, activity
gives them their visibility,
their realness in our eyes.

Maybe we think the same of us.
Without our work,
activity,
we disappear,
Or so we fear.

by Judy Sorum Brown

Ah, the old challenge of finding yourself more of a human doing than a human being… freshly offered by Judy Sorum Brown in the metaphor of a hummingbird that is either fully ‘on’ or ‘disappeared’ in the deepest stupor sleep. I came across the poem in the inspiring anthology Teaching with Heart, Poetry that Speaks to the Courage to Teach – where Judy shares a poem by Mark Nepo that speaks to her own priorities as educator, and further on another teacher shared the above poem.

Of course it’s not a rational fear, but nonetheless I think it’s something that may of us will recognise in some form or another. Around me I often see it cropping up around retirement – who am I if not my the identity I had in work? My dear stepdad would almost hum with pleasure when my brother affectionately called him ‘doctor’, 10 years after he packed away his stethoscope and completed his decades at the hospital. And even during holidays, days off or in the quiet moments there can be a flavour of it – is it safe to stop, to rest, to trust that being is enough? Could it be true that I don’t need to achieve and accomplish in order to be worthy of acceptance and love?

And this is where meditation practice come in, gently encouraging us to turn towards that discomfort, that fear of stopping. The stillness waiting with open arms, welcoming us to put down the burden of fearing not-enough and see what happens if we just come as we are. It will be worth it…

PS there’s a new Level 1 course starting soon, check out the dates if you’re interested in finding a group of people to make that journey with.

Photo by John Duncan on Unsplash

by Emily Pearce

I didn’t used to value rest all that much, if anything it seemed like an annoying necessity to keep going. If you google ‘human being, human doing’, you’ll find an endless list of articles, books, practices, and it looks to me like most are urging us to value the being more. Easier said than done, judging by all that output about it!

I recently came across a quote from Nicola Jane Hobbs, who has just written a book on the psychology of rest, which says

Instead of asking, ‘Have I worked hard enough to deserve to rest?’, I’ve started asking, ‘Have I rested enough to do my most loving, meaningful work?’.

It’s a privilege, of course, to be able to ask this question, and there may be many situations and jobs where that question might come across as a painful joke. But I also believe that there are many for whom valuing output and doing more has become an unquestioned habitual pattern, and where asking the ‘have I rested enough’ question could land as a wise wakeup call.

This poem by Emily Pearce (who I’ve not been able to find online to give a credit to) speaks of the deep rest that winter invites. Whether it’s my age and stage or practice finally sinking in or maybe my surroundings, I’m feeling it now… How precious to be able to pause and rest wholeheartedly, even if only in brief windows of time. Very worth practising, at least!

PS If you want to explore resting, why it may not be straightforward and how to access it more, our Level 1 course ‘being present’ would be a good place to start!

Photo by Ice Tea on Unsplash

For your
separation from God
is the hardest work in this world.

Let me bring you trays of food and something
that you like to
drink.

You can use my soft words
as a cushion
for your
head.

Daniel Ladinsky rendition of Hafiz

I like to read a poem whilst I sit to practice in the morning. When I read this one, I hear not only the kindest of words, but the most comforting intonation. This brings a feeling of being lifted in caring arms towards the nurture, restoration and renewal that my heart needs. Being spoken to with these ‘soft words’ kindles my heart’s warmth like an inner flame being lit. It’s a short-cut to the sweetest self-compassion. I feel a vulnerability to the world, and a thirst for being held in the web of life. As I sit, I rest in this opening, letting the words of the poem indeed be a cushion for my head.

‘Just rest, for your separation from God is the hardest work in this world’. Now, personally I’m not a fan of the word God, but I still find that this line is the most wonderful contemplation in itself. Having read quite a bit of poetry inspired by Hafiz (admittedly only from the interpretations of Daniel Ladinsky which you can find here), I’m noticing how many different words Hafiz uses for what is ultimate and divine. Beloved, Truth, Divine Love, Great Circle, Sun, Moon, Ocean to name but a few. So, feeling like this somehow gives me permission, I have taken the liberty of ‘translating’ the word God in this poem into a feeling. For me it is a feeling of reverential opening to the miraculous vastness of existence. So yes, when I rest, just rest, and see if I can give up the hard work of separating myself from this wondrous universe I begin to feel the borders of my awareness become porous and recede, and my skin tingles and seems to no longer be a boundary.

I wonder what this poem would bring to you in your practice!

Ps. If you are interested in exploring mystical poetry in your mindfulness practice look out for our new short course Mindfulness Meets Mystical Poetry coming at the end of March 2022.

Photo by Nick Owuor on Unsplash

to be just a being on this earth

my head objects:
there’s a life to be lived
a path to be followed
a skill to be learned
a friend to be seen
a change to be made
a corner to be cleaned
a standard to be reached

to see everything I could pursue
in this world
and to stay sane

to know all that could be done
in this world
and to choose not to

sometimes

just to fall back on the grass
and be

by Olga Bloemen

How hard it can seem sometimes to pause all the worthwhile doing and rest awhile, actually present… which is different from the ‘taking a break’ which looks like getting distracted in some juicy social media or other form of virtual entertainment, however fun that might be at times. The ‘falling back on the grass’ version of pausing I know to be a deeper resting, one that is fully present and connected with the bigger picture where of course we can afford ‘to be just a being on this earth’, as that is what we are… and from there, newly resourced, it’s possible to turn again to all that could be pursued and done in this world, and to do the doing with joyful effort.

Grateful to my friend and poet, activist and grassroots facilitator Olga Bloemen for this timely reminder of what’s important in this life…

PS. If you’d like to practice the magical pause together, there are free and daily opportunities to do so… if would be lovely to see you there some time!

Photo by Nicole Geri on Unsplash