Witnessing the ordinary

This morning the visitors to my guesthouse were just ordinary folks.

Attention wandering during body scan. Then remembering to  connect my breath to each part as I scan, not planning it but staying as long as needed. Five breaths for my head covers the territory. Another five for my neck, sensing and releasing tension.

And so on down my body (interrupted occasionally by Wandering Attention, a frequent visitor) and then the feet! Yes, there’s definitely a flourish of attention and delight when awareness reaches my beloved feet.

Mostly I’m just noticing what it feels like to be me, here, now. Feeling little aches and pains, little tightnesses and heavinesses.

Then realizing that  much of my body isn’t feeling aches, pains, tight, heavy. You know what? Those parts are doing okay! Functioning with ease. I like that.

Hey, I just did the old figure/ground trick, a very useful tool. Bring the okayness to the foreground and let the pain recede into the background. Yep, I can (sometimes) choose what I attend to.

And then on to whole body awareness. I say those words to myself, start with a breath, and “decide” to stick with just breathing, noticing the expansion of my physical body and my energy with each inhalation, and the rest and release that come with each exhalation. Such a nice soothing pattern, this breathing. In, out, expand, release. Repeat until the end of this life.

Mind wanders but feels lazy, not getting very excited about anything. Actually, this is kind of boring, just sitting here breathing. If I hadn’t recently woken from a full night’s sleep, I might feel sleepy. I want something to do. Something else.

A part that lives in the dark would like to experience some silence. Sure. I/we/attention notices the emptiness between thoughts, the just being. The length of each emptiness seems to become longer. Or maybe time slows.

At times, time itself seems to be suspended by some kind of hook, and then something — another breath — releases it to drop away. Some odd dream-like mechanism is moving time, like in a Terry Gilliam film. Time is moving slowly, irregularly.

Now it’s crawling, now stopping, now lurching, back to crawling. It’s the rhythm of stillness in Gabrielle Roth’s 5 Rhythms.

And then I hear the chimes, ending my session.

Today was not a big chakra day, a big energy body day, a big mind or big heart day.

Today was a day of witnessing the ordinary.


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