I went to a birthday party last night. I had a couple cocktails, a gummy, saw lots of friends, sang happy birthday, and ate some really good food. You know what though? There’s a lot of the evening I feel I’ve outgrown. Yes, it was fun but being home comfortable and safe in my space would have been just as fun.
There are a good many things I find infinitely fulfilling; taking a walk, reading, listening to music, enjoying the companionship of my dog, the list goes on. These things touch a place in me where meaning and purpose flow from. I feel these things resonate there, spill out, and flood my essence. It anchors me in the moment with a deep, mindful, and self-aware joy. I’m not certain many others, if any, at that party last night feel or could understand that. The problems and frustrations of the day are all temporary matters. They are not constructions of the universe. They are complications we've designed to help us feel like we matter. The thing is we already do. Most don't slow down long enough to feel it all welling up from within themselves.
Moving through life aware of my own finiteness comforts me. I know the day will come when I cease to be and I will return from where I came. Knowing that as tiny as I am in the cosmos I played a part and I mattered. It wasn't my credit score, how much debt I amassed, what kind of car I drove, how big my house was, or how much money I had in my checking account. When the time comes it will be that I was self-aware enough to know simply being here mattered.
In August of last year I decided to start eliminating meat from my diet. I won't go into all the reasons here. I'll save all the details for another posting. In short, I looked at my dog and realized what I was doing to other creatures, and family history of various maladies. These things were my motivators. That said...
One thing I'm finding becoming vegetarian/vegan (I'm still deciding which one works best for me) is the incredible range of colors, textures, and tastes there are. The grocery where I shop has a massive fruit and produce section, almost a third of the store! Sometimes I just stand there and marvel at all the beautiful variety and richness. One of my favorite things to do is buy vegetables or fruit I've not had before. Bringing it home and trying some new recipe with it is a wonderful adventure.
And then I pass the meat section and it's all one color. Red. And sometimes you can see the blood in the tray the meat is sitting in. I realized the other day that beef basically has one flavor. One can jazz it up with different flavorings or cooking techniques, but in the end it's still just beef. Same with chicken. There's just not enough variety to marvel at or stimulate my senses in the way all the different vegetables and fruit do.
I was describing to a friend today about how I've started using mindfulness, nonattachment, and principles of Buddhism and mediation in ordinary, daily activities.
For example, when I get into bed at night I focus on my breathing. I imagine the oxygen molecules coming in through my nostrils and traveling through my nose down into my trachea. I “watch” them entering my lungs and making their way down into my alveoli. From there I observe them exchanging with carbon dioxide returning from my body. I watch as my blood cells pick up the molecules and deliver the fresh oxygen to all parts of my body.
When I eat I “see” the saliva in my mouth making contact with the food I'm chewing. I feel its presence as it moves down my esophagus and entering into my stomach. I watch as my stomach enzymes begin breaking the food down even further, preparing it for my small intestine. There I watch as the broken down food enters my body, providing nourishment and energy.
When I workout I imagine the cells of the muscle contracting and relaxing, working in tandem to achieve the repetition. Each rep a harmonious, coordinated dance of my body's muscle working together to achieve a goal.
Recently I had a particularly nasty chest cold. It was almost impossible to breathe. My chest felt like it was full of cotton that wouldn't budge, and I was sore from all the coughing. During meditation sessions during the day and at night in my sleep I imagined each individual cold virus to be a tiny Brillo pad, a scratchy, ugly irritant that didn't belong in me. Then I would watch as the elements of my immune system engulfed and destroyed each one.
As I do each of these meditations on my body I talk to my body. Literally. “Accept this fresh oxygen in the spirit it is being given.” Or, “Please use this healthy food in the best way you know how.” During workouts I encourage my muscle cells as I'm watching them, “Push! Pull! Feel us all working together!” And as for my illness, “Immune system, please use your abilities to help rid me of this infection.”
Does all that work? Maybe. Maybe not. The point is that it has helped me to have a much stronger relationship with my body and my mind. After describing all this to my friend this morning, he he came up with a fantastic name for it: Body Buddhism. I can't get the phrase out of my head as it describes perfectly what I've been trying to put a name to. Body Buddhism brings a deeper harmony to me that only gets better the more I practice it.
