Life is busy.
And we hustle.
Perpetually running from one phase to the next, then the other. And whether it’s the macaroni the baby just hang-glided across the kitchen, or the dog destroying the bathroom, maybe the work phone still pinging at eight o’clock? There are any number of ways meditation can become a tedious expectation.
Let’s be honest. It’s not just the war-zone kitchen/bathroom aftermath – it’s the war-zone relentless in our minds. And taking the time to meditate can become a brick whose weight threatens a sometimes fragile foundation.
If we take the act itself out of the equation, and contemplate meditation as – a quiet state for our own selves. Can we see it through the lens of radical acts of self-care? And if we can see it as self-care, then can we see how it begs the (serious) question: Are we someone who deserves self-love? Do we allow for love’s care? Do we know how to receive care’s bounty? And if we find ourselves resistant to the idea of five, or ten, even an hour to ourselves, then our contemplation rests at the foot of that resistance.
Are we at the top or bottom of our to do list?
Are we even on it?
If the acts of grounding and breathing last week were harder than anticipated, try giving yourself permission to be there. Give yourself permission to accept self-care and to be the care that we accept we need.
Give yourself space on the to do list.
Anchoring, is a continuum of the practice we started last week. It is intentionally allowing the day to settle before stepping into meditation. If our world is a constant shake of the snow globe, then anchoring waits for those floating flakes to settle. We breathe and feel the heartbeat as practiced last week and let anchoring invite the physical body to the process. It is intention and stillness and a plan for the meditation ahead. It is the final phase to move through before the silence.
Anchoring, is taking the time to feel the ground supporting our body. It is the recognition of gravity binding us physically to the earth. It is in the settling of everything around us. A popular tactic is to re-imagine the body as a tree. A fledgling whip of green stretching toward the sun, simultaneously burrowing roots from our feet into the soil below us.
Here we become the conduit between the material and our divine.
Here the body has breadth and depth, the strength of a trunk and in that we grow. Tall and strong, so that no gale force wind can topple us. There is no hurricane, no chaos that can shift us from the ever-present now.
If the tree isn’t the thing, try focusing on a monotonous outside sound (ie air conditioner or fan), or a mantra/affirmation. Think simple. “I am, or I am here, I am now.” Something easy to remember. You can say it verbally or in your mind. But close your eyes and repeat the words over and over again.
When the mind steps into the critical realm, think of the deer absolutely motionless in the field, or the horse so still it can feel the weight of a fly. Here we can remember what has been easy to forget – that we, ourselves, are mammals. And like our four-legged counterparts, anchoring into this stillness is the most natural thing that we can do.
In the anchoring we release the day. We grant permission for the quiet we’re stepping into. We give thanks for the opportunity to move away from old ruts and open ourselves to something new. We can be the tree, focus on everyday sounds, we can repeat affirmations or mantras, or set an intention for how we’re going to spend our meditation.
It is the focused settling that matters.
Change is the vine whose thorns embed inside the pattern of our thoughts. Give yourself permission to break free.
