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Freedom in the popularity of Mindfulness

When I was first exposed to mindfulness practice it was Buddhist in nature.  Theravada Buddhism to be exact; as there  are many different traditions in Buddhism.  As someone who was raised Catholic, I felt I had a choice to make, and working in a Catholic school I felt I needed to be careful how I spoke about my new practice (not that you have to be Catholic to work in  a Catholic school). Even though my Buddhist mentor consistently advised me that there was no need to choose, I was rigid and content on doing this right!

I eventually had a group of likeminded people coming to my house on Sunday mornings to “sit.” Sitting involved just that – sitting. We would sit and meditate mindfully for 20 – 40 minutes. We would then break for tea or coffee and return to listen to a Dharma (teacher) talk for another hour or so. It was. . .enlightening. Unfortunately, I never let go of my struggle of choosing.

In 2009, my sister was diagnosed with Leukemia, and the next couple of years were filled with her extreme illness, and eventually her death, and the illness and death of other people in my family of origin.  I was busy planning Catholic funerals and had lost the ability to “sit.”  My sister actually said at one point in her illness that she didn’t really want a Catholic funeral, but this was early on, and I could never really get her to engage in actual plans of her passing (she really thought it wasn’t going to kill her). So I did what any good Catholic daughter would have done – I planned a Catholic funeral knowing this is what our mom needed.  I have said often that I love the way Catholics do death.  There is hope and peace present in a Catholic funeral.

I finally felt the veil of grief lift slightly in the late summer of 2013. The intense waves finally subsided to dull pangs. I once again was called to “sit.”  Death and life does something to you (if you are lucky); there are lessons in all of it. I wasn’t so rigid anymore. I didn’t feel called to one particular Tradition. In fact I discovered American Buddhism and a Mindfulness Practice that had gained much popularity since I had last practiced. These practices were less spiritual – more psychological.  I didn’t feel defensive, upset, or rigid about it.

Once again on Sundays, a group of folks gathers at my home to “sit.” Some are Christians, some are Buddhists, some simply know there is a God and they aren’t it. We all believe that slowing down, creating space between our feelings and others’ feelings,  and not taking things so personally helps us grow emotionally and spiritually.

Even though I am not suffering from the intense waves of grief, sitting is not easy.  Life is still difficult, so sitting with it can be difficult too. Even though it’s difficult, I’m surprised to hear people say they can’t do it. It is just sitting. Mindful sitting, however, allows me to watch my thoughts. In watching my thoughts I see the vulnerabilities in me and how they can be stirred by people I encounter in my life. When this happens I become angry, sad, proud, frustrated, etc. My first reaction is to blame the person that stirred me, but in sitting, I see it is me being stirred. By sitting and seeing this mindfully, I can usually stop acting out in the ways I used to.

After all of these years, I still don’t do it right, but I now know that doing it right isn’t at all the point.  Doing it is the point. That is progress. Living mindfully brings peace to myself. . .and to those I encounter.  I’m still Catholic although I do enjoy going on silent Buddhist retreats.  I think Jesus would be a big fan of mindfulness.


Cartoon Amazing Race to Enlightenment


Something Different – – – February 28

As a very young girl I remember writing stories in our living room on Heathfield Road in the Northwood suburb of Baltimore.  I would hang my stories around the living room. It was an escape. I don’t think anyone ever read them.  I wrote a bit in college – creative writing – trying to work through incredibly intense damage from my childhood.  Writing did something for me.

I began writing again when my sister was gravely ill.  I used writing as a vehicle to give people information, but it became the thing that got me throughout the daily grind of caring for her. It wasn’t only the writing but the responses I got from others. I am what some would call extroverted. Therefore when I write, I do like people to read it. I’d love to write more. I’d love to write a book. I’d love to write for a living.  Except – – -writing is very difficult. If I want to be a writer – I have to write.

This past January, I committed to writing on here everyday.  It was kind of cool at first. It felt like a spiritual discipline. It is becoming more difficult, but a loved one reminded me that this is my blog. If I don’t write everyday, it is okay. I’m the only one that will be disappointed. We’ll see what happens.

Around the time I committed to write everyday, I also began submitting some of my writings for publication. Yesterday, my first piece was published on this very cool and quirky website called Henry Harbor.  Some of you may have seen this in a similar version about a year or so ago on here. Check it out: http://goo.gl/t14NQh


Daily Ground- – -February 27

“Life inside our skin and our skin and outside our skin are forever different” – – Mark Nepo

I’m grateful I’ve been given the gifts to discern the above.  What happens inside of me – my thoughts, feelings, opinions, and emotions – have little connection to what is going on outside of me in the world.  There are times I forget this and believe that everything is happening to me, when mostly it is just happening.

Often when I feel the crisis mode arising and it truly isn’t a matter of life or death, I realize that what I’m feeling is not a crisis – just a feeling.  I can simply pause, breathe, pray, and then determine if an action is even necessary.



Daily Ground – – -February 26

It’s still February!

I don’t mind winter – even this winter in Maryland.  We’ve had a lot of snow and bitter cold and freezing rain.  I don’t mind it really. It’s February, and I am tired. Even though it’s really cold again, I’ve noticed the sun a lot more lately – meaning – the days are indeed getting longer. But, it is still February.

A funny thing happened to me over the last several years – – -I’ve lost track.  I’ve lost track of time.  I know it’s February, and I know spring is coming, but most days I really need to ask, “What is today?”  I would not be surprised if today I asked that and someone said, “It’s March 10th.”  Seriously, I’d say, “Okay.”  I’m not sure how this happened, but I believe it has something to do with death.

My only sister died on April 10, 2010. Ever since then I tend to write the year as 2009 more often than not.  I am constantly correcting it. It’s as if I still want to pretend it’s before Terrie died.  My life kind of is broken up in 2 parts – before my family began dying and after. I’m living in the after, but I’ve lost track.

After Terrie died in April, my mom and brother both died in 2012.  Just writing that last sentence took me 5 or 6 minutes  – to do the math.  I’ve lost track. I’ve moved on in so many ways.  I’ve experienced joy again since these deaths.  But I’m different. Thank God I’m different!  How awful would it be to have your family – your history – die and me not be different.  In some way – I’m glad I’ve lost track. I’m glad there is a significant “something” that is different about me in the after.

I’ve lost track. And losing track has made February not so much different than April. April will come, and most likely I’ll be here to notice that the days have lengthened. I bet I’m still cold and tired in April and asking what day it is.



Daily Ground – – – February 15


This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

— Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

I read the above poem and I nod, and nod, and nod in agreement with each line. Knowing in my head, my heart, my soul that this is the way.  That fighting being human doesn’t work.  With each new day comes a different challenge or joy or surprise. This is life; this is learning.

And still because I am human, I struggle. I still fight it. I still try to control. I am still delusional that I can get my way if I try hard enough. If I throw a bigger tantrum.

Today, I will journey with those I love and those who love me. I will be with them and let them be with me – – – in the challenge, the joy and the surprise.  For it is only with others that I can do this thing called – being human. I will be open. I will have the intention to meet what ever feelings or thoughts come my way “at the door laughing, and invite them in.”


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