CATHOLIC BROAD STAYS IN THE PRESENT

     We all know the drill: breathe deeply (my Apple watch nags me about this); feel yourself inhabiting your body; don't dwell on the past (therein lies guilt & fretting); don't focus on the future (there lies anxiety, that pale dragon); and concentrate on your breath. In and out. Breathe. In and out. And if you can remember a Rumi poem, fragments of Buddhist teachings, and bits from Ekhart Tolle, all to the better.

     Only problem is, I am a total FAIL at meditating, Centering Prayer ("What's for dinner, Ann? Did you remember to brush the dog's teeth?"), and most anything that requires sitting still except for eating, reading, and talking to my honeys.  I was born a wiggler and I shall die a wiggler.

     But there are a few practices which I find resemble meditation a tiny bit, which connect me to that vast stream of spirit running beneath this world and joining me to everyone else--all forms of life, including crickets, earthworms, and golden falling leaves.

     When I make food--a rather constant occurrence, as you all know--I think about where the ingredients have come from and try to picture people harvesting various foods. I.E., recently I began making apple butter, still attired in my favorite floppy gray pajamas. I washed Gala Apples in our big sink, wondering, "Where did these come from? Who picked them? Was it a migrant worker from Jamaica far from his family in upstate NY?"

     Later, after chopping and placing 12 cups of organic apples into my slow cooker, I added 1 cup of apple cider, 1 freshly squeezed lemon, and 1 cup of date sugar (could use coconut sugar as well). I hefted the heavy container onto the pantry counter and set it on low for 8 hours with the top on. At the 8 hour mark, I took the top off, stirred thoroughly, and dumped in the spices: 1 and 1/2 tablespoons cinnamon, 1 & 1/2 tsp. nutmeg, 1 tsp. ground allspice, 1/2 tsp. cloves, & 1/2 tsp. ginger, stirring them in .  Then I set slow cooker on high for 2 hours.

     Here's where the "being present" part happened. I imagined the allspice being harvested, perhaps in the Spice Islands. Within, I "saw" a woman of color reaching high into the bush, stripping off the red berries, and collecting them in a bag hanging from her waist. 

 Is this accurate? I don't know, but it connected me to a person gathering spices that I just used.  Then I touched the ground cinnamon with one finger and imagined men in the forest cutting bark off cinnamon trees and putting it in the back of an all-terrain truck to take to the factory for processing. You get the point--all the details do not need to be perfect, but the imagination must be lively and empathetic.

     Another meditative practice I do is walking briskly on our new, flat deck and reciting the Jesus Prayer: "Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Over and over. I look at this as plowing the hard-pack soil of my soul, digging deep so that God's words and mercy can sink into the furrows like a sweet spring rain, bringing forth fruit.

     Oddly enough, I also find that dusting is meditative. I grab a duster, start flicking it at the tops of bookcases, then the lower shelves, on to my bureau top, my computer desk, and more. Nothing goes through my head, da nada, just the soothing, repetitive motion of the duster.  If the sun streams in, I see tiny dust motes floating in the golden shaft. Most likely they are flakes of my own skin, made from star dust which makes everything else in our world.

     That brings me back to my blessed body, encased in skin  which renews itself each month; which covers my skeleton growing anew every decade; feeling the pulse of my heart; knowing that the organs within are doing nifty, essential things like getting rid of toxins, making urine, secreting enzymes, digesting food, and so much more.  Being present to my body and its holy humming keeps me grounded and centered. Try it, it may work for you as well!