Taming the Monkey Mind: a 28 Day Meditation Challenge

Posted on by stilllearning2b
English: Yawning Vervet Monkey. Samburu Nation...
Image via Wikipedia

So, I’m sure this will come as a huge shock to those of you that have been keeping up with me, but my mind has a tendency to jump around a bit.  It leaps from thought to thought like a monkey swinging through the trees, grasping one just long enough to get to the next, chattering all the while.

At various points throughout my life, I have made attempts to tame this monkey-mind of mine, only to surrender to its wild state.  Well, as that monkey gets older, I’m a little afraid that it may become more resistant to training, as it becomes accustomed to having its way.  So, I am going to try once again to tame it.

This time, I am going in prepared.  I am setting a goal.  Creating structure.  Bringing along support.

So, what does one need to tame a monkey-mind, you ask?  Here is what is in my arsenal for this go-round:

1 copy of Real Happiness: the Power of Meditation by Sharon Salzberg  with CD

6 boxes of incense

1 comfy fuzzy blanket for when my office is cold

English: 3 candles
Image via Wikipedia

1 lamp for soft lighting

1 large pillow for proper seating

assorted candles

various smell-good balms and lotions

Of course, none of this is really necessary to tame a monkey-mind, but I like to be prepared.

In the past, I would start to develop a habit of meditation and then I would slide.  I do not know why I am resistant to something that feels good in the moment and makes me feel better in general, but I always seem to find something else to do.  Ah ha, therein lies the problem.  I want to DO, instead of just BE.

In order to hold myself accountable through this 28 day challenge, I am going to write about my experience.  It may not make for the most interesting reading, but I need to make it public so that I won’t let it slide.

So here goes nothing, I’m about to face that monkey-mind of mine.

Day 166/365-Meditation
Day 166/365-Meditation (Photo credit: thekellyscope)
Related articles

Running With Zombies

Posted on by stilllearning2b
English: A participant of a Zombie walk, Asbur...
Image via Wikipedia

Some people like to run with friends. Others prefer to run with scissors (I’m looking at you, Augusten Burroughs). As for me, I prefer to run with zombies.

First, a quick note. I’ll be honest: I’m not sure which preposition to use here.

Running with zombies or

Running from zombies?

Nonetheless, I did run and there were (at least in a sense) zombies.  I downloaded the Zombies, Run App on my iPhone the other day.  This app is like a video game that you play by running.  A story is told, a mission at a time, over and between the songs on your playlist.  As you reach certain time and/or distance goals, you obtain items which help you in further missions.  The best part, and the reason I tried the app, is that periodically the zombies will chase you, forcing you to pick up the pace and sprint.

A little disclaimer here.  I’m usually really good about pushing myself, but I have a hard time doing much of a sprint in the middle of a run.  I get in the groove and go.  So, usually my excuse for speed work (with the exception of dedicated sprints) is pretty pitiful.

Yeah, the zombies changed that.  Even when you are surrounded by families pushing strollers and walking adorable little puppies, something about the sounds of the undead behind you encourages you to run.  Fast.  I got more out of that run than I normally do with speed work.

Today was my first trial, and I now know I need to tweak my playlist before I use it again.  I tend to run to a mix of heavy metal and Celtic music (look, we’ve already established I’m a little nuts; no need to rub it in).  Well, the former, was a great soundtrack for the walking dead.  Somehow it just seemed right to hear their moaning over Megadeth, Slayer, or Dead Horse.  But the Celtic?  Not so much.  I kept picturing a pipe and drum band formed of zombies chasing me, their kilts a’flapping in the wind.  Shudder.  I think I might save the Scottish for the zombie-free runs.

Overall, it was a fun little experiment that made my run entertaining and pushed me a little harder.  I think I’ll add zombies to my running repertoire.  Once I rip those bagpipes from their undead hands, that is.

Related articles

I Was Lucky

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was lucky. I never spent time in a decaying marriage. The lies that destroyed the relationship protected me for its duration, keeping me cloaked in relative comfort.

I was lucky. I never had to wrestle with the question of should I stay or should I leave? That decision was made for me.

I was lucky. I never had the pain of hoping for or trying for reconciliation. You cannot reconcile with someone who has become a ghost in his own life.

I was lucky. We did not have children. I did not have to see the pain on their faces, nor engage in a battle for them through the courts.

I was lucky. I had a clean, sudden amputation of my life, my marriage. The trauma was near-fatal, but I was left with a clean cut.

I know not all of you are so lucky. You may be deciding if your marriage can be saved. You may be hoping that it can still work out, alternating between hope and despair. You may be subject to painful contact with your ex. You may have to tuck your kids in, wishing you could take their pain away.

Even if your marriage did not end in a sterile amputation, you still have some control over how it heals. Take care to keep the wound clean and expose it to fresh air. Tight bandages may hide the damage for a time, but the wound will only fester when it is kept in the dark. Do not worry at the healing skin. Leave the scabs until they fall off of their own accord; they provide needed protection. Be gentle with the new skin, the new growth, for it is still fragile with its pink-tinged hope. Sooth the wound with the balm of your friends and family, your pets, your passions. And know that the scars only serve to make you even more beautiful.

R.I.P. All Terrain Pug

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I received the sad, yet not unexpected news today that Max, my beloved pug dies this past fall.  My ex and I got Max when she was just a little puppy, 2 pounds of spunk and attitude.  She managed to pack the personality and courage of a mastiff into her little body, making sure that everyone knew that mighty Max was around.

One of my favorite early memories of her was when she was around 10 weeks old.  She could still fit in the palm of one hand.  We came home and found her curled on a pillow on top of the couch.  This was a surprise, as she had been placed in the bathroom with a babygate blocking the doorway.  The gate was still in place, but the dog was not.  Puzzled, we placed her back in the bathroom and sat outside the gate to watch.  She climbed the gate as though it was a ladder, teetered on her fat little belly on the top, and jumped/fell unto the floor.  She waddled towards us, so proud of her accomplishment.

She was a very smart dog (and extremely food motivated).  I once taught her to “crawl” in the time it took my ex to take a shower.  In her heyday, she knew the names of over 40 toys and would fetch the appropriate one.  That same food drive got her into trouble.  We only made the mistake of leaving a bag of food within her reach once.  On that day, we came home to find a half empty 30 lb bag of previously unopened dog food on the floor with a very fat pug sleeping just inside the walls of the bag.

We used to take her camping, hiking, and swimming.  Her enthusiasm and determination on these outings earned her the nickname “All Terrain Pug.”  I’ll never know how her stubby little legs managed those tough trails.  Catching deer was never her strong point, though; she would walk right by them and never even notice their presence.

She was our dog, but she was more mine.  My ex moved across the country for work and it was 7 months before Max and I were able to follow.  In that time, she and I bonded even more as we waited for our family to be reunited.  She was with me through my entire marriage, my entire young adulthood.

When my ex left, I was not able to care for her or the other dogs.  My friends and family helped to find homes for them.  Max was the challenge.  She was 14 years old at the time and already deaf and almost blind.  The pug rescue group was full and she was not adoptable.  I didn’t know what we were going to do; it wasn’t time to put her down, but I could not take of her myself.  A wonderful woman stepped up and agreed to take her.  She has provided a wonderful, loving home for my baby for the past few years. It was more than I could have ever hoped for.

Today, I am saying goodbye to my Max for the second time.  I always thought I would be there with her at the end and it is hard to know that I couldn’t.  My tears are for her passing, but mainly for the gratitude I have for her second mom, who gave her a home when I couldn’t.

 

Alone

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It is not unusual to experience loneliness during and after a divorce.  After all, you have not only lost your life partner, but often extended family and friends, as well.  Adding to that, divorce can be isolating.  It is all-consuming and others often tire of its dominance in your life.  It seems a cruel joke; when we need others the most, we can easily find ourselves alone.

I realized how alone I was when I could go places without needing to leave a message of when I would be back.  I would pick up the phone to share something I saw and realize that I had nobody to share it with.  When I was sick, there was nobody to send to the store for Gatorade and Sudafed.  The bed felt empty.  My heart felt emptier.

I very intentionally surrounded myself with people.  At first, this made me feel even more alone, as I felt like an interloper, a pariah with my pain.  I played the part, acting as though I felt included, until I actually did.  I realized that the feeling of isolation was my perspective, not reality, and I can change my perspective.

The Three Factors of Loneliness | The Emotionally Sensitive Person.