Guarding the Heart

I tend to finish what I start, yet I just stopped reading a 688 page book on page 227.  I realized that my customary good spirits were waning, and I connected that to reading this award-winning novel each night. The talented writer renders a complicated context in which each character lives and recreates the oppressive conditions of its setting in the reader. However, I cannot absorb a couple hundred pages of violence and the worst in human kind with impunity.

There’s a spiritual concept called “guarding the heart” and “guarding the eyes” that comes from the desert fathers and mothers. While I’m not oblivious to the mayhem in this world—headlines of heartbreak and outrage come steadily into awareness-- I do watch where I put my attention during discretionary time. 

 Just as I don’t pay for movies that scare me or go on amusement rides that turn me upside down, I use my free time to seek out kindness, wonder and the kinds of connections often called “heartwarming.” I guess that’s why I’m so drawn to the concept of leaning into the light.

 I can appreciate the accomplishment of this massive book and be grateful for the privilege of setting it aside.

In Praise of Hot Coffee

I was on silent retreat last weekend and was consistently amazed at how hot the tea and coffee was at the monastery.  Every single cup impressed me with its delicious flavor and, most of all, its heat.

On the second day it occurred to me that there was nothing special about the retreat center’s coffee dispensary; I was simply drinking immediately after pouring, something I apparently never do.  

Rarely do I drink a cup of tea immediately after preparing it, and this is even true at home, first thing in the morning. At work, I make a cup and then do 17 other things that call my attention. Every cup I drink is cool or lukewarm at best. 

On retreat, after 24 hours of “desert time,” my powers of observation and awareness were keen. The silence and the pace slowed me down so much that while I was reading a poem and drinking a cup of coffee a voice inside said “too busy.”  I wasn’t really focused on either action, so I put down the poem and simply drank the hot beverage, savoring each sip.

How I wish I could be so attentive always.  Yet last night driving home in traffic I had to slam on my brakes so quickly that everything on the front seat fell to the floor. (This used to happen weekly so I’m happy it occurs less often.) Where was my attention when the car in front stopped?  

As much as I’d like my life to feel like a retreat, it doesn’t always. Even as I finish this blog I’m eating my lunch because I have to be somewhere in 12 minutes. Ah well. Walking the spiritual path is a continuous process of notice, adjust and savor. Notice, adjust and savor.