by susantara | Feb 24, 2023 | Mindfulness |
Hello Discouragement
Today I feel discouraged
Or you could say:
Discouragement is present.
But what’s different now
Is that I realize it’s just a feeling,
An energy moving through me.
It’s a feeling – it’s not me
And I am not it.
It’s simply a visitor who
Has been here before
And will come and go again.
No need to identify with it
Or to believe the thoughts
That fuel it.
I simply can greet it
Without feeding it
Or letting it get too comfortable.
Hello, Discouragement.
I see you. You, too, are welcome
In the vast ocean of this heart.
But please tell me, if you will
How you found your way in
This time.
Through the usual passage:
A not-so-great night’s sleep,
And Anxiety opened the door.
So tonight I will prioritize sleep
And remember that perhaps tomorrow
Or another day when I feel more rested
There will be the chance meeting,
The inspiring or hopeful conversation,
An insight that propels me out of bed
In the direction of yes!
But probably not today.
Today it is enough just to
Turn down the volume
Of the inner storytelling
And realize this mood will pass.
© 2023 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. You are welcome to share this post or excerpts of it as long as you give proper credit to Susan Meyer and SusanTaraMeyer.com. Susan Meyer is a photographer, writer, and spiritual teacher who lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Nov 6, 2022 | Mindfulness |
Last night, I recalled a phone call I received from my granddaughter a few evenings ago. She called to tell me she enjoys meditating outdoors. I asked her how she does it, and she said she “sits on the ground and listens to all the sounds of the world”.
Which made my heart so happy that my eyes leaked. That phone call gave me hope.
Then I started thinking of The Wizard of Oz and how Dorothy had the power to return home all along. How many times did she click her heels together to get back home? Three times – the same number of breaths I take when my mindfulness bell rings throughout the day. And then the poem started flowing.
The Power to Return Home
The world offers endless distractions,
Even right here in the palm of your hand.
When life feels chaotic and uncertain,
You must reclaim your attention
As if your life depends on it
Because it does.
To kindle hope, it is imperative
To know the way back home to your center
So you may be resourced and restored
By your own goodness and the kind voices
Trying to reach you through the clamor
And forgetfulness of your busy life.
You don’t have to make time
Or wait for particular conditions.
You just have to remember
That you have the power
In any and every moment
To befriend your breath.
Ride it inward. Breathe out
All of the preoccupations
And thoughts that cover presence.
Feel your feet on the ground.
See the clouds in the sky.
Listen to the sounds of the world.
It doesn’t matter what others do.
Don’t exchange your sovereignty
For collective madness. In this fear
Pandemic, boost your immunity
By taking refuge as often as possible
In a few conscious breaths.
© 2022 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. You are welcome to share this post or excerpts of it as long as you give proper credit to Susan Meyer and SusanTaraMeyer.com. Susan Meyer is a photographer, writer, and spiritual teacher who lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Mar 30, 2022 | Mindfulness |
I woke up this morning to a fairly ambitious agenda and after settling into the day, got to work.
Eventually, I looked up from the computer screen and noticed the movement and the vivid blues of the river landscape outside the windows. The flowing river is the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning. Windows and mirrors throughout the house offer glimpses of the river as I move between rooms during the day. My desk in the corner of the sunroom provides a front-row view.
I never know what will come flowing down the river from one moment to the next. Sometimes it’s a poem, and all of a sudden writing it down takes precedence over everything else.
Being With Nature
This morning, sky and river are so blue:
Clouds and waves flowing as if
Carried by conveyor belts.
The sun shines in the sky,
Sprinkles down handfuls of sparkles
To dance on the water
With contagious laughter.
Right now, it makes no sense
To be indoors staring at a screen.
It is time for a break.
Look out a window. Give attention,
Receive something in return
Without trying. Let the mind rest.
Allow the heart and inner senses
To take over for a little while.
Follow the impulse to go outside
And caress the earth, one footstep
At a time, free from any destination
Other than true presence and relationship.
Become aware of the messengers—
Hawk, robin, loon—whoever appears.
Listen to the invitation.
How are you being asked to show up?
And can you say yes?
Just as we are restored and inspired
By the embrace of the natural world,
So, too, does Nature delight in the kiss
Of human eyes, ears, feet, tender touch.
The interplay of sunlight or water
On bare skin, wind in hair,
Footsteps on the earth,
Is reciprocal.
Have you sensed the merriment
Of wind playing with your hair
And how the notes change across
Moments and conditions and differ
From the songs of wind chimes
And willow trees?
Have you experienced the rhythm
Of flowers swaying in the breeze
And how the very same rhythm
Moves through you, beneath the surface?
Go outside. It is time to celebrate,
To whisper or dance or sing:
I am here, Love.
© 2022 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. You are welcome to share this post or excerpts of it as long as you give proper credit to Susan Meyer and SusanTaraMeyer.com. Susan Meyer is a photographer, writer, and spiritual teacher who lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Jan 2, 2022 | Kindness & Compassion |
More evenings than not, I have lengthy video calls with my granddaughter, who will turn six later this month. The other night, she told me she wishes everyone could “just be good to each other.” My daughter told me that was her “Santa wish”, and she also expressed it again last night at bedtime.
Out of the mouths of babes.
Sometimes I tell her there are adults who maybe should go back to kindergarten and learn how to get along with others and manage their feelings better. She thinks that’s funny…but also true.
Her wish reminded me of some words I penned in the middle of the night recently, before falling back to sleep. I wrote them and then put them aside. Hearing my granddaughter’s wish prompted me to revisit and share them.
True Freedom
Whoever you are, you are
First and foremost to me
A soul being expressed
As a human being
Who loves and hurts
And hopes and grieves
Just like me.
I, too, have held some beliefs
So tightly that a position
Became my identity
And lifestyle choices
Became a checklist
By which I judged
And set myself apart
From others.
From that, I learned
It doesn’t feel good to be so rigid
In my beliefs, to push away
So many “unenlightened” others.
It causes suffering.
I, too, was for a time
On more than one occasion
Seduced by charisma and appearance.
I, too, clung to an idealized image
Of someone because it helped me
To feel better about myself.
I have both looked down on
And elevated others
To boost my self-esteem:
Pushed them away to affirm
I was unlike them
Or pulled them close and sought
Their approval and affection
To affirm my worthiness.
But eventually I realized
It felt better to set myself free
From all that nonsense
Than to perceive someone
As either a minor god or a monster
And sometimes both.
There have been times
When I held onto illusion
For far too long,
And therefore I cannot condemn
Anyone else for doing so.
My experience, though humbling,
Has grown my compassion.
May I not be content to make
Anyone into a concept such as
Narcissist, corrupt politician,
Or simply other
And fail to see them
As a multifaceted being,
Just like me.
May I not hold any label
As a destination
But rather as evidence
That there is more
To learn and understand.
And at the same time, may I
Implement healthy boundaries:
See their light and take no shit.
May I feed the Good Wolf
In myself and others.
Hurt people hurt people.
And I, too, have hurt people.
I have betrayed myself
By using someone else
As a self-worthiness project
And know how bad it feels
To make self-betrayal into a habit
And a prison
To which we ourselves hold the key.
What great relief it has been
To stop projecting
My stuff onto others
And to set myself free.
It wasn’t easy, but it was
Worth it every time
To step out of the story,
Let the spell wear off
And relate to actual people
Rather than ideas or ideals
Even when someone
Really hurt me.
Choosing to see more clearly
Even when it makes our ideas wrong
Or somehow less right
Doesn’t make us weak,
Is not failure.
To stop regarding
Our beliefs as Truth
Sets us free.
True freedom is unmasking
In a much deeper way:
Being seen and valued
Exactly as we are
And accepting ourselves
As such.
True freedom is refusing
To allow our heart
To be held hostage by ego
And not taking our differences
So damn seriously
That we depend on
A bad or unenlightened Other
To validate by contrast
Our own goodness.
© 2022 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. You are welcome to share this post or excerpts of it as long as you give proper credit to Susan Meyer and SusanTaraMeyer.com. Susan Meyer is a photographer, writer, and spiritual teacher who lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Apr 11, 2021 | Mindfulness |
My eyes blinked open a little earlier than usual to pink light streaming through my bedroom window. Barely out of a dream, I jumped out of bed, grabbed my camera, and dashed across the road to the riverside. The sunrise sky changes from one moment to the next, and I had to wait for a few cars to pass before crossing the road. The opening lines of this poem started drifting through the air as I wondered if the sunrise colors would wait for me to cross the road.
After capturing some images, the dramatic, early sunrise colors faded, and I lingered on the riverside as the rest of the poem developed. (Fortunately, there is a small notepad and pen in my camera bag for such occasions.) Before the sun appeared above the tree line, I returned home with both a picture and a poem.
Maybe
Maybe it’s not the sunrise sky.
Maybe it’s the way the budding trees
Are silhouetted by the angle of backlight
Or the sound of a woodpecker across the river
Providing percussive accompaniment
For the songbird symphony.
Maybe it’s not the great blue heron.
Maybe it’s the cluster of forget-me-nots
Growing out of the rocky wall
As you paddle by.
Maybe it’s not reaching a certain
Destination or state of mind.
Maybe it’s the sound of your paddle
Dipping into calm, reflective water
Or each footstep touching the ground.
Maybe it’s not the white swan
But how it inspired you
To pay closer attention
And to have enough hope
To take the next step.
Maybe it wasn’t getting the shot.
Maybe it was being there
And experiencing what was there
Instead of being disappointed
By what wasn’t.
Maybe waiting for the sun
To emerge from or duck behind a cloud
Is an invitation to notice
Something small and lovely
That would have remained unnoticed.
Maybe it’s not something tiny
But taking in the whole landscape
That includes you sitting or standing here,
Part of it all, breathing.
Maybe it’s not a sight but a sound
Or an opportunity to adjust
The focus, the angle, the depth
Of your field of awareness.
Maybe what you were looking for
Was just one of infinite possibilities
And your expectations not being met
Is a gateway to something greater.
Maybe it’s not about happy-ever-after.
Maybe it’s feeling alive and engaging
With the magic of the moment,
Which is the only moment we have.
Maybe it’s not the place you go to
But the person you’re with,
Or maybe it’s the other way around.
Maybe it’s not a particular thing.
Maybe it’s the emotion it calls up
And how it can wisen you.
Maybe what you set off in search of
Isn’t what you will find.
Maybe its purpose was to set you
On the path in the first place.
© 2021 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. You are welcome to share this post or excerpts of it as long as you give proper credit to Susan Meyer and SusanTaraMeyer.com. Susan Meyer is a photographer, writer, and spiritual teacher who lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
