Noticing

Work has been so stressful lately that I haven't been sleeping, and I can feel my health going down.  I've been doing a slow breathing exercise, taking my breaks and trying to respond differently when the hard stuff starts to happen.  Sometimes it's hard to follow through. It would be so much easier to just stumble through the day. I feel stressed and discouraged and I wonder, is it working?

This morning I sat down at my desk and opened my computer, logged on and went to email.  It's a ritual I've done every work day for many years now.  Catch up on emails, update my to do list, review the day's calendar.  Then I go for coffee.

Today something else happened.  As I read my emails, I noticed myself speeding up inside. The feeling was fast and tight. I could feel my shoulders tightening up, my breath getting short and fast.  There were emotions too.  There was anticipation, excitement and familiarity, because I love my job.  But I also noticed tension tinged with dread, the way you might feel if you were stepping into the ring for a boxing match.

I pushed my chair away and sat back, just noticing the tightness, the short breaths, and the dread. I brought my attention the moment. There was sunlight just beginning to color the sky, and I could hear people in the lobby, greeting each other, starting their day.  And I realized, felt in my body, that this moment was such a good moment, a sweet time.  I felt myself slow down inside, felt the dread dissipate.  There was stressful stuff today, but there was a small, still place in me.  I noticed how meaningful it is when I answer a question or give encouragement.  And on my break I noticed how the maple leaves are only beginning to turn red, and some are still varied shades of green.

Is it working?

Yes.

Mole Sauce

On Sunday, I made Mole.  Mole is a sauce used in Latin-American cooking.  The main ingredients are tomatoes, peppers and unsweetened chocolate.  But there are also lots of spices, and the process of making mole involves steps and processes that balance all the flavors.

I began by turning on the music, as I do every time I cook.  This morning it was jazz, brought to me by our local public radio station here in Eugene, KLCC.  To the haunting voice of Sarah Vaughn, I toasted Ancho and Guajillo peppers, sesame seeds and slivered almonds.  Then came Cumin, Cloves, Thyme and Oregano.  Then onions, garlic and tomatoes, all in the proper order, all with their own process.

The house began to smell like magic.  Charlie Parker’s sax provided background as the spices muddled.  Outside, the sun shone with autumn clarity as I sautéed and simmered all the subtle ingredients.  My home felt warm and spicy as I sprinkled chocolate into my simmering sauce, the last step.  I dipped out a small taste with my wooden spoon.  It was perfectly balanced, thick and tomato-y, the spices coming through in layers.  I ate some more, right out of the pot, just to savor the way the spices happened in my mouth, one after the other.

Three hours had gone by since I started.  It is a very curious sensation, when time goes away.  Tasting my mole, I had the sense that I had a put in a lot of work, done many steps.  But I had no sense of those three hours passing.  I put the mole away, put on my jacket, and walked into town under soaring maple trees bright with autumn leaves.

The Crux

This is my first day back at the climbing gym in many months.  The ritual is so familiar, a comfort really: dress down to t-shirt, loose jeans, and bare feet.  Get climbing shoes and chalk bag out of my day pack, find a quiet place, stretch out.  Then chalk up, lace on the shoes and start reading routes.  Once I set hands and feet to the wall, I am instantly entranced.  Even on “easy” routes, I have to shift my center of balance and use my core to make the holds work.  The intricacy and the physicality of it are completing absorbing.

From the moment my foot leaves the floor until the moment it touches down again, I am completely in the flow of balance and sequence. One route has a huge lumpy place in the wall, the only hold available.  To make it work, I must shift my center just so, palm the rounded shape and trust friction to keep me on.  These holds never feel like they’re going to work.  I just have to make peace with that feeling of “I’m about to fall off.”  When it works, and I ascend, it feels like flying.

I climb until I can’t even close my hands around the holds anymore.  Outside, the thought stream begins to come back, but it is not as insistent, or as convincing, as before.  I’m reminded that anything that puts me in the flow is not just a break from the thought stream.  Each time I enter the flow, it changes me, and I take a little bit of it with me, back to the everyday world.

Craft

I've been doing my chosen work for 17 years now, and after all that time, it feels like I am practicing a craft.  In fact, I believe we all are.  Or we all can be.  Craft comes from noticing and refining the finest nuance of the work.  For me, it comes in noticing the cultural context of the people I'm talking to, their emotional space, and many other indicators, and then adjusting my words, my body language, pace to them, so that I they feel "held."  The goal, of course, is that they will not notice that I'm doing this.

Like fine cabinetry, you don't necessarily see every touch of the cabinet maker, but you do see that work is fine.  This is what results when we bring pure awareness to our craft, whatever it may be.  Of course the benefit to the person who is practicing the craft is that they experience pure awareness.

Reflection

Today there was some very difficult news from the family.  It's funny how news like that turn you into someone else in an instant.  Like adding on a room to your house.  I shared the news with a couple of trusted friends, but by the end of the day I just wanted to sit quietly, socialize and not talk about it anymore.

At the neighborhood pub, there were friendly faces and other things to talk about.  With a part of my awareness I noticed how the amber light in the pub was reflecting around the room; bottles, mirrors, even the varnished walnut surface of the bar seemed to participate.  The light seemed to penetrate these items, and when it came out, it was thick and rich and it seemed to be spreading warmth to all of us.

At home, I kept the lights low and started cooking.  Usually I have music on, but I left it quiet last night so I could focus on the warmth of my home and the elemental tasks of cooking.  Through all of this, the difficult news was still there, but so was the magic; reflected light, friendly faces and the feel of my knife chopping an onion.