I’m fascinated
now with what a Day of Disconnection reveals, some of which is even worth a
morning muse. J It has been a time of
fragmentation—fragmented energies (my spiritual director observed), fragmented
directions (required at work), fragmenting tasks at work (changes in
relationships with colleagues), disparate bodied impulses (resulting in a
slight injury or strain to a shoulder). The amount of work accomplished these
last six weeks begs review (in a coaching form, not here), but at what cost?
At the
strong urging of my director—who is never
directive, I should add—I spent yesterday in a day of intentional quiet. I
disconnected both personal e-mail addresses from my cell-phone. I put the “Sabbath-response”
onto my work e-mail address. I disconnected.
Supposed silence, but I learned I talk to my dog all the time. If I weren’t married, people would wonder at the odd
lady who talks “to herself” with too many books. Maybe I should beat the rush
and start wearing big hats. Unnerving, I’d say to myself—really, talking to
myself here—but today, I’m thinking the better word is re-nerving.
My work
pulls me out of my body all the time.
I didn’t know what to do with myself without being in front of a computer or
reading for work or taking care of the needs of another. The first telling sign
was that the day was to begin at 9 a.m. and I didn’t actually turn everything
off until 9:47 a.m. I was tardy to even my own intention. I sat for a while,
not resting. Thank heavens for Julia Cameron’s work. Whenever I’m at a loss, I do seem to return to the embrace of her ‘artist’s
way’ series, this time Finding Water: the
Art of Perseverance. I saw I had started it this past summer, prior to my
trip to NYC. I reviewed the path I had trod, then received a little nibble
of invitation “to list five small actions I could take on my own behalf.” A
slight breeze of oxygen to my spirit, my body. The rest of the day meandered
from one useless activity to the next…and it was marvelously disorienting. I
concluded the day with a non-iPod workout at the gym, startled to find myself
completing over a 3-mile run without strain or weariness. I stayed to do
additional core and strength-training exercises I’ve learned until it was 6:03
p.m. I had “made it” to the concluding time of my Day of Disconnection. I
called my beloved and we planned dinner and a Downton Abbey evening.
The shock or
surprise always comes amidst fragmenting responsibilities,
when I’ve a breath of oxygen to my spirit from a day like this: how could I
have fallen off the wagon for so long, without even noticing the bump of the
fall? When did I stray so far from how I want to live my life?!
Life offers
so many things I’m eager to explore, after all. Learning to feel comfortable
vocalizing and playing my new bodhran. Writing at least a little every day, or
5 times a week. Continuing my “body-literacy” project amidst the overwhelming
cognitions of my work (September 17th marks the last “body-literacy”
posting! How is that possible?!). Learning qigong, perhaps a little yoga.
Traveling with my husband into new adventures. Finally making a passable crusty
loaf at home (without shattering Pyrex glassware all over the kitchen this
time). The list goes on, not even including other items too ‘fresh’ or ‘possible’
to mention aloud here. How do I stray so easily from the fullness the
world offers so very readily to those willing to receive it?
Rhetorical questions, of course, but it does beg a new question this morning,
as I begin to attend to the responsibilities of the day. I wonder how many
hours of embodied activity or embodied listening per day will be required to regain,
even retain, balance of awareness across mind-soul-spirit-body ‘modes’ while
immersed in these next four months of professional responsibilities? I will be
foraying into my first completely online-course-teaching tomorrow, alongside a
weekly face-to-face class with similar material but different pacing. I have a
new writing project aching to be born, with energies to which I yearn to be
faithful. Work always calls, in its multitude of voices I quiet at random
moments—formation/integration, administration, student-advising, etc. So it’s
always plentiful, the things I’m supposed to get done, some of which I simply
cannot do, or do well, or do in a timely manner. So how to attend to the
embodied listening first and foremost?
Good first
steps have already happened, seemingly regardless of my inattention. A couple days of attempting
to unwind (and failing), a spiritual direction conversation, an afternoon of
re-arranging the contemplative space into a more open space, one with a
returned altar space. (It had had one before the last “feng shui” movement). A
day of disconnection, a re-awakening. So…while I don’t believe in resolutions
as acts of will, I do sense some budding energies for balance in my near future. A
return to hand-written pages in the morning, remembering my body while I write.
Learning new qigong forms via digital recorded instructions. Personal training
midday again, as entrance into “work must stop now” rhythms of work and
body-listening.
It bodes
well, this time of re-nerving.
