I am connecting to the sacred by jogging/walking on the beach during a time of transition in my life. This practice become an anchor during the week. I can connect to the Divine in this space, replenish and feel strong in the earth beneath me.
There are also days when I pour my worries into the earth, which can hold them.
A few years ago, I would have been too self-conscious to run in such a public place. In fact, I was not even running a few years ago. But now, I do this to support self and find myself in new ways.
My connection to the sacred seems to be grounded in nature, for now. I am wondering how connect to the sacred when they are not in nature.
In lieu of writing about my own efforts, I have been commenting on other peoples' efforts. I do this in an appreciative spirit and mean no offense. My own efforts have been lifelong, evolving (the most important aspect to me) and always mediated through the visual and literary arts so I would have difficulty being brief about them. Something I'm working on.
But in commenting on other people's efforts, it was your's, Kirti, that I thought to comment on first. I don't wish to be presumptuous but a thought struck me when I read your "wondering": "My connection to the sacred seems to be grounded in nature, for now. I am wondering how connect to the sacred when they are not in nature"
In the form of a question of course: "What is not in Nature?" You can leave the beach and close yourself up in some temple, and you will still be in nature. You can close off all your senses and what visits you will be still in and from your own nature. The sacred is naturally available to us. I think that is what you are doing now in your jogging: opening a space in your consciousness to appreciate the sacred. I don't think there's a next step.
Three months ago I fell into a horrible depresion. I could not move. Crying for "no reason". Western Doctors gave me Wellbutrin, but I also went to the Chinese Medicine practitioner I visit in NYC. He is an amazing guy. 75 years old, full of life. He healed me from Lyme disease and healed my landlord from prostate cancer.
He gave me herbs to balance my organs (heart, liver) and also to counteract the negative (side) effects of western medicine. Then he said:
- "Claudia, You must sit down and meditate for one hour a day"
Naturally I asked:
- "Can I break it into two sessions? 30 minutes in the morning and 30 in the afternoon?
- "No!" he said, "One full hour, Every day, non stop. Focus, Claudia, focus! Let your thougths go, just silence, do not move". He then said, "I have a cancer patient, I told him 8 hours of meditation a day!, I told him: You want to heal? Then 8 hours of meditation!"
After that I shut up.
Been meditating, and going into the silence one hour a day, no interruptions for over 45 days now. I had done it before but never so consistently. Beauty and the sacred become very clear when this happens.
I have began reading books and working with dreams and active imagination. I started Jungian therapy. I am writing again. Wellbutrin is going down.
Most importantly, I have slowed down. And on some days, I am lucky enough to hear the silence.
Kerry Dennehy > Claudia Azula AltucherJuly 26, 2013 at 8:51am
Thank you for sharing this story. You have made a discussion that could have become very esoteric very accessible. Congratulations on 45 days! Wonderful!
When you say "sacred" do you mean the "not mundane"? Sacred is a difficult word in this context because there is so much beauty in the mundane, the every day...if we would only pay attention. There is so much unselfconscious grace to the movements of that teenager weaving along on his skateboard, the swish of the wheels on the pavement. That mound of apples at the produce stand blushing in their tones of pinks and yellows and reds call out to be bitten with delectable sensuality. Well, you get the point. But if by "sacred" you mean that state of mind, heart and soul in our own selves that is open to the beauty of the everyday without judging if something is sacred or not, well then yes I consciously practice the sacredness of each day.
That boy was hungry. His mother gave him Dog Salmon,
Only the head. It was enough,
And he carried it hungry to the river’s mouth
And fell down hungry. Saltwater came from his eyes,
And he turned over and over. He turned into it.
And that boy was swimming under the water
With his round eyes open. He could not close them.
He was breathing the river through his mouth.
The river’s mouth was in his mouth. He saw stones
Shimmering under him. Now he was Salmon Boy.
He saw the Salmon People waiting. The said, “This water
Is our wind. We are tired of swimming against the wind.
Come to the deep, calm valley of the sea.
We are hungry too. We must find the Herring People.”
And they turned their green tails. Salmon Boy followed.
He saw Shell-Walking-Backward, Woman-Who-Is-Half-Stone.
He heard the long, high howling of Wolf Whale,
Seal Woman’s laughter, the whistling of Sea Snake,
Saw Loon Mother flying through branches of seaweed,
Felt Changer turn over far down in his sleep.
He followed to the edge of the sky where it opens
And closes, where Moon opens and closes forever,
And the Herring People brought feasts of eggs,
As many as stars, and Salmon Boy ate the stars
As if he flew among them, saying Hungry, Hungry.
But the Post of Heaven shook, and the rain fell
Like pieces of Moon, and the Salmon People swam,
Tasting sweet, saltless wind under the water,
Opening their mouths again to the river’s mouth,
And Salmon Boy followed, full-bellied, not afraid.
He swam fastest of all. He leaped into the air
And smacked his blue-green silvery side, crying, Eyo!
I jump! again and again. Oh, he was Salmon Boy!
He could breathe everything! He could see everything!
He could eat everything! And then his father speared him.
He lay on the riverbank with his eyes open,
Saying nothing while his father emptied his belly.
He said nothing when his mother opened him wide
To dry in the sun. He was full of sun.
All day he dried on sticks, staring upriver.
Replies
I am connecting to the sacred by jogging/walking on the beach during a time of transition in my life. This practice become an anchor during the week. I can connect to the Divine in this space, replenish and feel strong in the earth beneath me.
There are also days when I pour my worries into the earth, which can hold them.
A few years ago, I would have been too self-conscious to run in such a public place. In fact, I was not even running a few years ago. But now, I do this to support self and find myself in new ways.
My connection to the sacred seems to be grounded in nature, for now. I am wondering how connect to the sacred when they are not in nature.
In lieu of writing about my own efforts, I have been commenting on other peoples' efforts. I do this in an appreciative spirit and mean no offense. My own efforts have been lifelong, evolving (the most important aspect to me) and always mediated through the visual and literary arts so I would have difficulty being brief about them. Something I'm working on.
But in commenting on other people's efforts, it was your's, Kirti, that I thought to comment on first. I don't wish to be presumptuous but a thought struck me when I read your "wondering": "My connection to the sacred seems to be grounded in nature, for now. I am wondering how connect to the sacred when they are not in nature"
In the form of a question of course: "What is not in Nature?" You can leave the beach and close yourself up in some temple, and you will still be in nature. You can close off all your senses and what visits you will be still in and from your own nature. The sacred is naturally available to us. I think that is what you are doing now in your jogging: opening a space in your consciousness to appreciate the sacred. I don't think there's a next step.
Three months ago I fell into a horrible depresion. I could not move. Crying for "no reason". Western Doctors gave me Wellbutrin, but I also went to the Chinese Medicine practitioner I visit in NYC. He is an amazing guy. 75 years old, full of life. He healed me from Lyme disease and healed my landlord from prostate cancer.
He gave me herbs to balance my organs (heart, liver) and also to counteract the negative (side) effects of western medicine. Then he said:
- "Claudia, You must sit down and meditate for one hour a day"
Naturally I asked:
- "Can I break it into two sessions? 30 minutes in the morning and 30 in the afternoon?
- "No!" he said, "One full hour, Every day, non stop. Focus, Claudia, focus! Let your thougths go, just silence, do not move". He then said, "I have a cancer patient, I told him 8 hours of meditation a day!, I told him: You want to heal? Then 8 hours of meditation!"
After that I shut up.
Been meditating, and going into the silence one hour a day, no interruptions for over 45 days now. I had done it before but never so consistently. Beauty and the sacred become very clear when this happens.
I have began reading books and working with dreams and active imagination. I started Jungian therapy. I am writing again. Wellbutrin is going down.
Most importantly, I have slowed down. And on some days, I am lucky enough to hear the silence.
Thank you for sharing this story. You have made a discussion that could have become very esoteric very accessible. Congratulations on 45 days! Wonderful!
When you say "sacred" do you mean the "not mundane"? Sacred is a difficult word in this context because there is so much beauty in the mundane, the every day...if we would only pay attention. There is so much unselfconscious grace to the movements of that teenager weaving along on his skateboard, the swish of the wheels on the pavement. That mound of apples at the produce stand blushing in their tones of pinks and yellows and reds call out to be bitten with delectable sensuality. Well, you get the point. But if by "sacred" you mean that state of mind, heart and soul in our own selves that is open to the beauty of the everyday without judging if something is sacred or not, well then yes I consciously practice the sacredness of each day.
Interesting that we are talking about beauty and the sacred as not necessarily the same thing.
The sacred is not always beautiful, the beautiful not always sacred.
Two questions not necessarily the same.
Salmon Boy
That boy was hungry. His mother gave him Dog Salmon,
Only the head. It was enough,
And he carried it hungry to the river’s mouth
And fell down hungry. Saltwater came from his eyes,
And he turned over and over. He turned into it.
And that boy was swimming under the water
With his round eyes open. He could not close them.
He was breathing the river through his mouth.
The river’s mouth was in his mouth. He saw stones
Shimmering under him. Now he was Salmon Boy.
He saw the Salmon People waiting. The said, “This water
Is our wind. We are tired of swimming against the wind.
Come to the deep, calm valley of the sea.
We are hungry too. We must find the Herring People.”
And they turned their green tails. Salmon Boy followed.
He saw Shell-Walking-Backward, Woman-Who-Is-Half-Stone.
He heard the long, high howling of Wolf Whale,
Seal Woman’s laughter, the whistling of Sea Snake,
Saw Loon Mother flying through branches of seaweed,
Felt Changer turn over far down in his sleep.
He followed to the edge of the sky where it opens
And closes, where Moon opens and closes forever,
And the Herring People brought feasts of eggs,
As many as stars, and Salmon Boy ate the stars
As if he flew among them, saying Hungry, Hungry.
But the Post of Heaven shook, and the rain fell
Like pieces of Moon, and the Salmon People swam,
Tasting sweet, saltless wind under the water,
Opening their mouths again to the river’s mouth,
And Salmon Boy followed, full-bellied, not afraid.
He swam fastest of all. He leaped into the air
And smacked his blue-green silvery side, crying, Eyo!
I jump! again and again. Oh, he was Salmon Boy!
He could breathe everything! He could see everything!
He could eat everything! And then his father speared him.
He lay on the riverbank with his eyes open,
Saying nothing while his father emptied his belly.
He said nothing when his mother opened him wide
To dry in the sun. He was full of sun.
All day he dried on sticks, staring upriver.
–David Wagoner
image.jpg
Speaking of salmon - this one is from the soundtrack of the movie Big Fish: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmUP1gp6cTs (Man of the Hour - Pearl Jam lyrics)
Tidal waves don't beg forgiveness
Crashed and on their way
Father he enjoyed collisions; others walked away
It looks like we are, among other things, talking here about "enjoying collisions".
We have just moved our consciousness to the Northwest? Beautiful.
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