Tag Archives: mindfulness

Travelling Together

Posted on June 20, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

I finished reading a book by Jacques Rancière and am reading another by Emmanuel Levinas. Their philosophic writings suggest a preexisting ethical condition exists in when encountering another person. There is an empathic quality calling humans to walk in the other’s shoes as we encounter each other.

In my dissertation, I argue a teacher’s subjectivity forms in placing themselves in relationship with others, students and topics. Rancière argued humans take part in life, and are not merely external observers at a spectacle. Teaching is relational and is one where the relating with students and topics is the matter that matters.

W.S. Merwin’s poem proposes even when separated humans can wait on the other person’s side of things. In mindfulness and attentiveness, humans place themselves in the shoes of the other. Today, as I read, talked to my advisor, and chatted with Kathy a question came to mind. What has happened in the world today that we struggle with the ethical and empathic living that might heal the world we live in?

If we are separated I will
try to wait for you
on your side of things

your side of the wall and the water
and of the light moving at its own speed
even on leaves that we have seen
I will wait on one side

while a side is there

11 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged community, creativity, Emmanuel Levinas, Jacques Ranciere, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, philosophy, poetry, teacher as transformer, Travelling Together, W. S. Merwin. Bookmark the permalink.

What I’ve Learned From the Dark

Posted on June 18, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

When we walk in the world, we take in its beauty in some fashion. We may not notice it in the immediate moment, but taken away from us home, family, and the world are more alive. We find the hidden beauty in the stripping of skin. This beauty is beyond the skin deep of superficial which we often soak in only to find that beauty has its flaws when looked at more closely.

Julia Fehrenbacher reminds us it in disruption, as the sky pours and the sun extinguished, we find our way to deepest beauty. We find beauty and wealth in overlooked nooks and crannies noticed when the light is dimmed and absent, even briefly. The candle of the holy invites us to look more closely recognizing the overlooked uplifting the ordinary, taken-for-granted in our lives.

It seems we must be stripped

of the skin

of all we think beautiful

before we open to the kind of beauty

that can’t go away

it seems sky must pour

and howl like it will never stop

before we notice the smile

of our own forever sun. It seems

we must hunt with starving

hungry eyes before we know

this belly is and has always been

full. It seems this wall

deep in the center must be hammered down

before we let soft, breathing hands

curl in around us. Each drop

of dark carries

with it a candle of holy

light – with each miracle breath

we are invited to turn toward

the nearest whispering spark

and, like momma bird sheltering her baby – like a pebble

in stream’s safe lap

listen

8 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged creativity, hidden beauty, Julia Fehrenbacher, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, poetry, teacher as transformer, What I've Learned From the Dark. Bookmark the permalink.

Biology: A Course Review

Posted on June 14, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

I read this poem several times. It brings to life the hidden reciprocity of life. Humans take for granted the way living happens and all phenomena are co-dependent. I read a bit of Alphonso Lingis today and he pointed out life is contingent upon relationships enveloped in reciprocity placing us in vulnerable spaces in this world we cohabit with all phenomena.

Maryiln McEntyre‘s poem reminds me of the vulnerability we encounter in life without realizing it. Life is, at once and paradoxically, strong and precarious. We cannot own something we hold in common with another and others. Humans encounter life as a covenant when we accept both its strength and fragility.

If you forget what axons do,
or how a virus invades a cell,
remember this—

that light becomes food.
That the seasons rhyme,
a different word each time

turning soil into living song.
That all things work together.
Even death. Even decay.

That this is the way
of the world we got: what is given
grows by grace and care

and knows what it needs.
That life is strong, and precarious,
full of devices and desires.

That what we hold in common
may not be owned. Control
is costly. Close attention

is the reverence due
whatever lives and moves,
mutant and quick and clever.

That our neighbors—
the plankton, the white pine,
the busy nematodes–

serve us best
in reciprocal gratitude:
what they receive, they give.

The way the heart accepts
what the vein delivers and sends it on,
again. Again.

12 Comments

Posted in Community, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments, Sabbath and tagged Alphonso Lingis, Biology: A Course Review, community, creativity, Marilyn Mcentyre, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, poetry, spirituality, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Hope (A Zen Perspective)

Posted on June 12, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Mindfulness is being present in the given moment. Parker Palmer speaks about fidelity and faith as being linked together. The faith we have is not that we follow a predetermined, linear path where hope lives. Rather it is a speculative hope and faith born from deep faith that each moment is transient and what exists in each moment comes and go.

Richard Schiffman proposed hope is not an appetite for this or that concocted future. With faith in ourselves, others, and things beyond explanation, fidelity to phenomena never fully explainable and indescribable, the present unlearns the past and the present moves comfortably into an agnostic future.

When we take time, pause and breath, we enter each moment able to let go of fictitious pasts and fantastic futures, living in this particular moment, no this one.

Hope is not about some future meadow.
Hope is not a triumphal march toward some brighter,
bloodless field. Neither is it lighting a candle
or cursing the darkness or calling the glass half full.
It is this half-empty tumbler turning cartwheels
above the chasm. You, for example—
poised above your own private precipice,
bruised and bloodied, sifting through the ashes
of ten thousand burnt offerings.
Don’t scatter those ashes; don’t stuff the corpses
into body bags just yet. Don’t launch a fleet
of skyrockets to cheer up Gehenna. Don’t pretend
that you’re still hungry, like those battle-blind birds
pecking for seeds between the corpses.
Hope is not an appetite for this or that concocted future.
It is the present seeking itself, the present—
unlearning the past, agnostic of the future—
breathing, in its chains, like the sea.

16 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged creativity, Hope (A Zen Perspective), Mindful Practice, mindfulness, Parker Palmer, poetry, Richard Schiffman, spirituality, teacher as transformer, zen. Bookmark the permalink.

Ode to Enchanted Light

Posted on June 10, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Pablo Neruda‘s final stanza is about the wonders the world sings out to us. We are in the universe and related to all phenomena. When light drops through the latticework of branches and when the cicada sings the light falls on us and the song includes us.

In the busy world we inhabit, it is difficult to elevate the ordinary to the extraordinary. When we pause and take a breath, the world senses us. We are in the extraordinary, overflowing glass. The world enchants us and we enchant it. We sing a rhapsody that is the world as the etymology of enchant suggests. Our lives become incantations and the response is the world’s incantation we can each hear in those momentary, mindful pauses.

Under the trees light
has dropped from the top of the sky,
light
like a green
latticework of branches,
shining
on every leaf,
drifting down like clean
white sand.

A cicada sends
its sawing song
high into the empty air.

The world is
a glass overflowing
with water.

14 Comments

Posted in Community, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged community, creativity, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, Ode to Enchanted Light, Pablo Neruda, poetry, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Wind, Water, Stone

Posted on June 7, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

We continuously act on the world and it acts on us. There is a constant interacting shaping us and the world. Sabbath represents a space when we take time, a few moments, an entire day, and try meet the world more fully. We step beyond the busyness and entering a welcoming spaciousness that holds us.

Octavio Paz provided a beautiful metaphor that brings the continuous interacting to life. Humans, similar to water, wind, stone, hollow spaces, disperse their gifts, and provide shelter for each other. We act in ways offering uplifting opportunities to others . As we step into Sabbath’s spaciousness, we encounter the sculptures, the holding spaces, and the transforming that is always happening around us and in us. We take time and sing, whisper, and find stillness in those spaces.

The water hollowed the stone,
the wind dispersed the water,
the stone stopped the wind.
Water and wind and stone.

The wind sculpted the stone,
the stone is a cup of water,
The water runs off and is wind.
Stone and wind and water.

The wind sings in its turnings,
the water murmurs as it goes,
the motionless stone is quiet.
Wind and water and stone.

One is the other and is neither:
among their empty names
they pass and disappear,
water and stone and wind.

11 Comments

Posted in Community, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments, Sabbath and tagged community, creativity, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, nature, Octavio Paz, poetry, spirituality, teacher as transformer, Wind Water Stone. Bookmark the permalink.

Praise Your Life

Posted on June 6, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Andrea Potos wrote this poem which I suspect has many different meanings. It will read differently tomorrow and the next day. Something new will appear as it finds space in my life.

When I found this poem, the opening lines resonated. It rained hard last night and is a cool day today. I don’t drink coffee, but my tea was the best this side of an oriental tea shop.

The poem impressed upon me the way life unfolds, much like a good book being read and re-read. We take time and find spaces where we can just be and enjoy what that book, that life means. We are called to this particular life, but it is not a given. We live it and interact with the world and its inhabitants in various ways. As a result, we change and the world changes in this living. Each time we read this book, it takes on a newer meaning, but reminds us of the past which is not simply discarded.

When on a June morning heavy with rain,
you can taste the best cappuccino
this side of Rome, in a cafe
with scarred maplewood tables,
a book of Caravaggio splayed open:
The Calling of St. Matthew
that could be set in a tavern,
a gambling den, a dank office where
tax collectors are counting their day’s work,
while in the top right of the frame, a gold-
seared light slices in, and with it,
the figure of a god made man—
a bolt of radiance shoots through
his finger, pointed as if to say: You,
it is you, I have called to this life.

8 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged Andrea Potos, creativity, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, poetry, Praise Your Life, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Make the Earth Your Companion

Posted on June 3, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Nature teaches and is always present for us to learn. When we pause and are present with the universe, we can learn. J. Patrick Lewis wrote this poem as a reminder of lessons available when we take time and make the Earth our companion.

We do not live separate from the Earth and its inhabitants, sentient and non-sentient. We live in relationship with the Earth. This suggests the companionship is direct and active, dynamic and energetic. Companionship is about breaking bread with another. When we journey as companions, we are in communion calls on us to be stewards and serving the Earth and the relationships we live in. Communion is fellowship and mutual participation, an exchange of energy which is life-giving and affirming.

Make the Earth your companion.

Walk lightly on it, as other creatures do.

Let the Sky paint her beauty- she is always

watching over you.

Learn from the Sea how to face harsh forces.

Let the River remind you that everything will pass.

Let the Lake instruct you in stillness.

Let the Mountain teach you grandeur.

Make the Woodland your house of peace.

Make the Rainforest your house of hope.

Meet the Wetland on twilight ground.

Save some small piece of Grassland for a red kite

on a windy day.

Watch the Icecaps glisten with crystal majesty.

Hear the Desert whisper hush to eternity.

Let the Town weave a small basket of togetherness,.

Make the Earth your companion.

Walk lightly on it, as other creatures do.

12 Comments

Posted in Community, Education, Leadership, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged community, creativity, education, J. Patrick Lewis, Make the Earth Your Companion, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, poetry, servant-leadership, spirituality, stewardship, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Expect Nothing

Posted on May 29, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Alice Walker is well-known for her novel The Color Purple. I don’t read a lot of fiction, but I her writing is an exception. I did not realize she wrote poetry and found this wonderful poem.

Living frugally on surprise is a wonderful suggestion. The universe is a place of wonder and awe which invites us to look again at its beauty, depth, and wisdom. We often look past the ordinary where the wonder and awe are hidden in plain sight. Being attentive allows us to encounter the universe and all its phenomena, sentient and non-sentient, fully.

By taking available compassion sparingly, is itself an act of compassion. We care for our self and leave for others who will be in need. In taking it, we stop short of feeling sorry for ourselves and understand disappointment is fleeting as are other emotions.

Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.

Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.

Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.

4 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged Alice Walker, community, creativity, education, Expect Nothing, Mindful Practice, mindfulness, poetry, servant-leadership, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

why I feed the birds

Posted on May 27, 2014 by ivonprefontaine

Richard Vargas’ poem reminded me of one I posted sometime ago called Birdfoot’s Grandpa. We each have those idiosyncratic things that make us who we are. We might save frogs, feed birds, serve meals in a shelter, etc. It is in those moments which are largely unexplainable, but clearly visible that we become who we are.

Something that stood out for me in both poems was the role elders played in the lives of others. Our grandparents and parents do things that we do not understand in the given moment. It is only years later as we experience our roles as parents, grandparents, and pedagogues that we come to understand what it might have meant.

When we take time and make the world a better place, we add something no one else can. In that addition, the world does become better. It is rarely in the large and overtly obvious things, but in the small, less obvious contributions that the world shifts from ordinary to extraordinary. It is giving without any certainty and hope of a return. We do it because it is who we are in our particular humanness which is always being and becoming in relationship with the universe.

And, it make a difference to birds, to frogs, and people in need when we add to the world without expecting return. In those moments, they are small gods in our lives. Those offerings make a difference in our lives without awareness of their importance. They add to our lives enriching them and making them fuller.

i saw my grandmother hold out
her hand cupping a small offering
of seed to one of the wild sparrows
that frequented the bird bath she
filled with fresh water every day

she stood still
maybe stopped breathing
while the sparrow looked
at her, then the seed
then back as if he was
judging her character

he jumped into her hand
began to eat
she smiled

a woman holding
a small god