a centering of thoughts

I've forever had a busy brain that tends to channel surf through many stations while I go about the activities of the day. I always say it's never boring in my head because there's an animated conversation or lively video one can tap into. It's a trait I appreciate much of the time because it not only acts as an ongoing reflection of the fabulous people who fill my life and the interesting things I've been up to, but it's also the birthing room for a multitude of new ideas.

The downside, however, is the feeling of restlessness that results from my inability to effectively use the off switch to stop the racing images when I need to rest. Clearing my mind of all distracting thoughts to achieve the goal of total relaxation is an effort I've always found incredibly challenging, and the difficulty of that intention has increased exponentially since Erin died. Disturbing memories of her diagnosis date, life-altering surgical procedures, bags of dripping chemicals, the sound of her very last breath...   stealthily work their way into my efforts toward a quieted mind and often bar entry to a peaceful night's sleep.

I've been encouraged to focus on one calming image, stay there and try to prevent my mind from wandering by recentering my thoughts on that picture.  The key has been to find a focal point that doesn't remind me of Erin, and that is nearly impossible because essentially, she's everywhere.  Pleasant scenes of ocean waves, sounds of falling rain or rumbling thunder, the silky texture of Keenan's fur and even the taste of my favorite peanut M & M's all remind me of her in some way. When I try to force my mind to stay with the positive remembrances in association with such images, I find myself growing agitated at the effort required to not stray toward the ones that broke my heart.

My recent entrance back into the practice of yoga has resulted in increased levels of strength and flexibility, and has also afforded the opportunity to work on the introspective, meditative principles involved in the discipline, where I hope to hone those skills and take them out the door with me into my daily existence.  At the end of each session during Savasana, or resting pose, we're encouraged to let go completely of all mental agitation, tension and anxiety, to calm the mind yet remain present and aware of ourselves.  This has been most challenging, and while we're encouraged to center our thoughts on our relaxing bodies, I've continued to search for that one calming focal point to draw and then hold my attention. I finally found it. Wheat.

While lying on the floor in the studio last Friday, I recalled my mother telling me when she couldn't sleep she envisioned the movement of an endless field of wheat; the restfulness of settling into the sensation of a warm breeze blowing across her face and causing the gentle, unified motion of the crops, harmony. Amen. When I see wheat, I don't see Erin.  At all.  There is no connection.  They are separate entities.

And when that thought came to me, I remembered the poem copied below that my friend Karen shared with me some time ago.  Its simple words center my scattered thoughts and then add the dimension of a holiness reflective of the spirituality of God's presence in nature ~ a fundamental element of my faith I find personally comforting when eloquence eludes me; in times of desperation when in a tongue-tied plea for mercy I'm often reduced to a pathetic state of frustrated silence.

Epiphany

Lynn Schmidt says
she saw You once as prairie grass,
Nebraska prairie grass;

she climbed out of her car on a hot highway,
leaned her butt on the nose of her car,
looked out over one great flowing field,
stretching beyond her sight until the horizon came:
vastness, she says,
responsive to the slightest shift of wind,
full of infinite change,
all One.

She says when she can’t pray
She calls up Prairie Grass.

© Pem Kremer. All rights reserved.

Amen.