Impermanence

“That nothing is static or fixed, that all is fleeting and changing, is the first mark of existence.” Pema Chodron

Impermanence. My spirits rose higher than a soaring kite and now have calmed to the rhythm of a gently lapping wave. A friend who used to greet me brightly has faded from my life like vapor in a foggy night. A woman waits at a hospital, checking the status box “married.” Two days later she leaves alone with “widow” stamped on her form. My cat, Aslan, was here purring on my chest and now he’s not. Impermanence. How do we acknowledge that all is fleeting and changing? Do we rage against it and demand it isn’t so? Or embrace it with understanding and awareness? Perhaps we simply hope it will drift away like the cat, quietly seeking another place to rest.

Imagine practicing impermanence. Witnessing life in fleeting moments. Loving what is now. Wanting what we get. All these choices build our character and establish the timbre of our lives. Nature teaches us that we cannot catch the wind or hold a ray of sunshine in our hand. One minute the sky is clear and the next clouds have rolled in. Hollywood reminds us, too. Demi Moore reigned on the screen with her beauty and strength. Now she resides in rehab filled with fear and self-doubt. Whitney Houston, the former queen of pop, died in a hotel room the night before the Grammy awards. Life flourishes and then it doesn’t. Reminders all.

My pen will eventually run out of ink. My own lungs will ultimately cease to draw air. What does all this mean today? With what am I left? Now. Only now. In this moment I can feel the air cycling through my body. I hear the scratch of the pen across this page. The light fixture next to me buzzes. Outside a child chatters with her father and waits for the bus. The bus arrives and they all depart. A new sound hastens to fill the space. My lungs draw another breath. My hand scratches out a few more words. A truck’s roar enters the near silence... and fades away.

Impermanence. Perhaps it is the only permanent thing in life.

I’ll be pondering this today. Care to join me?

MY NEW BOOK: As I Lay Pondering: daily invitations to live a transformed life by Kayce S. Hughlett. Available here and at Amazon.com.

Mary Oliver's Inspiration

“Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!

What a task

to ask

of anything, or anyone...”

Mary Oliver excerpt from Snow Geese

It was an iconic moment that didn’t register on any paparazzi’s meter. But, I was there to record it in my memory. Less than five feet from where I sat poised to hear an inspirational talk, my curiosity and awe were tuned to high gear as I witnessed my two favorite poets in the entire world—Mary Oliver and David Whyte—meet for the first time. Surreal and amazing I watched the creator of Why I Wake Early nod and clasp hands with the author of What to Remember When Waking. It was a dreamlike moment and I invited myself to pause and consider if indeed I might still be sleeping.

Mary Oliver arrived as keynote guest for Seattle University’s Search for Meaning book festival. The jam-packed audience had high expectations for her appearance... certain that she would entertain and enlighten us with her sage wisdom and poetic words. She would inspire. We would connect. Oh, I pause and shake my head when I read those words of “expectation.” They are always a set up for disappointment. We put our heroes on a mountaintop and then dare them to reach the trembling heights. It is a daunting task.

Several weeks earlier, I spent an entire day mesmerized by the charisma and talent of David Whyte and for some comical reason I expected the same level of engagement from Mary Oliver. How audacious of me to make such a comparison! While she is a Pulitzer prize winner and world-renowned author, she is nonetheless a private woman who prefers spending hours in the woods scratching notes out with a pencil over sitting at her typewriter composing or reading to a room full of adoring fans. David Whyte thrives on sharing with corporate environments and regaling his audiences with hair-raising tales and adventures with the late John O’Donohue. He recites poetry (his and others) from memory in multiple languages with ne’er a note nearby.

Ms. Oliver offers deadpan humor and acquires a twinkle in her voice when she speaks of her departed and beloved dog, Percy. She is humble and mumbles to herself while shuffling through misnumbered pages to read her poetry rather than recite it. Her poems are wondrous and she delivered them to us one after another without pause. I found myself wanting more... perhaps a result of left-over comparisons to Whyte who offers the gift of verse repetition which allows his words to sink in and meld deeply into our bones. Mary unceremoniously tossed them into the air and swiftly moved onto the next as if the previous was of slight significance. She left us hanging and desiring more.

What did I expect or want? I wanted to be immersed in her words and presence. She offered the words and in the literal sense she was present. Was it my own demanding thoughts that left me wanting more? The practice of Buddhism invites us to consider whether our motives are pure as we encounter others and also to want what we get. As I ponder that day’s encounter and my potential disappointment that my hero didn’t quite reach my mountaintop as she shuffled from poem to poem, I realize my motive in observing her wasn’t pure. It was for me and my entertainment. In this way of being, I threatened to miss what was lovely. And as I consider the second premise—to want what we get—I find myself applauding for the humbly, mumbly award-winning woman. Did she inspire? Absolutely! Was it entertaining? No doubt! Her way was just not the way I expected. She delivered something even better—a lasting impression that gave me volumes to ponder... much like her poetry. Who could ask for anything more? Well done, Ms. O and Thank You for being you! You inspire us each to do the same.

sunrise on Mt. Sinai © KSH 2010

On hope...

People don’t cry
when they lose their
hope.
They cry
when they
get it back.

Martha Beck

Scrambling for the Safety Zone

“We spend all our energy and waste our lives trying to re-create zones of safety which are always falling apart.” Pema Chodron

Scrambling for the safety zone. Is that what my mind is doing these days? Scrambling. Scrambled. I scramble. The challenge to quiet my spinning thoughts rises. So I pick up pen and notepad while Aslan, my ever-present muse, scrambles and scurries—actually he saunters—to take his place between my chest and journal. His nose tucks beneath my left arm as he snuggles into position. Is this his meditation time or mine? Who is teaching who?

How will I share my passion with the world? The morning’s question sends me scrambling for the safety zone of assurance. What’s next? How many sales? (Let that go.) Will people like it – receive it – buy it? (It doesn’t matter.) Will they relate – be moved – touched? (Maybe. Maybe not.) I’ve put it out there. Now what? My mind scrambles to fill the space. Write here. Schedule there. Do this. Don’t do that. Just BE... comes the overarching message. Stop scrambling! Breathe. Release. BE.

Where do you find yourself scrambling for a safety zone today? Is it working or would it feel better to breathe, release and simply Be?

As I Lay Pondering: daily invitations to live a transformed life by Kayce S. Hughlett. Available here and at Amazon.com.

Caught in the Headlights

I wrote a book. Those words are enough to make me pause like a deer trapped in the headlights. My pulse starts to accelerate and I wonder if I should flee or allow myself to dance in the high beam... or maybe it's "on" the high beam, because it definitely feels precarious where I reside these days. I wrote a book... actually, I carved open a 500-page space in the center of my chest and invited the world to peek in. Here's my heart, everyone. Please be kind.

I've recently joked that I need to add Dramamine to my daily regimen, as the highs and lows attempt to swing me through my days... and then I pause and read a line or two of my own words—Let go and release... There are no ordinary moments... Recall what we already know within—and I feel myself returning to the center of my truth.

I've spent the last 3 days packing, blessing, and shipping packages of signed books to over a dozen states within the U.S. and several countries around the world. Early readers have begun sharing their moments of connection and serendipity with me. This morning a friend elaborated on how her young daughter has been using my poem, Aslan's Gift, to help her release anxiety before she falls asleep each evening. My friend had tears in her eyes as she thanked me for pushing through to publish the book, so her daughter could find this comfort. Others have written how they love "having coffee" with me in the morning (even though we're miles apart). My heart sings as I hear these stories. It makes it worth opening up the tender place in the center of my chest.

As I Lay Pondering started writing itself before I knew what form it would take. My hunch is it will continue to take on its own life as it wings its way around the world. The big question I hear most often is What now? Who knows? All I can say for sure in this moment is I wrote a book. It's up to the Universe—God, Spirit, the Unknown—to say what's next!

My hope is that everyone who will benefit or be touched by my prose will have an opportunity to do so. Perhaps it will only be my coffee buddies, Aslan's snuggle bunny, and me... perhaps you or someone you love. Who knows?

What is the act that makes you pause in the headlights while simultaneously causing your heart to sing? Find it. Do it. The Universe will applaud. I promise.

As I Lay Pondering: daily invitations to live a transformed life by Kayce S. Hughlett. Available here and at Amazon.com.

Aslan © KSH