by Connie Habash | Aug 5, 2020 | fulfillment, Nature, Patience, Quiet, stillness, Time
Feeling stressed and short on time? The best way to shift out of overwhelm and find fulfillment is to stop completely, unplug outdoors, and open up to timelessness.
It was a Thursday morning, and I had just dropped off my daughter at her internship at a nature preserve. The perfect time for me to visit the lake at Foothills Park, just 5 minutes away. I relished the idea of alone time outdoors.
No Cell Phone!
The problem – I didn’t have my cell phone. My daughter had left hers at home, so I gave her mine just in case she needed to reach my husband. I won’t be able to take photos (on this visit, but I went back the next week for the photos you see here!) and worst of all, I won’t be able to keep an eye on the time. Luckily, I didn’t have plans for the day, so what did it really matter?
Boronda lake is near the park entrance – just a short drive down on the left. I stopped at the first dock and parked. It was a perfect morning – the sun gently shining and only one other person in sight. The dock was happily empty and beckoning to me.
I walked slowly over to the edge of the lake and waited. It helps to approach natural areas mindfully, so the wildlife is less likely to scatter. Juncos were softly perusing the grass for seeds with their chip-chip calls, but they moved aside for me. Three female mallards were stepping into the water as I approached, but much as I wanted them to stay, they entered and paddled off silently. So I stepped onto the dock, walked to the end, and sat down next to the edge.
The water was amazingly clear – I could see to the shallow bottom and the plants growing beneath, which I recognized from another pond at a camp my daughter and I used to attend. Then, I heard the sound of a red-tailed hawk on the other side of the lake. Was that one in a tree up high on the hill? I saw a dark spot in the foliage and wondered. But maybe it’s just a gap in the branches, showing the shadow behind it – too far away to tell. How could I know? I’d have to wait to find out.
An Opportunity Without Time Constraints
I had wanted to walk around the lake, but I was intrigued by the possible raptor – I really wanted to know if it was sitting there in the tree, and watch it take off. So I decided to be still and wait. This was my opportunity to have a nice long “sit spot” – one of my favorite deep nature connection practices that deepens my experience of Presence. I often do “sit spot” in my front yard at home, but being so close to my computer and all the “to-dos” of the day makes my sit-spots a bit on the short side. This would be a blessed, leisurely immersion away from the constraints of time.
I expanded my senses and heard the Nuttal’s woodpecker in the trees behind me to the right, and the chitter of a hummingbird on my left side. Then, I peered down in the water and watched for signs of fish. At first, there were just guppy-looking tiny fish, swimming in and out of the shelter of the swaying green” parrot’s feather” plants. I waited quietly some more; much to my surprise, a considerably larger silver fish swam into view. Wow! You really could fish here.
Over near the cattails on my left, a black bird with a lighter beak swam along like a duck – I later decided it was an American Coot. It dove into the water for long periods, and I started to count – 13, 14, 15 seconds – and it popped up several feet away. What fun! The ducks took some interest in me, and now I saw that there was a mother and two slightly smaller juveniles. They swam by within 3 feet of me, looking cautiously into my eyes.
My Vigil Served a Better Purpose
What time is it? I didn’t know, but I kept constant vigil on the tree across the lake with the dark spot, still hearing the occasional call of a red tail. It hadn’t moved. My mind went into a debate about whether I was imaging it or not. I waited some more, eager to see it take off. But my vigil served a better purpose.
The truth was, it didn’t matter if the hawk was there. The curiosity about it was simply the impetus for me to stay and drop into timelessness. I didn’t know how long I was sitting there, and I didn’t care. More fish swam through the plants, one jumped out of the water about 20 feet away, and then, to my delight, a turtle ambled by! Visits from more ducks, the gentle breeze on my face, and the warm sun brought a peaceful joy. A bullfrog caught my attention with it’s croaking in the reeds on my right. Swallows zoomed over the lake in wide arcs, snatching up bugs close to the water’s surface. I could sit on the deck all day and immerse in the unfolding stories of the animals.
The excuse of waiting for the hawk (that never launched from the tree – likely just a play of light and shadow) and the lack of a cell phone shifted me out of distraction and the perception of time. Being without a device was such a blessing. I dropped into the ease and delight of the present moment, just being with the ripples on the water, the paddling of the ducks, and the sweet sounds of the chickadees behind me on the shore.
Timelessness is Deeply Fulfilling – and Available if We Choose
At some point, I was ready to abandon the hawk mystery. It was time to leave. But it didn’t come from checking the clock; I felt filled by the sense of timelessness from simply sitting quietly outside and receiving all that nature had to offer. There was so much beauty and simplicity – what more did I really need?
Upon returning to the car, I saw that I had been there an hour. I was amazed at all I saw, heard, and felt in that period of time, and noted how deeply fulfilled I was. When I am pressured by checking the clock and looking on my device, I miss so much, and at the end of the day, I don’t feel this kind of ease. Having a long, magical “sit spot” at this beautiful place – without the pressure of time – was more than enough, though, to renew me. Back at home, I felt re-inspired and ready to write and create.
I realized that timelessness is always available to us, if we make the time to receive and experience it, away from all the things that fill up the hours of the day. Will you take the time this week to step away from the clock and devices, and receive? Share your story here.
by Connie Habash | Jun 9, 2014 | Consciousness, Meditation, Nature, Peace, Quiet, Thoughts, Tranqulity
Imagine sitting by the shore of a pond. There is a gentle breeze, just enough to tickle you, on a balmy, warm day. You can hear birds singing, talking to one another, with spacious periods of serene silence in-between. At the near edge of the pond is a grouping of lily pads, with several pale pink blossoms opening themselves to the sun. Other than the occasional duck that paddles by, the water is smooth as glass, undisturbed and reflective.
Suddenly, a sizable stone is tossed in the air, and lands soundly in the middle of the pond with a ker-plunk! A duck, seemingly out of nowhere, takes flight, fleeing to the far side of the pond, while the birds pause, listening. Ripples extend out from the point of impact, yet the stone itself has disappeared, settling to the muddy bottom.
Slowly, steadily, the ripples soften in their intensity, echoing out to the pond’s edge, and gradually the water returns to its smooth, undisturbed state. The birds resume their song, and the cattails gently bend in the soft breeze.
For me, this is a place of tranquility – quiet and peaceful, harmonious and natural. We all love to spend time in tranquil places in nature. But what we seek most is the tranquility of the mind and spirit. This is a mind that is free from agitation, undisturbed. It is an inner state of steadiness.
But like the pond, disturbances are part of life. We inevitably experience situations that create turmoil from time to time. More commonly, we experience mental turmoil – rumination, obsessive thoughts, worries, frustration. Just like the stone thrown into the water, we are all too familiar with pebbles, stones, and large rocks pummeling our internal pool.
The key to maintaining inner tranquility is found in the metaphor of the pond. The pond doesn’t resist the stone; it receives it, and feels the ripples from its impact. But the difference between us and the pond is that the pond lets it go. It allows the ripples to move out from the center of contact, and gently subside into stillness again. The stone becomes absorbed into the muddy bottom, settling into the stillness in the background of awareness.
When disturbing thoughts arise, become aware of them. Witness them, as if you were watching the ripple effects of the stone landing in the water. But don’t get caught up in the thought, clinging to it and building a story around it. Instead, let the thought go. Allow it to fade into the background, and feel what is beneath the thoughts: the inner silence.
The more attention given to the inner silence, that place of stillness that beneath the thinking mind, the more tranquility emerges within you. You’ll feel undisturbed, even when ripples of thought flow through. You’ll be grounded in the place beyond the surface-level agitations of the mind.
It takes practice, but tranquility can be yours as you learn to identify with the inner stillness, rather than the surface-level agitations. Be like the pond; as the thoughts subside, choose to return to the smooth, reflective inner space of tranquility, over and over again.
by Connie Habash | Oct 23, 2013 | Meditation, Patience, Play, Presence, Quiet, Satisfying, Soul, Writing
There’s something fulfilling for me about writing by hand with a pen. The contact of the pen on paper, my hand sliding across the page, the flowing movements, and especially when I am pleased with the forms the letters take. It is very soul-satisfying.
Even when I cross-out words, I feel gratified. It is a definitive action. A declaration to delete something I no longer want, that I can see and own.
Handwriting is becoming a lost art in our computer age. No longer are schools in California required to teach cursive. This saddens me. As a calligrapher, I deeply appreciate the form and flow that come from my hand onto a page that no font on my computer can come close to.
In an effort to slow down and be present, as well as to become more productive in my writing, I’ve decided to take a few hours every week to go to my counseling office and write. Without my computer. No distractions. Just my quiet, beautiful space, a pen, and a notebook. In fact, I’m writing this in that space right now.
I love to make writing fun. I pick out pens and ink colors that are playful and please me. I explore varying the formation of the letters sometimes to see what I enjoy.
Occasionally, I study handwriting analysis to discover how I can change things in my life through changing my handwriting. Vimala Rogers has written a fine book about this if it speaks to you.
Handwriting can be another form of meditation. Calligraphers through the millennia have known this. I know I’m more present and at ease when my letters flow and loop in that gratifying way. I steady my breath, my eyes, and my hand as I ease it slowly across the page.
There are days when it is a struggle to slow down and to quiet my mind. My handwriting reflects this, with chaotic movements, difficulty controlling the pen, displeasing shapes. It’s OK. I try to slow down and form my letters more carefully. They may not improve much, but when I’m mindful about this, it helps my thoughts to calm down. I slow down my breath. I come back to the present and the letters emerging on the page.
I feel connected to the words in a visceral way through handwriting. It is easier to write from my heart, my spirit – even from my body itself – when the pen is mindfully grasped between my fingers.
I invite you to take pen in hand. How does it feel as you write? What do you notice about yourself, in mind, breath, body, heart? Let any words, thoughts, feelings come to you. What feels satisfying about it? What does it bring up? Let it slow you down and bring you into the present moment.
What else brings deep satisfaction to you? Make some time this week to give yourself that. Let me know how it goes.
by Connie Habash | Apr 24, 2013 | Beauty, Expression, Growth, Movement, Patience, Peace, Quiet, Rebirth, Seasons, Spring, stillness
Nature reflects to us the process of personal and spiritual transformation all around us. In my classes, with my clients, and in spiritual community I honor and invite all to explore the profound affect these natural changes have on each of us.
Spring, the season we’re currently in, and summer are both times of longer daylight – hence, the energies around and within us are externally focused. It’s all about taking what is within you and finding ways of expressing it in the world.
Spring is new beginnings, where we burst forth from the gestation of the colder time of the year and feel ready for new adventures. We explore who we are becoming and we reinvent ourselves anew. It’s a good time to step into something you’ve toyed with for a while. It’s also a good time to listen to new perspectives and see the world in a fresh way.
Summer is taking those explorations to a new height. It’s the time of ripening. While spring encouraged us to step out into new territory, summer is prime-time for play and celebration of our success and our finer qualities. Allow yourself to authentically and radiantly shine, just like the sun. Recognize your gifts and share them freely, just as nature’s bounty blesses us with the fruits of the season.
At the end of summer we begin to feel the down-shift into a more introspective time. We enter the growing nighttime, and so, too, we enter the unconscious. Fall takes us away from the externally-focused energies of exuberant summertime and asks us to pause and consider what we feel, who we are, and to reminisce. We revisit the past during autumn to integrate, grieve, reflect, and heal.
Which takes us at last to winter, the coldest and most inward time. This is the great stillness; nature is quiet, hibernating. We, too, have been called by the inner silence to find peace with what is. We embrace our inner wisdom that we have gained from the four seasons of life, and let it gestate into something which we will share with the world. Winter is a time of the Spirit, peace, and patience.
Each season offers us new opportunities to understand ourselves and the world we live in. I facilitate that greater journey for every person I work with, as they are touched by what the season offers. What is this season offering you today?
by Connie Habash | Mar 4, 2013 | Beauty, Grounded, Meditation, Oneness, Potential, Quiet, stillness, Uncategorized
Outside my home office window, two majestic trees stand in my front yard. One, a large old California live oak, stands broad and substantial, spreading its thick branches out around it. The other, a pine tree, is more erect and stately, shooting straight up with several branches near the top, reaching in all directions with green needles.
Although they appear different, they both have that “tree energy”. Their roots go deep into the ground to connect with the earth. This gives them stability, strength, and nourishment. They stand in silence, unmoved, save for a breeze or the commotion of two squirrels frolicking in their branches. They are undeterred by weather or the cars that pass by on the road. And their branches endlessly reach for the heavens above, opening to the light of the sun.
I want to meditate like those trees. I want to root down to something so deep and stable within that I am unmoved, my focus steady and unwavering. When I’m rooted that firmly, and my mind becomes as quiet and still as a tree no matter what may be happening around me, I know it will be easier to receive Divine Light.
Sit with your back to the trunk of a tree. Be one with it. Let it show you what a tree knows.
Imagine sitting by the shore of a pond. There is a gentle breeze, just enough to tickle you, on a balmy, warm day. You can hear birds singing, talking to one another, with spacious periods of serene silence in-between. At the near edge of the pond is a grouping of lily pads, with several pale pink blossoms opening themselves to the sun. Other than the occasional duck that paddles by, the water is smooth as glass, undisturbed and reflective.
There’s something fulfilling for me about writing by hand with a pen. The contact of the pen on paper, my hand sliding across the page, the flowing movements, and especially when I am pleased with the forms the letters take. It is very soul-satisfying.
Nature reflects to us the process of personal and spiritual transformation all around us. In my classes, with my clients, and in spiritual community I honor and invite all to explore the profound affect these natural changes have on each of us.
Outside my home office window, two majestic trees stand in my front yard. One, a large old California live oak, stands broad and substantial, spreading its thick branches out around it. The other, a pine tree, is more erect and stately, shooting straight up with several branches near the top, reaching in all directions with green needles.
