I’ve not been doing what I think I should. Instead of composing much of intentional significance, I’ve been stuttering on loose pages and darting between the projects towards which my attention has been forcibly inclined, owing to the inescapable demands of life and work.

November has passed in a dusty whirlwind, with only a smattering of glimmers; the noticings, happenings and feelings that elevate the heartmind out of the quagmire and to the wide open view beyond the contracted state of tension.

It's no wonder, though with some remorse, that in the moments between - trapped in what Patti Smith perfectly describes as a state of “restless fatigue” - I’ve been feeding my curiosity and dissatisfaction like a hungry ghost, not getting quite the sustenance I truly need but nonetheless, keeping the momentum kind of going. Reading all the books, listening to all the music and podcasts, wandering and wondering.

If there’s one thing I know for sure, and which this month has reminded me, it’s that I don’t do well in gaps of snatched time. I need, long for and thrive creatively when I have space, unhurried and unhindered by looming pressures, demands or time-driven commitments, workwise or socially.

In between the deadlines that drive the other side of my life as a jobbing writer, and the deadlines I give myself for the sake of focus, I need room to breathe.

If there’s another thing I know, it’s that there are a few key things that will return me to more of a flow than a sputter of a momentum, if I keep at them. Because even when in a sludgy funk as of late, I have a set of non-negotiables that preserve my sanity and embolden, even if perfunctorily, my rightful impulse to resist the tug of external winds. In this way, I’m glad to be on the cusp of December with a renewed sense of intentional attention - aided by the easing up of said projects, and the gift of more time and space.
Meditate, move and write

In the invariable dips that come with negotiating life’s vicissitudes, I may not spend more than five minutes on each of these, but I commit and complete regardless. Because even when the tired and wild mind denies their/my value, the wiser part of me knows from experience and commitment that they do.

It's in this sense that my practice is my refuge, and my routine and rituals are my anchor – they keep me steady no matter how much and how far I wander off course.

The writing part of that looks like scrawling my way out of the quagmire, effervescing my frustration, rage and doubt on the page, exploring what I feel. From which point, I’ll consciously pivot, from having examined the causes and conditions, to seek the antidote – what do I need to do, how do I need to be, what’s the most important thing, that can help me get back on track, pick myself up, breathe easy again, find my oomph. In short, in this moment, what do I need to heal and find my flow?

As I was writing this piece, it occurred to me that my ways out of the sludge are a reflection of the paramitas, a core aspect of Dharma practice that codifies six practical steps that can take us to “the other shore” – traveling from a state of confusion towards a state of experiential wisdom and clarity, through purposeful and committed action in the right (as in skillful) direction. In other words, they are ways of being that can release us from samsara’s grip by expanding our mind state beyond the limited view of our self-centredness.

The state of contraction that comes upon me – and I’ve no doubt many of us, because that’s part of the malady of the universal human condition, the wild tendencies of an unguarded mind – is precisely that; a contraction inwards, towards self-absorption and the decrying of the “me, me, agh, I hate, I want,” state.

Practicing the paramitas is essentially about expanding our view, moving onward and outward. Here’s how:

Generosity: when it comes to yourself, give yourself grace and lighten up, back off, ease up when you hit the inevitable dips in the proverbial rollercoaster ride. Shift your attention away from self-flagellation and towards what you can do or give to others, whatever that might look like. In my experience, time and a listening ear offered to someone else who needs it can usefully turn the heart and mind outward and toward the realisation that we’re not alone in our anxiety or suffering. Help yourself, help others, that’s the beauty of reciprocity.

Discipline: "Everyday, we must have a starting point," says Shunryu Suzuki Roshi. Some kind of structure helps. Coming to sit, to meditate, to the mat to move, for however little or however long, it all matters, it all counts, a little adds up to a lot, even if it feels like a lot of amorphous nothingness, the regularity builds momentum and that will eventually bring ease. Better that than the stagnation of giving up completely, which like a friendship that lapses so long it’s awkward to later rekindle, only makes the tension and the pain worse.

Patience: “It’s about being able to stay present with ourselves,” says Pema Chodron, especially when we encounter our “inherent restlessness”. In other words, have a little faith even if you don’t have a lot, don’t give up or give in. This, without doubt, is the sticky stubborn block and root of my own practice. Practicing patience is hard, slowing down is hard, but it causes way less mess (spilled coffee, broken cups, carelessly dropped items, etc, etc) in the long run.

Joyful enthusiasm: life doesn’t have to be so dam serious all the time, I have to remind myself. Rather than fixate on the worry or exacerbate the woe, I choose to listen loud to music, go dancing with friends, play with the cat, touch into the vibrancy of the moment and pull away from the muddy swamp of the murky mind. Sometimes sitting with it helps to let it settle. Other times, you have to shake it up and shake it off, quite literally.

Meditation: and movement, and medication, and in my case, I’ve been trying magnesium and melatonin (what can I say, I like alliteration and I’ll try most things to find what works, alongside the HRT, because that’s the hormonal fuckery of my current life stage). Do what it takes and what helps to let the dust settle, the thoughts drop in and out, and let go.

Wisdom: feed and fuel the mind with nourishing input. My guides lately have been many, including: Patti Smith, David Bowie, Shunryu Suzuki Roshi, Ruth Ozeki, PJ Harvey, Alan Watts, Donna Farhi, Ekta Hattangady, Mimi Kuo-Deemer, and Ursula le Guin. The written word, the melodious lyric, the sound of another’s voice, it all helps to keep the fires burning, which eventually, will cause a spark and reignite your own.

In this way, at some point, you’ll find way your way back to a sense and direction. We all lose our way, and we all need a little help sometimes. Onwards and out of the sludge.