It seems like such a simple concept.
Leaves on a stream.
It’s the basis of this technique in relaxation that's been suggested for people like me who can’t seem to shut down their thoughts long enough to get some decent shut-eye.
‘Mindfulness’ it’s called.
What you have to be mindful of, is that you don’t let your mind run away with you, and by imagining leaves gently floating down a stream, you’re on track for some quality meditation. When you get that going, you imagine that each leaf is carrying an unwanted or unnecessary thought, which you pop on the little bits of foliage and let them just drift away. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that.
Now, the problem I have- and have always had- is that I overthink things. So what seems a simple application of imagination becomes a full-scale exercise in geography, botany, and logistics.
Here’s the thing…
I start out well enough: there’s the stream, here come the leaves, and here I am standing by to plop my errant thoughts on board.
But then I start wondering where I am to have such a verdant setting – it’s obviously not the drought-stricken paddocks I’m used to seeing here in Australia, as the area is lovely and lush and the water is running clean and fresh at a cracking pace. If I can get beyond my initial mind meanderings, I start to wonder what sort of leaves they are. What kind of trees or plants are nearby that are dropping their vegetation at a constant rate? And simply because I have that creative streak in me, I conjure up many different species of shrubbery, just for variety, which only brings me back to the original musings of where the heck I am to have such diversity?!
Can you see my problem?
OK, so if (and I do mean if) I can get through all that without totally stuffing up the whole relaxation mode I’m meant to be in, I then seem to have a bit (ok a lot) of trouble with placing aforementioned thoughts on aforementioned leaves in order to let them drift off down aforementioned stream.
The idea is, it’s ok to have thoughts pop into your head, it’s only natural in our conscious state after all…but for the sake of this exercise you need to learn to let them go again. I seem to have some issues with letting them go before I have reached some conclusion depending on what is warranted by the thought at the time. Not to mention the decision of which leaf to use (don’t want some flimsy little frond sinking under the weight of a life-changing concern now do I?)!
A good place to attempt this whole Mindfulness technique is the bath or shower, according to the good lady who gave me the exercise. Apparently the water (running or otherwise) helps create the metaphor of the stream. Unfortunately, I’m too mindful of the water bill to stay under the shower long enough to get the process going properly, and if I lay in the bath too long I start to get distracted by the renovations still required in the room. Not very conducive to relaxation, wouldn’t you agree?
You can also do it in bed. The nice lady also gave me a CD with a softly-spoken bloke talking me through the exercise. Trouble is he has a really unique accent so the first few times I heard him I was busy figuring out his ancestry and missed a whole lotta leaves. I finally decided that he was probably born in Liverpool (UK) but has spent some time in Australia. Turns out I was right. So at least the next time I laid back and listened I could put that particular idea on a leaf and wave bye-bye as it sailed off into the sunset.
Now, if only all the other thoughts that stray into play while I’m standing near my metaphorical stream could be as easily resolved and relegated, I’d be laying ‘em on leaves like nobody’s business.
I guess that’s what you’d call mind over (leaf) matter.
Jx
©2010
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Sunday, September 6, 2009
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
I’m an insomniac from way back.
Oh as a kid I was a dream- took myself off to bed before the rest of the family had even finished dinner, on more than one occasion.
But only because I knew I’d be awake in the night long after everyone else had headed for the land of nod, or up before the sun.
It’s a condition that’s plagued me into adulthood, and is especially bad during periods of high stress (which pretty much sums up my life at times).
And there are reasons that sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. Just ask any parent of a newborn. Or a long-term insomniac.
It’s also a booming industry…just ask your friendly pharmacist.
I’ve tried counting sheep (but must be allergic to wool or something), I’ve tried whole-body relaxation techniques (by the time I reach my head, my feet are wide awake again), I’ve tried every kind of ‘natural’ and medicated sleep aids (most with the unnatural reaction of making me more alert), attempted to master the ‘Mindfulness’ thing (but keep getting distracted by the very thoughts meant to relax me), I’ve also tried reading to make myself nod off. Non-fiction books are best.
My Beloved couldn’t believe it the night he woke to find me sitting up alongside him thoroughly ensconced in the pages of ‘Hamlet’. “No one reads that by choice” says he, “I haven’t picked it up since high school, and even then I’m sure I didn’t finish it!“ I, on the other hand, have now discovered that I had a fairly decent grasp of the plot after all, according to the notes scribbled down the margins of my copy from senior school (see Mrs V, I was paying attention!); I have also found that the Bard is almost unequalled in his ability to lull one into slumber by his scribing.
So I have managed to finish the sad story of the prince of Denmark, along with the tragic tale of the Montagues and Capulets, the nocturnal musings of Midsummer, and even got something out of “Much Ado About Nothing” before I begin to doze.
But even then there’s a big gap between getting to sleep and staying asleep.
On the nights where I do manage to get a solid stretch of shut-eye, odds are it’ll be broken by either a family emergency with one of the children allegedly finding crocodiles in their bed, or dreaming they’ve trotted into the bathroom while are in reality still soundly between the sheets (you know the joy I’m talking about)… or the dog decides it’s his night to play alpha male of the neighbourhood. Like last night.
Yes I was rudely awakened from a most scintillating subconscious state where I was the first (and may I say hilarious) female presenter on 'Top Gear' (What the? Must be all that car research I'm doing!) when the silly little critter joined in the canine chorus of the wee small hours, strutting all along the fence line with his pathetic little bark.
I am ashamed to say that where my previous dog- a rather large Labrador- could shake the surrounding streets with his booming “WOOF!” echoing throughout the night air, this fluffy little mutt we rescued from the RSCPA can’t even manage to startle the possums perched on the porch.
After an hour and a half of “ruff, ruffruffruff, ruffruff, ruff”, I had to go shut him up for his own sake- it was such an embarrassing display, I certainly didn’t want anyone knowing that dog belonged to us (even though it seemed to disturb no one else but me).
But then another hour later, after he had finally slipped into doggy dreams himself, I was still wide awake and prowling the bookcases for something to help switch my mind off again.
“’The History of the English Language’ looks good”, I thought, as I propped up the pillows behind me and settled in to read.
A mere twenty pages into the story of how first the Celts, then the Romans, and then the Normans claimed Britain and changed the local lingo I felt my chin hit my chest and took the cue to kill the lights.
Before I knew it, the kids were bouncing into the room for their Morning Hug, and I was shuffling out to the kitchen to greet the coffee maker with a similar level of enthusiasm.
Hopefully I’ll manage to inject enough caffeine into my system to get me through the hours until I can chase the kids to bed and start the game of cat-and-mouse with Mr Sandman once more.
I better keep a copy of “the Scottish play” beside the bed just in case…
Jx
©2009
Oh as a kid I was a dream- took myself off to bed before the rest of the family had even finished dinner, on more than one occasion.
But only because I knew I’d be awake in the night long after everyone else had headed for the land of nod, or up before the sun.
It’s a condition that’s plagued me into adulthood, and is especially bad during periods of high stress (which pretty much sums up my life at times).
And there are reasons that sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. Just ask any parent of a newborn. Or a long-term insomniac.
It’s also a booming industry…just ask your friendly pharmacist.
I’ve tried counting sheep (but must be allergic to wool or something), I’ve tried whole-body relaxation techniques (by the time I reach my head, my feet are wide awake again), I’ve tried every kind of ‘natural’ and medicated sleep aids (most with the unnatural reaction of making me more alert), attempted to master the ‘Mindfulness’ thing (but keep getting distracted by the very thoughts meant to relax me), I’ve also tried reading to make myself nod off. Non-fiction books are best.
My Beloved couldn’t believe it the night he woke to find me sitting up alongside him thoroughly ensconced in the pages of ‘Hamlet’. “No one reads that by choice” says he, “I haven’t picked it up since high school, and even then I’m sure I didn’t finish it!“ I, on the other hand, have now discovered that I had a fairly decent grasp of the plot after all, according to the notes scribbled down the margins of my copy from senior school (see Mrs V, I was paying attention!); I have also found that the Bard is almost unequalled in his ability to lull one into slumber by his scribing.
So I have managed to finish the sad story of the prince of Denmark, along with the tragic tale of the Montagues and Capulets, the nocturnal musings of Midsummer, and even got something out of “Much Ado About Nothing” before I begin to doze.
But even then there’s a big gap between getting to sleep and staying asleep.
On the nights where I do manage to get a solid stretch of shut-eye, odds are it’ll be broken by either a family emergency with one of the children allegedly finding crocodiles in their bed, or dreaming they’ve trotted into the bathroom while are in reality still soundly between the sheets (you know the joy I’m talking about)… or the dog decides it’s his night to play alpha male of the neighbourhood. Like last night.
Yes I was rudely awakened from a most scintillating subconscious state where I was the first (and may I say hilarious) female presenter on 'Top Gear' (What the? Must be all that car research I'm doing!) when the silly little critter joined in the canine chorus of the wee small hours, strutting all along the fence line with his pathetic little bark.
I am ashamed to say that where my previous dog- a rather large Labrador- could shake the surrounding streets with his booming “WOOF!” echoing throughout the night air, this fluffy little mutt we rescued from the RSCPA can’t even manage to startle the possums perched on the porch.
After an hour and a half of “ruff, ruffruffruff, ruffruff, ruff”, I had to go shut him up for his own sake- it was such an embarrassing display, I certainly didn’t want anyone knowing that dog belonged to us (even though it seemed to disturb no one else but me).
But then another hour later, after he had finally slipped into doggy dreams himself, I was still wide awake and prowling the bookcases for something to help switch my mind off again.
“’The History of the English Language’ looks good”, I thought, as I propped up the pillows behind me and settled in to read.
A mere twenty pages into the story of how first the Celts, then the Romans, and then the Normans claimed Britain and changed the local lingo I felt my chin hit my chest and took the cue to kill the lights.
Before I knew it, the kids were bouncing into the room for their Morning Hug, and I was shuffling out to the kitchen to greet the coffee maker with a similar level of enthusiasm.
Hopefully I’ll manage to inject enough caffeine into my system to get me through the hours until I can chase the kids to bed and start the game of cat-and-mouse with Mr Sandman once more.
I better keep a copy of “the Scottish play” beside the bed just in case…
Jx
©2009
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