Finding contentment in the most unlikely places.
Part of my morning routine includes reading a chapter or two of the Tao Te Ching—the ancient book of Taoist wisdom attributed to the mythical Chinese sage Lao-tzu. I particularly like Stephen Mitchell’s modern translation from 1998 and find something in it to meditate on nearly every day. Recently, the following lines from Chapter 29 came in handy when I caught a particularly nasty virus:
There is a time for being ahead, a time for being behind;
a time for being in motion, a time for being at rest;
a time for being vigorous, a time for being exhausted;
A stupid source of pride for me has always been defiance in the face of illness; to keep working and pushing myself as if I’m healthy. If I feel like I’m getting sick, I’ll prepare for it by taking extra work home just in case I’m not able to make it into the office the next day, and then work just as hard from home when I should be resting. This time was different, though.
In the past, the “wasted” time of a day spent in bed would have gnawed at me as I’d think about all of the work left undone. But this time, the lines from Chapter 29 came to mind, specifically: “a time for being vigorous, a time for being exhausted.” One of the many benefits I’ve gained from studying the Tao Te Ching is a profound respect for the duality of this existence. In order to truly appreciate being healthy, I recognize that I must also know what it means to be sick. And allowing myself to be sick involves accepting that it will take time for the illness to run its course and for my body to return to health. Even though I didn’t turn on my laptop, I don’t remember ever having a more productive sick day. My job that day was simply to be sick and I did it well.
Along with giving my body and mind an overdue day of rest, I caught a glimpse of something else that day: contentment. While ambition and desire can be great motivators for success, I’ve found they are also the sources of disappointment and dissatisfaction when we fail to balance them. They train us to view every moment as an opportunity for advancement, but chide us when we hesitate or fall short. They keep our eyes on the future at the expense of appreciating the here and now. When you’re always thinking about what’s next, contentment becomes an illusion that’s just around the corner instead of a reality that’s right in front of your face.
It seems strange to find contentment in being sick, but that’s what happened when I switched off my ambition and desire for a bit. For me, it’s just another example of what’s possible when I slow down and allow myself to experience the present moment. Being sick obviously isn’t as fun as being healthy, but it’s still a reminder that I’m alive.
Photo courtesy Sundaram Ramaswamy, licensed under Creative Commons
How daily breathing awareness is changing my life.
The ability to multitask is considered an asset in the workplace. I’ve often found myself drafting an email, reading incoming messages, editing an article, and browsing art for a layout, all seemingly at once. I thought this meant I was pretty close to being as efficient and productive as possible; imagine my surprise when meditation showed me otherwise.
I’ve been meditating every morning since December. My guide is a new book by Buddhist writer Lodro Rinzler titled Sit Like a Buddha, and it’s the most accessible beginner’s guide to meditation I’ve read. Rinzler focuses on the calm-abiding meditation called shamatha; which, as he describes it, “wakes you up to what is going on in this very moment, through training in paying attention to something that embodies this moment: the breath.”
After about three weeks of 10-minute meditation every morning, I started to feel calmer and less anxious over the course of the day, which motivated me to keep doing it. I’ve since upped those 10 minutes to 15 minutes per session, and have noticed that I’ve become a better listener in conversations, more focused when reading, and far less prone to general distraction. In fact, I’m getting more done now at work than I ever did with my old approach of multitasking. If an email needs to be written I set my focus on that alone and if something distracts me, I’m quicker to recognize the distraction, which brings me back to the moment. Sooner than I know it, a concise and coherent email has been sent and I’m on to the next task. I still have as much to do every day, but I’m no longer frantically bouncing back and forth between a growing list of half-finished tasks that eventually overwhelm me. Instead, I’m fully engaged in the moment, rather than multitasking it away—an awareness that is starting to shape my life outside of the office, too.
Before beginning the shamatha practice, Rinzler asks the reader to establish a specific intent for why they want to start meditating. Mine was “to become more connected to myself, others, and the universe.” I considered less ambitious intents such as relaxation or stress-relief, but something about the notion of connection resonated with me. I realize now that the source of that particular intent was my intuition—a voice that I could barely hear anymore over the cacophony of distraction that comes with living in the 21st century. With meditation, I’ve been able to quiet the peripheral noise and listen to the voice in my head again; the voice I know I can trust to distinguish the decisions that shape a truly meaningful life from the ones that inevitably leave me feeling empty and aimless.
If you don’t believe that 10 minutes of daily breathing awareness can lead to those kinds of realizations, all I can say is give it a shot; they just may become the most important 10 minutes you spend every day.
Christian Williams is the editor of Utne Reader, and he also paints and makes music. View his art and listen to his music at www.christianwwilliams.com. Follow him on Twitter: @cwwilliams.
Photo courtesy Sebastian Wiertz, licensed under Creative Commons.
Chris Kilham, author of The Ayahuasca Test Pilots Handbook. Photo by Jeff Skeirik.
Ayahuasca Test Pilots Handbook, Chris
Kilham’s backpack guide to the healing powers of the sacred Amazonian plant brew.
My first encounter with ayahuasca was through William S.
Burroughs. That is to say, several years ago I read The Yage Letters, which was Burroughs’ collected correspondence
with poet Allen Ginsberg as he traveled to the Amazon in search of the elusive
Since then, I’ve learned a great deal more about the
powerful and mysterious plant-derived brew that goes by many different names.
And while all accounts verify that you will, indeed, find the high that
Burroughs was looking for through ayahuasca, others suggest there’s much more
to glean from the experience; that the plant offers one enhanced self-awareness
and even spiritual enlightenment.
Chris Kilham is a medical plant expert, author, and educator
who has participated in more than 80 ayahuasca ceremonies over the past eight
years. Over that span, he has become one of the foremost advocates for the
healing benefits of the ayahuasca space, and has recently compiled a
comprehensive introduction to the experience in The Ayahuasca Test Pilots Handbook. Kilham approaches ayahuasca
from a perspective of ultimate respect, and often refers to the plant brew by
its most reverential and descriptive name, La
Medicina. For Kilham and many others, ayahuasca has been so positively
life-changing, that he felt compelled to write the backpack
guide so that others may also safely and effectively wade into the healing waters of the ayahuasca
Kilham’s book couldn’t have come at a better time. Though
knowledge of ayahuasca and its use as part of the South American shamanic
tradition has been well-known in select circles for many years, it’s been a relatively
recent development that the Sacred Vine has found a much wider and receptive audience. As
public awareness grows, so has the ayahuasca tourism industry in places like
Iquitos, Peru, and experienced ayahuasca journeyers like Kilham feel a
responsibility to make sure that people know what they’re getting into. In the
event that this is the first time you’ve read about ayahuasca, a recent Newsweek Q&A with Kilham is a good primer to what goes into the brew and what
you might encounter—both physically and otherwise—when you enter the ayahuasca
Christian Williams discusses ayahuasca with Chris Kilham in the first episode of the Abstract Notions podcast.
Known as The Medicine Hunter, Kilham has made a career out of traveling the world
investigating the medicinal qualities of plants. As he describes in the Handbook, Kilham has been familiar with
ayahuasca since reading about it in the 1970s, but it wasn’t until 2007 that he
drank his first cup after realizing that he was having a difficult time
overcoming the grief related to the passing of his mother. The first set of
ceremonies helped him not only overcome that grief, but replenished his
emotional energy and allowed him to reconnect with himself and loved ones. More
than 80 ceremonies later, Kilham approaches ayahuasca as a way to stay balanced,
and now incorporates meditation into the ceremony, which he says has helped him
navigate the unpredictable psychedelic waters of the ayahuasca space as well as
gain him even deeper access to the consciousness-expanding qualities of the
Kilham’s extensive first-hand experience and his affable nature make him the ideal spokesperson for ayahuasca. As he describes it, the
topic compels people to talk and ask a lot of questions, and his many
conversations over the years revealed some common questions that weren’t being
answered by the literature on ayahuasca up to that point. While there have been
plenty of great books written on the topic, Kilham couldn’t find any that
presented the information people were looking for in an accessible format, and
he recognized a need for the Handbook.
Taking readers step-by-step through the process of ceremony,
from the botanical basics of the brew to an orientation of the ceremonial space
to sharing some of his most memorable journeys, Kilham’s book offers everything
short of the experience itself. He also offers invaluable advice on how to
differentiate between good shamans and bad shamans, and—most importantly—the
medical risks one should be aware of before embarking on a journey. As he
notes, the negative stories surrounding ayahuasca often involve either shady shamans
or journeyers who don’t fully disclose what medications they might already be
taking. In this regard, Kilham demystifies the less understood aspects of ayahuasca,
and his book serves as an antidote to some of the ignorance associated with the
plant and its purpose. Kilham is also quick to point out that while he fully
endorses the safe and reverent use of ayahuasca, anyone considering drinking it
in the United States should be aware that the brew is currently classified as a
Schedule 1 controlled substance. In addition to being illegal, Kilham
emphasizes in the book that setting (specifically, in the Amazon under the
guidance of a trained shaman) is a major factor in determining whether or not
one has a beneficial experience. While he acknowledges that it is possible to
reap the emotionally-cleansing benefits of ayahuasca without being in the
Amazon, the brew seems to be its most effective when paired with the natural
setting and traditional rituals of the shamanic ayahuasca ceremony.
Personally, reading Kilham’s book made me even more
interested in experiencing ayahuasca first-hand. While the Handbook answered pretty much every question I had about the experience,
I still realized I was trying to answer the question, “Is ayahuasca right for
me?” To help me figure that out, I spoke with Chris at length about his
spiritual approach to the plant as well as the logistics of traveling to the
Amazon and making sure you’re in safe hands. I found Chris’ responses to my questions so
helpful that I thought they might help others, too,
so I decided to turn the transcript of our conversation into the first episode
of the Abstract Notions podcast, which you can listen to and download above.
Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey near Barcelona, Spain.
The beauty and benefit of ritual and ceremony when separated from dogma.
I have a new favorite perk that was recently installed in our breakroom: an ice cream vending machine. It doesn’t get much better than $1 for a Klondike bar whenever I feel like one.
Partly for the sake of my waistline, I’ve been reintroducing myself to ritual and ceremony. In this case, I’ve decided to reserve the Klondike bar for my personal celebration when we wrap up production of an issue. As I write this, I’m looking forward to the moment when this issue is sent to the printer and I’m able to sit quietly in my office for 10 minutes and enjoy the Klondike.
Going forward, I’m sure I’ll find it tempting to have an ice cream bar between deadlines, but I know that I’ll appreciate my ice cream bar a lot more if I maintain its special place in my life. It sounds silly, but it’s a simple way to make something I enjoy more meaningful.
I became reacquainted with ritual and ceremony this past October when my wife and I spent a week in Spain. One of the highlights of the trip was a visit to Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey outside of Barcelona. We went in the evening specifically for Vespers, which features Gregorian chant by the Benedictine monks who live there. It’d been a while since I’d spent time in a church, and watching the evening prayer service unfold reminded me of what I missed most about the faith of my youth: the familiarity and comfort of the liturgy, the feeling of singing in unison, and the opportunity for contemplation that being in a church provided. Above all, I remembered how those aspects of ritual and ceremony were essential in preparing my mind and body for the spiritual experience I was there to have. They served to establish my intent, clear my mind of distraction, and help me remain in the moment.
Feeling goosebumps as the monks chanted, I realized that while I’ve discarded the rigid dogmatism of my childhood faith, there’s still value to glean from applying certain aspects of ritual and ceremony to my life again. Though my definition of “God” couldn’t be much more different than the one I used growing up, my desire for a spiritual encounter with the divine is stronger than ever. When I take a walk in the woods, play music, paint a picture, dream, meditate, or float in a sensory deprivation tank, I know I’m seeking a connection with the divine. Each of those activities involves a specific, yet routine preparation that I’ve chosen to redefine as ritual. Some are as simple as changing into painting clothes or taking a shower, but no matter how banal they might be, I still find them to be effective invocations when I choose to see them that way.
For me, that’s part of the beauty of ritual and ceremony when separated from dogma; the only rules are my own.
Photo by Keith Roper, licensed under Creative Commons.
Ensuring that a technology designed to bring us closer together doesn't make us strangers to each other.
Several months ago, I shared my dismay at no longer being able to sit and do nothing due to a smartphone dependency. It’s been four months since that realization, and I’m happy to report that I’m finding it much easier to disconnect from the phone and plug in to the real world around me.
This recently became apparent when my wife and I spent a week in Spain. Unable to use the dataplans on our iPhones seemed at first to be an inconvenience, but quickly revealed itself to be a blessing. Our idle time waiting for the Metro or relaxing on a park bench was spent daydreaming and people-watching rather than Facebook surfing. It’s entirely possible that some of our best memories from the trip wouldn’t exist had we been able to distract ourselves with the digital universe.
For my wife, the experience really hit home. In the month since we’ve been back she’s had little desire to log into Facebook. While I’ve noticed that she still pops in occasionally, she barely scrolls through her feed before quickly losing interest. A week away not only helped her realize how much of a daily distraction it had become, but also how unfulfilling a connection it is for keeping in touch with people.
She’s aware, though, that her decision to cut Facebook out of her life may come with a cost: knowing what’s going in the lives of friends and family. While most Facebook posts simply document everyday details or massage someone’s ego, the ease with which one can share exciting news, wedding engagements, birth announcements, or any other milestone through a quick post makes it plain to see that Facebook has become the most efficient way to communicate with all of our loved ones at once. And when distance keeps people from spending real time together, there’s no denying that Facebook is often the next best thing. I’m even aware of real-life friendships that have started as a result of being introduced through Facebook.
But I also sense that for many, Facebook is becoming a substitute for keeping in “real” touch with one another. A good friend of ours recently relayed a surreal experience in which someone they were having a live conversation with referred them to their Facebook page to read the details they didn’t feel like repeating at the time. In this instance, a technology designed to bring us all closer together is actually more effective at making us strangers to each other.
While this cultural disconnect due to social media isn't a new development, I appreciate the reminder that it's happening; my wife’s decision to significantly cut back has led me to be more conscious of the real-life relationships I want to have and the real-life effort that’s required to do so. I think Facebook is great for sharing funny pictures, interesting articles, and inspiring information, but when “liking” someone becomes the prerequisite for knowing what to talk about with that person in real life, we’ve lost the rudder.
For those of us who remember what life was like before the digital age, achieving balance with Facebook is just the tip of the iceberg. As our society becomes even more connected (and dependent) on technology, regular reality checks like the one my wife made will become even more important if we hope to maintain real connections to ourselves, each other, and the natural world we’re apart of. It’s the only way we’ll ensure that technology serves us and not the other way around.
Christian Williams is editor in chief of Utne Reader. Contact him at email@example.com or follow him on Twitter: @cwwilliams. He also paints and makes music; check out his work at www.christianwwilliams.com.
Photo courtesy Khalid Albaih, licensed under Creative Commons.
What are we missing out on when we use our smart phones to pass idle time?
Recently, while eating lunch by myself at a local diner, I realized something that genuinely bothered me: I’m losing the ability to sit and do nothing. Where I used to be able to sit contently and simply daydream or observe my surroundings, I now feel anxious, restless, and awkward if I’m sitting alone with nothing specific for my hands or brain to do.
It didn’t take me long to figure out why. Looking around at the other solo diners that day, I noticed a common denominator: the smart phone. With sandwiches in one hand and thumbs scrolling through Facebook in the other, we all seemed incapable of disconnecting from our phones, even for a 15-minute lunch. That’s when it dawned on me that it’s entirely possible the most damaging effect of technology’s integration into our daily lives is that it’s replacing something many people have never thought was worth doing—sitting still and simply letting your mind wander.
As soon as I figured out what was going on, I put my phone away. But that’s when the awkwardness set in. If you want to feel out of place in a public setting these days, just start staring off into space or watching people as they walk by. Do it long enough and someone is liable to walk up and ask you if you’re feeling OK. That’s because we’re so accustomed to seeing people tethered to their smart phones—it’s the new normal. If you’re not killing time with your face fused to a screen, then you’re the weird one in the room.
Of course, I’m not the first person to notice how technological connectivity is making it easier to disconnect from ourselves and each other in myriad ways. Late last year, comedian Louis C.K. shared his hatred for cell phones on Conan, and observed how we use technology these days to distract us from thinking about the depressing aspects of life. As he points out, taking on those thoughts head on is the only way to defuse them of their explosive potential.
My concern is similar to his, but with a twist. I worry that the more dependent we become on technology to help us pass idle time, the less likely we’ll be to allow our minds to wander in positive ways. It’s already become commonplace for parents to hand their kids an iPhone when they’re restless in the backseat or complaining of boredom. While I recognize the logic-enhancing and hand/eye coordination benefits of video games in young people, I can’t help but wonder how that constant stimulation is taking away opportunities for them to expand their imaginations, creativity, and overall mindfulness.
I’m noticing it in older generations, too. Just the other day, I witnessed a woman walking outside on a beautiful morning with her head down, reading a Kindle. Meanwhile, the natural beauty of her surroundings was going by unnoticed. While it’s true that she was engaging her imagination through the book, her brain was missing out on a different kind of stimulation—the kind you can only get when you allow yourself to truly appreciate the natural world we’re all apart of. And lest you think stopping to smell the roses or listening to the birds sing isn’t all that important, consider that establishing a true and lasting connection to nature may be only way we’ll be able to shake society’s general apathy toward climate change and make the real changes necessary to curb its impacts.
Which brings me to my favorite argument for why we need to spend more time staring into space rather than into a screen: how else can we encourage the cutting-edge ideas, innovations, and solutions that only seem to pop into one’s mind when it’s disengaged from a specific task and allowed to wander? I recently read Mason Currey’s book Daily Rituals: How Artists Work, which is a fascinating rundown of the work habits of 161 of history’s greatest creative thinkers from Matisse and Mahler to Freud and Einstein. What stood out to me by the end was how many of them took time out of their busy days to take a walk or just sit and seemingly do nothing. Who knows how many world-changing ideas first made themselves apparent during those daily moments of stillness and contemplation? It suggested to me that what we consider “downtime” may actually be the access point to a higher plane of thinking—one that I’m hoping to find my way back into now that I’ve opened my eyes again to the world that exists outside of the phone in my pocket.
Christian Williams is Editor in Chief of Utne Reader; contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org or follow him on Twitter: @cwwilliams. He also paints and makes music. View and listen to his work at www.christianwwilliams.com.
"American Masters" documentary captures the playfulness and whimsy of one of the 20th Century's greatest artists.
In the pantheon of great 20th Century artists, perhaps no one continues to captivate audiences more than Alexander Calder. One look at the latest auction prices for his pieces certainly supports this notion, but there’s even more convincing evidence to be found in a place that most people may not automatically associate with Calder: the baby’s room. For hanging above most of the world’s cribs is Calder’s most popular and lasting artistic contribution, the mobile.
As the outstanding new-to-DVD documentary Alexander Calder demonstrates, it’s only fitting that a man who lived and loved life with the carefree attitude of a child should forever be connected with the wonderful distraction represented by the ubiquitous moving sculpture he invented. Calder was a man who used his endless supply of creative ambition to make the world a better place, whether it was through his moving toys, his mesmerizing circus, or his monumental outdoor sculptures, and this short film does an excellent job of illustrating Calder’s optimism and deep desire to give the world something magical to witness.
Growing up in a family of artists near the turn of the century and demonstrating a natural ability to make art at an early age, Calder seemed destined to become an artist, even if it didn’t figure into his ideal career plan. But false starts in several odd jobs soon forced him into realizing his destiny, and he learned to apply the engineering education pursued for non-artistic means to his creative craft. Considering the technical complexity underlying many of Calder’s estimated 16,000 pieces, it’s obvious that what appeared to be a time-wasting detour to a career in art ended up providing him with the know-how to make his sculptures seemingly come alive. The film also does an excellent job of showing how Calder was both a visionary and an adaptable artist; he was open to the work of others and was always looking for ways to apply what he liked about others work while still maintaining his own immediately recognizable style.
Originally filmed in the mid-1990s and aired on PBS in 1998 as part of the “American Masters” series, the film is essential viewing not just because of the rare archival footage of Calder working in his studio but because of the priceless personal stories shared by the people who knew him personally, including family, artist Ellsworth Kelly, and playwright Arthur Miller. Their reminiscences paint the picture of man who not only matched the playfulness and whimsy of his creations, but was also as generous as he was talented.
Christian Williams is Editor in Chief of Utne Reader; contact him at email@example.com or follow him on Twitter: @cwwilliams. He also paints and makes music. View and listen to his work at www.christianwwilliams.com.
Photo at top: Flamingo (1974), Alexander Calder; located in front of the Kluczynski Federal Building in Chicago; courtesy Vincent Desjardins, licensed under Creative Commons