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mpenvs3000w22 · 3 years ago

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Unit 06: Honouring the Black History of Environmentalism

“There is no peculiar merit in ancient things, but there is merit in integrity, and integrity entails the keeping together of the parts of any whole, and if these parts are scattered throughout time, then the maintenance of integrity entails a knowledge, a memory, of ancient things. …. To think, feel or act as though the past is done with, is equivalent to believing that a railway station through which our train has just passed, only existed for as long as our train was in it.”

(Edward Hyams, Chapter 7, The Gifts of Interpretation)

What I love most about this quote is how it can be applied to so many different areas of life, not just nature interpretation. The power of integrity as defined in this quote is essential to ensuring success in any sector, yet as a society we seem to have stopped prioritizing it. How are we expected to move forward successfully if there is no regard for the past, as both a tool for learning and as a reminder to respect the work of those who came before us.

This is especially true in the field of environmentalism, a core driving factor behind nature interpretation. The quote perfectly encompasses the mindset of many when it comes to this subject. Since environmentalism focuses largely on plans for the future while condemning the mistakes of our past, we often forget to acknowledge the important people and forces behind the initial movement. We chose to remain on our theoretical “train”, oblivious to the other trains, stations, and conductors that are not a part of our current “field of view”.

This “content ignorance” about the past of environmentalism is especially important to discuss currently during Black History Month, as the movement is commonly misrepresented as a white movement. With “superstar” environmentalists like Greta Thunberg and David Attenborough, most mainstream headlines about climate change and environmental activism focus predominantly on white contributions. But like many areas of society, those whose voices are heard most often are not necessarily representative of the whole. The reality is that black communities have been fighting for environmental justice for countless decades, and are credited for beginning the environmental justice movement. Racial and environmental justice are deeply connected as black people have always been disproportionately impacted by pollution, climate change and lack of access to green space. This exact issue was brought into the national spotlight in 1982 when a landfill in Warren County, NC (the only majority black county in the state) became the proposed site for dumping toxic chemicals. In response, the black community staged a sit-in to protect their community from harmful pollution, sparking a global movement.

Rev. Benjamin Chavis at Warren County PCB Landfill Protest – Photo from the United Church of Christ

Since then, POC have been shouldering the burden of environmentalism, calling out racist environmental groups such as the “Group of Ten” and developing principles of environmental justice that serve as the basis of the movement to this day. In Unit 06, we were asked to reflect on who/what benefits from sharing stories linked in history, and how this might impact others in the future. It was mentioned that survivors of horrific events share their stories so that the events will not be forgotten. Thinking on this, it is clear that as a white society, these stories have not been shared enough, as I myself had to do a good deal of research to learn anything about black environmentalism. It has practically been erased from the modern narrative; a “train station” that we never seem to pass through. As interpreters, we have a unique opportunity where we can share this forgotten history and shape the future. With this in mind, I ask everyone that has read this post up to this point to honor the legacy of black environmentalists by taking five minutes to look into this history, share a black environmental activist that has inspired you, and keep them in mind as you continue your nature interpretation journey. Don't let these stories die out more than they already have!

Whiting, K. (2021, February 25). 5 black heroes of the Environmental Movement. World Economic Forum. Retrieved February 17, 2022, from https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2021/02/black-environmentalists-justice-climate-change/

Junsay, E. (2019, February 21). The environmental justice movement is rooted in black history. 350.org. Retrieved February 17, 2022, from https://350.org/black-history-month/

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dateandmate · 6 years ago

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The Avalanche Part III: Body Count of One

*** Warning: Long read! ***

“These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Which as they kiss consume.

The sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness

and in the taste confounds the appetite

Therefore love moderately

Long love doth so

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.”

W. Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet

Monday.

First day back at work, and I could not focus on doing any actual work because I simply could not wait to see him. I managed to leave a bit earlier than usual, I wanted to look good for him. I’d missed him so much, I don’t remember missing anyone so much before. I’d missed him so much, travelling back to UK from my home country felt like coming back home. Oddly.

I found a way to leave a little earlier than usual, took a quick shower to be at my best when I see him, and started waiting for his arrival. As he was coming up the stairs, my heart was beating like a drum. A drum madly in love.

I had one of the biggest smiles I ever had as he was walking down the corridor - not entirely reciprocated by him. Love does hinder your ability to see things as they are sometimes, you see, so I just assumed he had a bad day at work.

He gave me a peck. A peck, after 3 weeks, after my surgery and all. Light-heartedly, but slightly puzzled, “Can I get a hug?”, I asked. He hugged me, with a “Sorry...�� swiftly muttered as he did.

We sat on the sofa, talked about our days briefly, I told him how much I missed him, we kissed a little. “I’m quite hungy, do you want to go an eat something?” he asked. “OK” I said and we left.

He was…different over dinner. I could not put my finger on it but it almost felt like he was not happy to see me. He had a sad look on his face. I remember asking if everything was ok at work, with his mum, with his brother who had some stuff going on. He said all was fine. As I do, I filled in the gaps with blabbering. He was holding my hand across the table the whole time, but that’s sad look never faded.

We finished dinner and went home, started watching something. All I could think about was kissing him, and more. Now here I have to say that we had this thing where we could hardly finish watching something, the chemistry was wild. Add three weeks apart on top of that, and what I felt was a ticking bomb.

This was a time where he was looking for a new house to buy. He’d grown up with a single mum in a village, but then had lived in multiple places in the country for his studies and work. Including London which he was not fond of. At the time he was living in one of the nicest towns in Yorkshire but dreamt of settling in in a village with his wife and kids one day. Even his town was too big for him. His business would always need to be in a big city as he was one of the founding partners of an agency, but he wanted to live as far away from the city life as he could. Now this city where his work was isn’t one of the top three cities in UK so don’t imagine something like the jungle that London is. But for him it was still big, He had made this very clear to me and he also knew I grew up in a big city and the city we met in, whilst being too big for him, wasn’t doing enough for me. I lacked inspiration, arts and culture, and diversity there. I felt alone. I struggled. In a few conversations we’d had, this came up and he’d expressed it loud and clear that it makes him worry that what we want in life was so different. I’d tried to calm him down by saying that bridge could be crossed when we get there, and that I was open to compromise but only 5 months in and at the risk of unemployment due to the reorganisation in my company, I’d rather manage expectations. All I’d asked was time and understanding. I’d told him the work thing is messing with my head as I never had a risk of unemployment and my sheer existence in UK depended on that work visa. And I was in love for the first time in my life. It was very confusing and difficult.

As we were chatting on the couch, he started to show me the houses he was looking into. I did not want to assume anything and was trying to be objective and not say much on either because I did not think I got to have a say in the house he wanted to buy. He muttered something like, this potentially being his family house (they were all in a village in the same county) but he was not sure what or who he is really buying for, as he wasn’t on the verge of starting a family. He was one of the smartest, most articulate people I ever met, to this day, and he sounded rather confused and distracted by his own thoughts. I felt a big lump settle in my throat. The uneasy feeling was growing. This wasn’t how I’d imagine this evening to feel like.

After a while, in a moment of utter confusion and silence, he started kissing me. As they usually do, things heated up and we went to the bedroom. It was... affectionate, caring, but also different. He was always very gentle with me and that night felt even gentler. As we went to sleep, I tried to comfort him regarding the questions in his head, and thought we’re still ok although we might need another conversation on this.

When we woke up in the morning, I snuggled up to him. Once again, he started kissing me and one thing led to another. I remember this very well. right in the middle of it, he took my face in his hands and stopped for a while. He had a look on his face that I’d never seen before. A little sad, but caring. I asked why he’s looking at me like that, he shook his head and just kissed me. We took a shower, got dressed and left together. As we were waking in the neighbourhood, he held my hand, the whole time, as usual. I remember trying to tell myself everything’s ok, there we were, like we used to be. There was a little coffee shop in the corner where I used to get coffee from sometimes. He said he will get one in the office, gave me a quick peck as usual as he walked away to work.

About 10 minutes later, I received a text saying: “By the way, remember when you were away I’d told you I wanted to express my thoughts and feelings in writing? I actually did that. Left the envelope on your coffee table just before we left. Read it and we can talk this evening.”.

I found it really weird that he’d spend the night with me and never mention it. Then sneak into the living room and leave it there. If I did not ave an important meeting, I swear I would have turned back to read it. That day was like hell. I was dying to read it, but also thought we should talk about it in person. So I called him in the afternoon and said, I’ll read it in the evening but I’d rather talk about it in person. He said he was working from home that day (a different town). I don’t mind, I said, I’ll take the 25 min train ride to talk about something as important as this - all the while having no idea what was waiting for me in that envelope. His concerns about the future and where we are, I thought. I was expecting a difficult conversation but a break up was definitely not what I thought was on the cards.

I went home and read the letter, Posting it here, although I might regret creating a rather permanent memory of it in the online universe by doing that. It took me more than 2 years to be able to write about it, so I could as well bid farewell to this story completely, even if I can’t make peace with it.

I felt... empty. Everything I’d believed was possible about love, was sucked out of me all at once. Things that I never used to define myself, like religion (I’m agnostic), or nationality (I always say we’re born into it and I don’t take any pride or shame in it), were used to label me, limit me to an idea of a person rather than a real one, by the only person I ever fell in love with.

I read it over and over again, not being able to comprehend how the liberal, left-wing, modern man I fell in love with, who had expressed his admiration of my independent, feminist, strong identity, saying it was one of the things he fell for when it comes to me, could be so narrow-minded and borderline racist, condescending me and my culture and my status because he feared he would have to make 10% of the compromise as I made 90%. I was upset, caught off-guard, and shocked, but thought we could talk about this as I still wouldn’t have imagine this could be the end. So I sat down and made a list about what matters to me in life. Made a list about what I like about the city I was in at the time. Thought about my time with him, how he made me feel. And decided, while I’m an idealist and my life plans are important to me, for the first time in my life, I’d be open to compromise because he made me feel the way he did make me feel. This was a difficult confrontation with myself - one I’d avoided for a long time. The thought process that got me to this conclusion wasn’t a walk in the park. It took thinking about everything I hold dearly in this life and accepting that I’d have to let some of that go.

He texted me to ask if we could speak in half an hour. I said OK.

After half an hour that felt like a week, my phone rang.

He asked what I think about it all.

I said some of the things I’d read were very difficult for me to read and I still could not believe it was written down by the same hands that were on me that morning. That hugged me. That held my face.

I also explained how I was scared by the idea of it all but was ready to compromise, also reminding him it was too early to have these conversations about the children we don’t have, raised in a house he had not bought yet, nurtured by a marriage that wasn’t in the horizon yet.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” he said, “if I’d met you 5 yers ago, believe me, we would not have any of this conversation. But I’m 37, and call me rigid, but I always dreamt of being married with a baby in my arms by 40. Every Christmas, I look back and reflect on the year I had and this year, it made me uncomfortable and panicky. You know how quickly I fell for you and I don’t want it to end in disappointment when 2 years from now you either decide you don’t want to live here anymore or are forced to leave.”

I cannot tell you how much it hurts by being reminded of your immigrant status by the person you love.

This gave me leeway to mentioning the bit about the culture. Not that I was obsessed with the culture of my homeland - and he knew this very well, from date number one - but what made his better than mine? Who was he to say I’m incapable of singing English nursery rhymes?! Was he aware of how ridiculous it is that we’re talking about which language I would sing to our imaginary children? How hard it was to be reminded that I was a ‘visitor’ here, especially at a time where my employment and hence my legal allowance to stay was at stake? Did he realise that he sounded like a secret right-wing xenophobe? That I was hurt by being reduced to the labels I’d been trying to distance myself from this whole time? He apologised multiple times. Saying he may have expressed himself slightly incorrectly. Suggesting I knew him and knew he wasn’t racist or xenophobic. “I don’t care”, I said, “and to be honest I don’t even know what you are anymore. This letter is hurtful and regardless of how this conversation ends, I cannot believe you were able to to this to anyone.”.

I also reminded him that I insisted talking about this face to face. “I know” he said, “and I’m sorry, I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to sit there, look at your face and tell you these things. I know it sounds cowardly but I did not think I’d be able to compose myself.”. I reminded him of his age, and said that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

When I questioned his sudden revelation regarding my foreign roots, I asked him if deep down, he was willing to be in a serious relationship with a foreigner. That thing about the culture and how our children would be raised, had nothing to do with my life plans and whether I was OK to live in a village in Northern England. Even in that last phone conversation, he was still trying to validate his reasons by talking about me having to go through an exhaustive process to get the citizenship even if I marry a British citizen, and that had nothing to do with me having a career and wanting to succeed, or having my own aspirations in life. That was about my identity. These were things that had a direct relation to my heritage that he was not comfortable with. Was he able to comprehend what a long term relationship, or a marriage with me would be like? Splitting holidays, potentially learning some of my language to communicate with relatives, etc... Now for me, being with someone from a different culture is interesting, exciting, enriching. I did not think he felt the same way. After a pause, and to my surprise, he said “You know what? I noticed I never had to think about that until you. I only ever dated British women. And when I had to think about it, long and hard, I noticed... Maybe I wasn’t indeed ready for that.”.

Well good morning. Wish you knew this before you pampered me as much as you did, expressed your infatuation, how you were smitten with me, how you lost all control, how you were keen to talk about the future, and before I fell for you, hard.

After a bit of an awkward silence, and around the 1.5hr mark of the conversation, he said that we both had received new information. I had no idea he had a break up in mind, and he had no idea I’d be open to compromise. He suggested we sleep on it, and talk again the next day. “Face to face?” I said, knowing a break up was on the cards, “I’m sorry, he said, I don’t think I can. But let’s check back in tomorrow.”.

I cried for the next 3 hours, until my eyes were so tired the only reasonable thing to do was to go to bed. Needless to say, I wasn’t able to sleep much. My pillow was still wet from the tears the next morning. I woke up, I cried before I could get myself to get up. I had this sinking feeling that it was unsalvageable. On the bus to work, I cried a little more. Had to run to the bathroom multiple times that day to cry in the toilet cubicle. Called a close friend, told her about it, she tried to comfort me with all her optimism. “It’s over”, I said to her. “I feel it.”

That evening we talked a little more, and I told him, while he knows very well how strongly I felt about him, the fact that he was able to write those things and do this to me, leaving a letter with the intent to break up when he’s had sex with me in my bed that morning, made me question if I really knew him.

I said everything that I thought was hurtful the day before, was even more hurtful today, the more I thought about them. I asked him if anything changed regarding his position. He mumbled it had not, and suggested we end it there, but said he was open to answer any questions from me or talk more about it.

“I don’t have anything else to say to you”, I said. “This was a slap in the face. You can’t force life, you can’t force love, you can’t force marriage. You can’t lay out every single detail of your life and try to find a woman that’ll shift shapes to fit into that template. Oh you probably can, but those women are not the women you’re attracted to. I still wish you the best, I wish I could curse or be hateful, but I choose not to. But know that I am very upset, shocked, and disappointed. And please, I beg you, please, don’t do this to anyone else. If you’re walking away from someone you’d given high hopes to, at least have the balls to talk to them face to face, like a man of your age and calibre should. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I’ve run out of things to say.”

He apologised again, interrupting as I said a apology doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m still interested in your life and would like to know how you get on, so maybe after a while, I could see you?..” he asked.

“No, I’m sorry, no. I don’t need you as a friend, and I can’t have you as a friend. A friend would never do this to me. And it’s too hard for me to even talk to you right now.”

We hung up.

I don’t know how I made it to the next morning. I did not have a single moment of sleep and could hardly stop crying. I did not know a human being could cry as much,

I don’t remember much about the days that followed either. I was a ghost. I was the shell of what I used to be.

2 weeks later, he was back on Bumble. Because he had no time to lose.

A few months, he already had a new relationship and had made it official on Facebook. So it must have started straight after me.

There, the story of me falling in love for the first time ever, and being dumped with a letter. A letter that mentioned Brexit when I’m a non-EU immigrant. A letter that questioned my ability to sing nursery rhymes in English. A letter that suggested I would not be able to celebrate Christmas (I love Christmas). A letter that was full of rubbish excuses from someone who just did not have the ball to face life and all the bumps it would throw my way, with me.

The snowball, had caused an avalanche, and swept me into my own little hell, as he moved onto his paradise with the next girl and somehow, was able to sleep comfortably after being so vile to someone.

#BreakUpTales #DateAndMate #Heartbreak #Breakup #TheAvalanche #FirstLove

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adamdenningtondmpdesignpractice · 3 years ago

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Week 1 - 20/09/2021

My first lecture on the module with our tutor, Paul Wilson, was a wonderful start for it gave me an introduction to the fellow postgraduate students on my course, all of whom come from different backgrounds and each carry a broad range of skills from psychology, art, writing and even industry-related experience. I’m sure these individuals will provide a wonderful contribution to any group related projects of mine, if I am fortunate to work with them in the long run. In addition, this lecture provided a good exercise to test my creative mind and understand the areas to take into consideration when designing for digital products, such as the basics of UX design. This basically refers to what the product, or in this instance the app, requires to identify, and thus succeed, with its audience and not seem a ‘failure’ or inferior with what already exists in a similar nature. When posed the question by our tutor of what an app needs to have in order to succeed, my answer was that the product needs a message which a group of consumers can identify with and ultimately take advantage of to fulfil their needs or overcome a certain frustration in their life. While this answer was strongly valid, it was also important to consider the fact that the app needs to be attractive visually, which refers to the appropriate use and composition of colour, text, imagery and graphical assets, as well as the fact that it needs to be accessibly simple by having an easy navigation menu and set of pages.

Further to this matter, I took on board how I shall go about my research, such as considering whether ideas that I might have for digital apps are actually ‘necessary’; the fact of whether there is a growing demand or recurring pattern among people who would ideally like to see a ‘pain point’ resolved in their life, as opposed to my single, possibly bias, opinion. The term ‘pain point’, referring to the varied problems individuals have with scenarios, using an established product or life situations, was an interesting term to learn for I had not encountered it before and through subsequent research I am more intrigued to discover how it is a relatively new and somewhat modern term, having only been coined in the early 2000 decade. 1

My findings on the term pointed me to an article from the July 2000 edition of the American magazine Chief Financial Officers (CFO), in which the-then editor Scott Leibs stated:

“One school of thought holds that companies should focus on a critical “pain point” and buy whatever software product meets that immediate need.” - Scott Leibs, CFO magaziene editor, July 2000 2

Returning to the original point, I intend to make it a priority to motivate and push myself further by conducting primary research, such as going out into the public and putting together a custom survey either with questions or allowing the public their own opinion as to what ‘pain points’ they may have in their life and then build of their response by choosing what the prevailing problem tends to be or possibly finding a compromise where multiple issues could even be merged into one problem-solving app, thus allowing the best of both worlds.

I also took into account from my first lecture that the app or digital asset I will work to produce, should develop a range of different emotions and showcase the fact of how it is ‘better’ than any previous product of a similar nature. I will as a result be exploring what current apps exist, many of which I’m sure at this stage I have not even heard of before or just how successfully they managed to appeal to their intended consumers. For example, Paul referenced the app Flush, designed to point users to the nearest lavatory in public. While at first this app sounded funny on the surface, it does nevertheless resolve a trivial yet somewhat common ‘pain point’ for which I can even confirm knowing people who do have this encounter. Therefore, it broadens my mind as to how successful an app can be for resolving something that the average person may hold as little importance, but that indeed there is a community of people or the odd occasion where it can be a fruitful source of help.

The lecture exercise was then put into full swing when we were given the task to practice creating an app that could address a pain point, identify an audience and possibly describe how it’s UI may even appeal in colour and design. I brainstormed on plain paper with my ballpoint pen, as suggested by the lecturer, a list of my general interests and messages or potential pain points that I’ve always found, the former to allow myself to become invested and passionate in the idea and the latter to give the app it’s ‘leg’s and purpose to which people will become invested in downloading the app to improve or resolve a life issue. Being originally from Suffolk, a very rural county, my general interests are very much in the outdoors; I enjoy nature trails, kayaking, cycling, rock climbing, assault courses and forestry zip lining. After listing my ideas and thoughts, I began to draw up a spider diagram with each path highlighting a key topic, such as the appeal, message, name of the app, audience and purpose, to which I then generate further thoughts on these elements to start visioning the idea. I shared my idea with a fellow student, Henry Marks, who liked my ideas and we began to bounce off each other’s thoughts since he had the idea for an app in which a virtual plant has to be grown and attended to by the user, akin to the established Forest app. His idea was incorporated into the app idea, which I dubbed either 'Trek' or 'Wonder', since we considered the idea of having young users photograph outdoor plants through which can tell them the stage of its lifecycle, where it originates and further interesting facts. We developed a creative rapport and it was a nice collaboration warm-up.

As a bit of a semi-realist on this topic, I at times found myself 'second-guessing' and questioning the ideas or elements that came to mind whilst brainstorming the app, mainly as to whether these could actually come to fruition, owing to either limitation in technology or even the consumers themselves. For example, I kept speculating as to whether people would be able to use the app in rural areas because of lack of Wi-fi hotspots, device data or whether children would be using the app at a young age. I was able to resolve the issue of children using it by having it be an app assigned by schools to the parents of their pupils, thus encouraging them to take outdoor adventures together as a family and learn about plants, wildlife and possibly earn 'points' or rewards if they can answer correct questions at then of the trail.

While it helped to have these inner debates, since creativity in any form has its share or challenges and obstacles, Paul reminded us that in the early stages it helps to adopt a ‘Blue Sky’ approach to the initial brainstorm and conceptual stage, since creativity will allow the idea to go in new directions and thus can be resolved as things progress or even be re-thought. It was also fascinating to hear the ideas of fellow class members and to also provide creative suggestions to expand upon their ideas, being one of my greatest pleasures in the creative field. I was able to provide a suggestion to one class member named Dom, who had an idea for setting up an app for a job market that helps creative individuals trying to network or break into the industry. It was such a good idea for an app, but he needed the key ingredient of a ‘pain point’, so I made the suggestion to perhaps have the app target the frustrated and somewhat deprived community of graduates or beginners, who don't get the opportunity because of companies demanding previous experience and to thus allow the app to be an easier transition from education to first industry experience. This suggestion was received well; it showed me how exciting it can be to share an idea with fellow creatives who, with their various dynamics can shape the idea further. I look forward to collaborating more with other individual's ideas and providing suggestion on how to help develop the strong concepts they already have.

The lecture helped tremendously by swiftly introducing me to the basics of what I shall be learning for the following few weeks and prepared for me the research that I undertake on this module.

Sources:

Watson, B, March 2011, AOL.com, Article: Buzzword of the Week: Bringing the Word 'Pain Point',

https://www.aol.com/2011/03/14/buzzword-of-the-week-pain-pointbuzzword-of-the-week-bringing-t/?guccounter=1&guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cuZ29vZ2xlLmNvbS8&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAAGdpS9tBtF-e1Mi-B0pyGKq54hUD0cs8AqBlUij1sWZGWK59duGMGrm65JHFp2nuIDK2S3BGdHB5xE0D_AQAmW4lVF9q_mocddQlY9QXyNvy9wG8NCedRIOWXm23JqNDlWIAO4zmeguxOZHqnrSplVuSbkioDji01FQggZi_gQS9

Visited: 21/09/2021

Liebs, S, July 2000, CFO, Article: In Your Face,

https://www.cfo.com/technology/2000/07/in-your-face/

Visited: 21/09/2021

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chocolate-brownies · 6 years ago

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6 Surprising Lessons I Learned on a Silent Meditation Retreat

6 Surprising Lessons I Learned on a Silent Meditation Retreat:

When I tell friends that I went on a silent meditation retreat, 95 percent of them say they couldn’t handle not talking. Yet I quickly learned how enjoyable it is to eliminate the kinds of discussions that typically occupy our days. Here are 6 lessons I learned during my week of total silence.

Spirit Rock.

Using three pillows, two blankets, and a floor chair with back support, I have built the perfect meditation throne. It is Day 2 of my week-long silent meditation retreat and I am ready to drop in for the morning session. Fifteen minutes into it, everything goes to pot. My shoulders ache, my legs are numb, and my mind fights against the emptiness that surrounds me. I try to reset and get back to something that feels right. It doesn’t work.

There is no calm bliss.

There is cessation of my thoughts.

There is no way I can sit here for another 30 minutes, I seethe silently.

How I Found Myself on a Silent Retreat

I keep circling back to a question my girlfriend asked me before I left: Why do you want to do this? I think I said something along the lines of wanting to step away from it all and explore mindfulness. I admit, it was a somewhat generic and clichéd response. And now, in this moment, I don’t really know what I am trying to accomplish by being here. Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, the bell rings, shocking my nervous system. I open my eyes and feel relief.

I am one of about 100 people at Spirit Rock Insight Meditation Center. Set among the foothills of Marin County, Calif., the center certainly delivers on its promise of an idyllic setting: 411 acres of quiet, wooded land to buffer the outside world; simple yet beautifully crafted meditation halls; and a staff that radiates kindness. It’s so lovely that at the end of Day 1, my mind and body had become amazingly familiar with the schedule of alternating seated and walking meditation. I fall asleep surprised at how easy the transition from hectic, noisy real-life to calm, silent retreat-life seems.

See also YJ Tried It: Silent Disco Yoga—More Than a Trend

Of course, that gentle entry comes to a halt during the second-day morning meditation session. After lunch, I feel restless as we prepare for our next seated meditation. Within minutes of closing my eyes, my anxiety reemerges, so I revert to the one thing I remember from our orientation: the power in focusing on steady breathing. This calms me, and gradually, my resistance disappears. After the session, I recognize the first of many insights that would emerge that week: It’s not the silence that is difficult; it’s how you navigate within it that is challenging.

Spirit Rock

When I tell friends about the retreat, 95 percent of them say they couldn’t handle not talking. Yet while on my silent meditation retreat, I quickly learned how enjoyable it is to eliminate the kinds of discussions that typically occupy our days. When you commit to quiet stillness, you have the space and time to discover things you fail to see or may have even forgotten about yourself. Here’s what I learned during a week of total silence.

See also 11 Under-the-Radar Yoga Retreats You’ll Want to Book Now

6 Lessons I Learned on a Silent Meditation Retreat

Lesson No. 1: To reconnect with yourself, you’ve got to disconnect from the “noise” that surrounds you.

Being able to sit in quiet stillness is a powerful experience. Without intrusive work emails, addictive HBO series, home project lists, and other daily distractions, I was free. No conversations to navigate and no expectations to manage. A silent retreat is a rare opportunity in our modern lives that allows us to truly let go and travel inward.

Lesson No. 2: Instead of trying to change things, it pays to get curious about what already exists.

I’ve been on retreats before—and usually they inspire me to make lists (long lists) of things I need to work on or change once I get back home. On the flip side, going on a silent retreat inspired me to see things I might normally miss—like the delight in exchanging smiles with strangers, how amazing it is to watch birds fly, and the satisfaction of being able to grow a full beard. These days, I’m able to continually remind myself that there is a constant evolution around (and within) me that happens every day. As one of my yoga teachers once said: “We have never been here, now, before. Can you become aware of this?” What I know now is that going on a silent meditation retreat is a surefire way to become aware of this.

Lesson No. 3: It’s crucial to find your own truth rather than simply regurgitate what others say.

Prior to my silent retreat, I dabbled in meditation and was familiar with the ideas put forth during the evening dharma talks. Yet during my week-long silence, I had the capacity for deep reflection—and I really examined certain ideas without judging my thoughts as good or bad. I landed on the fact that it’s OK that I may always struggle with the question, “What do you really want to do with your life?” or how I am selective in whom I dish out kindness to in my family. One question I explored intensely while on this silent retreat was this: “Why do certain things resonate with me?” It forced me to cultivate an internal honesty about what is important to me and took my thoughts into unforeseen areas that made me smile.

Lesson No. 4: Moderation is a beautiful thing.

Since I no longer had open access to food—and no ability to ask for extra or call in a late-night order—I was piling my plate during meals to stock up. Then, during breakfast one day, I had an interesting insight: My gluttony wasn’t about satisfying my appetite; it was about letting a programmed behavior drive my actions. There was an unnoticed greediness about taking as much as I could even if I didn’t need it—something that seemed to me to be a blend of societal influence and personal fear. I thought I was an advocate for environmentalism, but failed to see how some of my consumption habits didn’t support this. The quiet self-reflection that happened that morning caused me to better understand that I need to be conscious of how I can be a better steward through my daily decisions.

Lesson No. 5: You don’t actually need words to communicate with another person.

Flowing into solitude was great, but I also found joy in observing those around me on the retreat. As I watched others, I found myself trying to figure out their stories and uncover why they were there. In a strange way, I felt deeper connections with people I never talked to at this retreat than with some people I have worked with for years. It was a result of giving myself permission to flow naturally around complete strangers because normal communication was removed. This also allowed me to tap into a collective energy that spoke to my intuition instead of my intellect.

Lesson No. 6: The person I am is not too far from the person I want to be.

I realized this while on a beautiful hiking trail, alone, on Day 3 of this silent retreat. I was filled with gratitude—for following my urge to attend this retreat, for sticking to my vow of silence, and for all of the things that awaited me back home in our anything-but-silent world. Rather than gravitating toward my doubts and disappointments, as I often do, I simply felt happy and thankful as I thought about all the people and events that led me to be where I was at that very moment.

See also Surrendering to Silence in Meditation

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remedialmassage · 6 years ago

Text

6 Surprising Lessons I Learned on a Silent Meditation Retreat

Spirit Rock.

There is no calm bliss.

There is cessation of my thoughts.

There is no way I can sit here for another 30 minutes, I seethe silently.

How I Found Myself on a Silent Retreat

See also YJ Tried It: Silent Disco Yoga—More Than a Trend

Spirit Rock

See also 11 Under-the-Radar Yoga Retreats You’ll Want to Book Now

6 Lessons I Learned on a Silent Meditation Retreat

Lesson No. 1: To reconnect with yourself, you’ve got to disconnect from the “noise” that surrounds you.

Lesson No. 2: Instead of trying to change things, it pays to get curious about what already exists.

Lesson No. 3: It’s crucial to find your own truth rather than simply regurgitate what others say.

Lesson No. 4: Moderation is a beautiful thing.

Lesson No. 5: You don’t actually need words to communicate with another person.

Lesson No. 6: The person I am is not too far from the person I want to be.

See also Surrendering to Silence in Meditation

from Yoga Journal https://ift.tt/2Kl1kwP

#Yoga Journal

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the-record-columns · 7 years ago

Text

June 14, 2017: Columns

Patience...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

As noted many times in this space,one of my favorite people in the whole world was the legendary attorney and judge, the late Max Ferree.

In one column, I admitted to having stolen stories from him for years, and, as his reply, he wrote me a beautiful letter which was vintage Max. In it, he acknowledged my sins, forgave me, then, as only Max could, admonished me to at least “Get them right from now on.” To that end, he mailed me a three pound packet of stories which I have dutifully used off and on for years, and faithfully given credit to Max.

What follows is, to me, the one most special.

In the year 1899, a young daughter was born to Sarah and William Max Ferree in the south mountains of Burke County. She was the fourth child born to Sarah, the other three being named Arthur, Lola, and Mabel. The Ferrees' named this child Patience, perhaps because Sarah died soon after the birth. This child was the pet of the family, even though William Max married Louise Morrison later on, who gave birth to H. Clay Ferree, the new baby of the family.

William Max Ferree was a south mountaineer, who had a small “jot 'em down” store which probably measured no more than 20' x 35'. He had counters and shelves in there together with a big pot-bellied stove. It was a gathering place for south mountaineers—a combination of saw millers, red clay farmers, and whiskey manufacturers on the creeks and branches that left the south mountains of Burke on the way to the Catawba River.

William Max was really proud of a new addition in his store, the same consisting of a paper cutter and a twine yarn holder. Afterward, every package sold there that needed to be wrapped in paper could be, with just the right amount cut with a cleaver off of a big roll. He figured that the combination paid for itself with a little extra charge on the dry goods he sold. One day in 1914, much to his consternation, he found that somebody had whacked off a bunch of paper on the rotary and messed up some string, allegedly in an effort to wrap something. He made inquiry of his entire family but all stood mute as to who has wasted loads of wrapping paper, which he sensed knocked the profit off quite a number of sales. Later on at Christmas, presents were being unwrapped and there for him was a package wrapped in such a fashion that he knew that the giver must of same must have been the culprit, who had messed up his string and wrapping paper earlier. William Max vamped a little bit and started taking the paper off the box and ream after ream came off.

As it did, he became angrier and he bellowed out, “You mean you used all of that wrapping paper, just to wrap this box?” He opened the box and it was empty. That added more fury. “You used all that just to give me nothing?” Then little Patience said, “But Daddy, what I gave you was all my kisses—I blew them all into the box, so it really took a big box to hold them and took a lot of wrapping paper. William Max held it up, hugged her, and took the box and left the room with tears in his eyes. Patience died during the flu epidemic of 1918-1919, Above all others, William Max took it the hardest.

In 1932 the old man passed on and left a Holographic Will, wherein he gave his old red clay farm to his wife Louise for life, the remainder over to his four children, H. Clay, Arthur, Mabel, and Lola. In his hand written will, William Max added this: “There is a box wrapped in paper and string on the upper shelf of our store back in the corner. Place this box in my coffin, because I've told Patience that I would bring the box to her when I came and I want to keep my promise and bring that box full of kisses, so that we might have it, God willing, through eternity.” Signed in the presence of God this the 4th day of March, 1919, by William Max Ferree – (Seal.)

To those interested, William Max's mandate was carried out and the box was placed in the home-made white oak casket, the interior of which was lined with worn blankets, the lower body covered with an old quilt. But the big box with all of the wrapping paper on it was placed across William Max's chest so that he might deliver it in person to Patience.

Max Ferree was born in 1924 to H. Clay and Hattie Poteat Ferree in Burke County, NC.

Quieting your brain

By LAURA WELBORN

Jancee Dunn asked the question “Can modern day multi-taskers really learn to quiet their minds?”. I for one have a hard time getting to quiet, I tend to have the TV on for no other purpose but noise as I talk on the phone or check my social media.

I personally had to train myself on another form of meditation- mindfulness. I found the following great strategies to get mindful. First I realized all you need to do is pay attention to your inner and outer experience in the present moment, without judgment. Ideally, you get mindful in a quiet spot- walking, sitting at your desk or even standing in line. It’s more important to be away from engaging distraction, such as your computer than it is for your space to be dead silent. Close your eyes or not, and settle your attention on the feeling of the normal, natural breath, where ever its most clear to you- the nostrils, chest or abdomen See if you can feel one breathe fully, then the next breath. Dunn states that it is hard for her to clear her mind of wandering but when you find your mind wandering the experts says to notice the thoughts and then just let them go.

Here is the beginning steps to getting focused or centered:.

Minute 1; breathe deeply shutting your eyes can help you focus on the inner workings of your body while leaving them open strengthens your ability to stay serene amid external distractions. Inhale for a count of four and exhale for a count of six.

Minute 2: find your natural pace

Stop counting and allow your breathing to fall into an easy rhythm. Pay attention to what your breaths feel like- not overly deep or shallow and compare that with your usual cadence. Tune in to the rising and falling sensation in your body from your belly to your shoulders.

Minute 3: stay focused. Continue to be aware of your breathing. If random thoughts (work deadlines etc.) pops into your head don't push them out or linger on them. Instead imagine each one as a harmless floating cloud. This visualization technique helps you acknowledge your worries without responding to the emotionally. If a thought still doesn't drift away from your mind, jot it down on a note pad and turn back to your mediation.

Minute 4: relax Release your focus on your breathing and simply be. Remind yourself that there is nothing to do, fix or change.

Minute 5: give thanks. Think about something that you’re grateful for, such as spending time with friends or having the chance to mediate. Then gradually transition your thoughts to how you feel: the relaxed stat and your heartbeat. Open your eyes stand up and start your day- cool calm and collected.

Research is showing us that mediating can actually form new and permanent neural connections in the brain. "Mediation trains your mind to focus on the moment instead of worrying about what occurred in the past or what could happen in the future" Janet Nima Taylor the author of Mediation for non mediators.

Recognizing value in every life

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Autism spectrum is a developmental disorder with a range or “spectrum” of differing skill and disability levels. Affected people have social problems—difficulty communicating and interacting with others, and controlling their emotions. Autism has carried a stigma in Israel where, until 2014, schools often expelled students for misbehavior due to a lack of special-education guidelines. Autism also excludes young Israelis from military service, hindering their integration into society and prospects for future employment.

But that’s changing. Israel is pursuing research, treatment and rehabilitation, and addressing the need to broaden social services and housing for about 8,000 people with autism. One of its most stunning breakthroughs is the Israeli Defense Force’s recruitment of autistic soldiers for its Satellite Intelligence Unit. The soldiers spend hours scouring complex satellite images for incremental changes that indicate suspicious objects or movements. The young encoders’ extraordinary visual recall and attention to detail have saved lives.

Created in 2012 by former Mossad Director Tamir Pardo, the program, dubbed “Seeing Beyond,” harnesses the unique brilliance of the autistic mind. About one in three people with autism combine cognitive and social challenges with “profound” skills that psychiatrist Darold Treffert calls “islands of genius.” Autistic “savants” are geniuses in music, the arts, math or memory—like the IDF soldiers in the visual intelligence unit. These soldiers also learn life skills, like using public transportation, to help them overcome social and communication challenges. Other interventions benefit and nurture lower-performing children and adults with autism spectrum. Perhaps Israel’s growing experience can help build bridges with the Palestinians.

A Tradition of Humanitarian Aid

Israel has long helped its Arab neighbors, even enemy combatants, with humanitarian medical aid. In Gaza, “there are no resources, no services, nothing for [autism sufferers],” said Palestinian researcher Mohammed Habash. In the West Bank, stigma and discrimination, poor education and social services, and war compound the problem, said Professor Sarah Dababnah. Local schools turn affected children away, so they stay at home. Families struggle with inaccurate diagnoses from untrained doctors, and no statutory social services or financial support exists. Nonprofits and a few dedicated advocates struggle to fill the vacuum, she said. Parents face emotional distress, with mothers often blamed for their child’s disability. Lacking early intervention, affected children grow up unable to communicate, use the toilet or feed themselves. Many try to hurt themselves or throw destructive tantrums. According to Habash, about 15 percent of parents think autism is a result of war between the Palestinians and Israel. Others blame watching TV, or simply have no understanding what’s wrong with their child.

Recently, Lifegate, an EU-funded, West Bank nonprofit, participated in an autism conference at Ziv Medical Center. Lifegate Director Burghard Schunkert called the cooperation with Israeli doctors, therapists and institutions “very heartening.” It’s important to keep up with the latest research, he said. “That’s why we’re here.”

See beyond the barriers

But while shared research and resources are vital, there’s a thornier issue at stake. The IDF autistic soldiers’ unit is unique because of the mindset behind it—the value Israel places on human life, and its corresponding desire to see people reach their full potential.

But in the Palestinian territories, people are expendable—an attitude influenced by the officially sanctioned mindset of glorifying and inciting death by martyrdom or terrorism. That’s why parents don’t quibble when their children are taught, not to excel and prosper, but to stab and kill Israelis. Muslim reformer Islam al-Behery says a “change of heart” is the key to successfully bring Palestinians and other radical Islamists into the 21st century. If the Palestinians could see value in every life, perhaps they would spend less money supporting terrorism and invest in strengthening the most vulnerable of their own. Surely their hope and future would become better. This humanitarian need is another opportunity for Israel to be a model to its neighbors—by sharing knowledge and resources to enhance the quality of life. Israel is indeed changing the world for the better yet for this they receive little recognition and very little appreciation.

Brighten your day.

A Full Moon On the Island and Amy’s Stories

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

It was to be a full moon night when I arrived on the Island, I had checked into The Cove Bed and Breakfast, as is my normal habit when researching for another Island story.

Sharon is the Inn Keeper and has a good feel for everything happening on Ocracoke. I ask if there were anything interesting going on that night and see said, well Amy is doing the Ghost Tour that blends in a lot of the Island history. An historic ghost tour on a full moon night sounded perfect. Sharon made the call and I was added to the list.

The tour was conducted by ninth generation Ocracoke resident Amy Howard who has been a tour guide for more than 12 years.

There was a good number of people who showed up for the tour which started at 7:15pm. We were all warmly greeted on Howard Street and provided with a selection of mosquito repellent for which we were all grateful.

The tour was full of history that spanned from the settlement of the Island, War time, a variety of colorful personalities and of course stories of the unexplained.

We learned that dreams were taken seriously on the island. A dream of death or disaster concerned everyone. One such dream was had by Fannie Pearl MacWilliams. Born in 1894 she was the daughter of Department store owners John and Elizabeth MacWilliams. The family lived in a large Victorian home not far from the Ocracoke

Lighthouse. This was also a time when traveling from one side of the island to the other was not easy.

When Fannie Pearl was 16 she was a student of and Robert Stanley Wahab, who had returned to the island after going away for higher education. Stanley was only six years her senior and it was not long before they found themselves attracted to each other.

Fannie Peal was an accomplished student and her further education was supported by her parents who decided to send her to a boarding school off the island. When Stanley learned that his sweetheart would be leaving the island he sought employment in the Norfolk area so that he could be near Fannie Pearl. There love continued to grow and they were soon married. Not long after at the age of 18 Fannie Pearl discovered she was with child.

In 1912 the custom of the day was for expecting women to not be seen in public, so Fannie Pearl returned to the Island to stay with Martha Ann Wahab, her mother in law. Stanley continued to work in Norfolk and he sent money to his wife on a regular schedule.

At breakfast on one fall morning Martha Ann noticed that Fannie Pearl seemed sad, however she was unwilling to talk about the reason for her uncommon despair. It as later in the day that Fannie Pearl shared with her mother in law that she had a dreadful dream, in which she had died. She said that her spirt hovered over her own lifeless body that had been dressed in a solid white dress and placed in a white silk lined white casket.

The casket was then placed on a freshly white painted sailing skiff. On calm waters a silvery white moon suddenly rose against the distant live oaks on the far horizon.

Naturally Martha Ann tried to comfort Fannie Pearl, however it was not easy. The next morning Martha Ann called for upstairs for Fannie Pearl to come down for breakfast, there was no response. She called again and still no response, with concern she took the stairs and opened the door to reveal the lifeless body of Fannie Pearl.

Stanley was notified as soon as possible, he responded with a request to please do nothing until he returned. He quickly made plans to travel and went to find the best casket he could afford for his young bride. With the casket loaded on his pickup he made his way to wait for the mail boat to arrive.

The four-hour trip to the island was with a heavy heart and upon arrival things moved quickly. Fannie Pearl was to be buried on the other side of the water with her parent’s family plot. This was not an easy task and the only way to quickly make the trip was to utilize a skiff. About mid-way across Martha Ann who was in the skiff behind the boat caring the body of Fannie Pearl, gasp as she saw the new silvery moon and realized that the details Fannie Pearl shared about her own death had come to pass just as she described.

As Amy Howard shared this story, I turned and started taking pictures over Silver Lake. It was a full moon night, however the full moon was behind me. It may have been dust, a moth or whatever, but whatever it I was, it was on perfect cue for Amy's Story. Rest In Peace Fannie Pearl.

Another interesting visit to Ocracoke Island.

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturdays at 12:00 noon. For more on the show visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com, You can email Carl White at [email protected].

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