I’ve spent
the last week contemplating the fine line between want and need; true desire
and addiction. It started after a friend challenged me to sit in meditation
rather than hike. And, while meditation is not foreign to me—it is an important
part of who I am—I’ve tended to meditate in the woods … only after hiking. The act of movement a requisite to the want of stillness.
I am no
stranger to this information. I’ve known for many years my need to be active;
my disquiet with stillness. I’ve worked hard at tempering it down from an
active addiction to a manageable desire. In recovery I find peace and
tranquility within this quiet place. But the need to move always lingers in the
background. I can sit in quiet meditation as long movement precedes it or is
soon to follow. Hence the physical activity of hiking and the solace I find in
the trees seem to complete me: a mergence of yin and yang; a dance of spirit
and soul.
So when I
took up the challenge it was not in want of giving up movement. It is not only
health-giving but an aspect of life that I love. The issue was something else:
could I find peace if movement is denied?
I chose the
seaside to be my place of sitting. In the time I would have spent hiking and
then, even in writing, I sat and watched the ocean as she touched the rocky
shore—sometimes gently; other times with assertion—but always with a rhythm
that pulled me in to her watery depths.
It is not
always easy to sit. The need to move, the need to do anything, is powerful but
then again, so is my want—my true desire—of the calm acceptance found only in
the state of being.
Today is
day eleven. Circumstances made it difficult to sit the last two days and I missed
it. Over the last week I sat in rain and wind, bundled tight in Helly Hanson;
in the warmth of the sun and the cool of the dark. I am only beginning to learn
all I need to learn in that watery expanse but two things stand out.
The need to move is an age-old grasping to
be strong, thin and safe. It has nothing to do with the enjoyment I find in the
play of my muscles, a love of the forest and the strong spiritual connection I
find when I am there.
The need “to do” carries forth in my
writing. But, as above, my determination to publish a blog each week has little
to do with my love of writing and the act of a disciplined art but more in the
fear of failure, of not being enough; and of not being recognized.
Today I hiked
and then I wrote. I also sat in stillness by the water. I enjoyed all three except
that I really didn’t feel complete until I sat. I realize I won’t feel this way
every day and, to be honest, it would not be great for my physical health but I
know the completeness would have been there with just the sitting. I don’t need to write and I don’t need to move. I need just to be me.
It’s about
inner discernment: of the fervent needs that try to fulfill a vacant past and the
soulful wants that help me live a full and conscious life.
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