The Past, Present, and ... Welcome to 2016!

I am inclined to look back, always have been.... An astrologer once warned me that I had perhaps a troublesome tendency to dwell in the nostalgia of the past, and when I heard this, I agreed immediately.  That was many years ago, and I'm still doing it.  In fact, I recently spent two years writing a memoir, trying to dig through layers of memory in order to make sense out of my life's trajectory -- to answer the question:  just what has this life been about really?  What kind of story does my life look like?

But what has been interesting about this year 2015 that is now passing is that certain life events have forced me to plant myself squarely in present time and pay attention.  It has been a difficult year as years go, but I believe insight has occurred and with that some sense of ease.  On February 22, I passed the 70 year mark, sometime in the late spring my right leg and ankle showed signs of inflammation, and fatigue, in the fall I quit a job I had dearly loved after a ten year stint, and at some point a little later I fell into an insidious pattern of sleeplessness.

Instead of celebrating seventy years of life, I had chosen a darker view, one where I looked behind me at the very long succession of happenings, many of which I couldn't remember clearly, and at the same time saw the path ahead becoming shorter and shorter.  I went about my normal daily life with this somber weather inside my head.  And then, the body spoke to me, its injury forcing me to pay attention.    It would appear that it was time finally for me to attend to this body that has been carrying me around all these years with some respect and compassion.  And so I embarked on a journey of doctors and tests and physical therapy, struggling to summon lovingkindness for myself.  Leaving my ten year job of tending the dying was a big and painful step, and a necessary one.  The gifts of those ten years of witnessing were huge -- the equanimity, patience, love, and spaciousness of mind -- but I knewI had to move away from death and put my attentions elsewhere.  It was in the end like leaving home...  And then came all those nights in the dark when I couldn't sleep, as time slowed down to a painful crawl while I tossed and turned, wavering between meditative acceptance and outright anger.  My Buddhist practice couldn't stop me from feeling really angry at both body and brain that were denying me the rest I needed.  And rather than be irritated that I was a bad Buddhist, I returned again to lovingkindness, and patience, as I tried to find medicinal help.

The circuits in my brain seemed to be permanently set to fire, with the "on" switch refusing to be turned off.  And so,  problem solver that I have always been, I pondered and reflected about just why my brain was locked into perpetual vigilance.  What was it trying to protect me against?  I am not sure I've found an answer, but I am pretty sure a clue lies in the past - yes, the past, my old stomping grounds.  As a neglected solitary child I was always watching the comings and goings in the world around me in order to feel safe.   They now call this hyper vigilance.  And all the recent excavating of my young story just might have opened the door to some very old fear.  Fear of what?  Running out of time?  A failure to create one last meaningful thing?  Inability to attain real love?  The unspeakable mystery (challenge) of dying alone? Whatever face this vigilance takes, it is all about fear.  And fear is about what's ahead of us.  The future.  Which of course doesn't really exist ... it is forever just ahead of us.

As I look ahead to 2016, I'm happy to report that my body has found rest, my mind is clearer, while the melancholy still walks with me.  And as I look more closely at melancholy, I realize it is rooted in a deep love of my life ... a love so big and beautiful I can't bear that it all will end.  My authentic self is fairly young, really; she didn't show up until I could carve out work and practice for myself that would allow me to express my deepest (truest) feelings and thoughts.  I was probably in my fifties when the real Mag emerged, having endured growing up with a difficult mother, trying out motherhood and marriage herself, finally landing in academia, a place which gave her great comfort and knowledge.  How many more years she has to express herself in the world is of course unknown.  But the good news is that right NOW she is here, paying attention to messages from her body and brain, breathing in and out, and looking for beauty wherever she can find it:  in friendships and family, cats, music, traveling, or watching the stunning little hummingbirds that whiz by for a little nectar in the late afternoons...

I wish all who read this ease and peace and love in the "new year," as we navigate a complicated, painful, and beautiful world.