Rain, rain, go away
Hi First name / friend!
The sound of the rain on the metal balcony chairs outside the window is accompanying my writing this morning; I'm not sure the cushions I left on them will ever recover - heavy and water-logged as they now are.
I can't remember when or where this week, but I was reading about David Dawson, an artist to whom Lucian Freud left his house and studio when he died. On the walls of the studio, David has written “storms rinse the skies”. (In fact, I've just recalled it was House & Garden, a midweek WHSmith treat for this 30-going-on-50-year-old.)
“Storms rinse the skies”. Such beautiful imagery, as if the drip-drip-drip on the table outside is actually just some large cloth being wrung out above us.
We love the sun, of course we do, but the changeability and impermanence of the weather can offer us lessons in non-attachment and mindfulness. Just as in meditation we offer ourselves a chance to step back and observe the passing nature of the thoughts, we can see that same sentiment being echoed back to us in the passing nature of - well, nature! Nothing lasts forever: raindrops stop; clouds are blown on by the wind; the sun in its transience offers us glorious days by the beach we choose to appreciate because we know it won't last.
In meditation*, we choose to step back from the need to become embroiled in every emotion that might be most prevalent to us that day. Instead, we notice that it too will pass. We can also offer ourselves the comfort of considering how “storms rinse the skies”, and consider that we might in fact be clearing the path for new things to come.
*I say meditation, but reluctantly, because I think sometimes it can sound unapproachable/scary/too-big-to-begin. Really, we just mean a little pocket of stillness and quiet where we might choose to close the eyes, take a deep breath and tune in. That's why, really, I use the term mindful moments.
Mindful moment: Remember, sitting in silence and stillness is a hard task for the nervous system. It requires a blended state of both ventral (safety) and dorsal (immobilisation); for us to immobilise without fear. What ventral anchors might you adopt to help you come to stillness safely? What conditions does that require? How, who, what, where, when - these are all conditions of our safety. When we turn inwards safely, we practise befriending the nervous system; we are learning to turn towards what feels difficult. We do this by understanding those conditions that make us feel safe, and practise going safely in and out of dorsal (stillness). In practising these mindful moments, we see the nature of our own selves as a reflection of the natural world outside us; the mind as a microcosm for the world outside our window.
In other news…
The ban on onshore wind farms has been lifted under the new government. If you haven't seen it, channel 4 has a great documentary with Kevin McCloud, Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall and Mary Portas explaining how climate change can be stopped, and onshore wind farms is a key part of the solution: The Great Climate Fight.
England are through to the Euros final. However you feel about football, I challenge you not to feel a little bit of joy just from simply seeing so many people so happy.
Have we met?
Welcome to the Community.
I'm Laura, a yoga teacher and NHS doctor. With this weekly newsletter I aim to help you incorporate mindful moments into your week. I want you to feel inspired, empowered and creative. I promise to always be authentic; to only include content that speaks to me and which, therefore, I hope will do the same for you.
If you enjoyed reading this, then please consider sharing it with a friend!