Thoughts from my hammock. May 7, 2007
Haad Thien Beach, Ko Pagnan Island, Thailand
People may wonder what one does sitting at the beach for two months. Doesn’t it get boring? they may think. I imagine for some people that it would get boring, especially the way they may see me doing it. My daily schedules vary, but in no stressful way. Sometimes I get up for the eight-oclock yoga class. Sometimes not. If I don’t, I may go to the four-o’clock class. I typically eat a plate of fruit for breakfast, locally grown watermelon, pineapple and banana and perhaps some mango if they have it. Sometimes I will get up at sunrise to practice Chi Gong on the beach if it is not too windy. The past ten days has been rather stormy so I have been sleeping in. Generally during the day, when the spirit strikes, I will find a spot on the beach to meditate for a while. If the weather’s bad, I will do this inside my bungalow. Lunch is usually between twelve and four in the afternoon, though if that late I will probably skip dinner. I often will have another plate of fruit or perhaps a bowl of tom yum vegetable soup with tuna. Dinners may be a soup or a curry, or occasionally a stir-fried chicken and vegetable, no oil.
Much of the time during the day I can be found swinging in my hammock. I'm not sure what it is about my hammock, but it calls to me and I willingly obey. While residing in said hammock I may spend the time watching the ocean do its ebb and flow or watch the dogs playing on the sand. Today the sea was quiet and I could barely hear the waves lapping against the shore. Yesterday the waves were crashing down, fiercely thrown in by an angry sea.
The small voice in my head shared with me a secret. In nature's present moment lies the truth. I seek this moment when lying in my hammock. As I swing and hear the waves against the shore, I try to listen beyond the obvious. I hear the insects chirping in the trees. I hear the birds singing soft songs, I hear the scratching of chickens teaching their chicks to forage for food. Occasionally I will catch something else, something beyond my ability to hear. I try to tune into it but as soon as I do, it is gone. A coconut falls to the ground. The wind makes branches dance and then calms again. I turn my attention inwards. How do I feel right now? How is my breath? Where am I contracted, expanded? Where can I release unneeded tensions I am holding? I breathe. Deep abdominal breaths, I remind myself. Another. Deeper. My closed eyes see the light of my breath as it travels downwards toward my navel. I relax and concentrate without effort, letting go. I lift my thoughts to the divine. Perhaps a little prayer, a request to be made pure, empty of self that I may be filed only with goodness and love, to be a beacon of light to brighten all with whom I come in contact. A slight smile. A feeling of warmth and energy surging very subtly through my body. I breathe deeply again.
Today is my fourth day of a water-only fast. It has not been hard this time. My diet has been light and healthy for over a month and my body does not mind the neglect. It actually appreciates the time to concentrate on cleaning and repairing itself, I believe. It is hard to tell what the body really wants, always craving the things bad for it. Or is that the mind? Sometimes it is hard to tell what is doing the desiring and craving. My only symptom of my fasting is a low energy level. Today I went to walk on the beach. I did not have the energy to walk for very long. I happily returned to my hammock.
Nights can be my favorite time here. I put on some soft heart-stirring music, light a candle or two and some incense, and enjoy the most romantic evenings in the presence of Divine Spirit. My posture quickly becomes an unforced half-lotus and my brain slows, I sit upright, spine straight, all processing naturally without need for self-correction or thought. I focus on my breathing for a while. How does it feel? What is the quality? Then I regulate, long deep-belly breathing. My mind begins to visualize my breath and it becomes bright in the darkness of the candlelit room. The light fills my belly and then expands outwards. Soon I am sitting in a cocoon of bright white light, radiant and glorious. Not too much time passes before my mind wanders and I lose the present moment. Sometimes I catch it quickly, other times it goes into some very important future planning, past re-living or idea structuring. Eventually I come back to nature's present moment and realize that none of those thoughts were real. Just fantasy; fiction. A moments energetic pulse and then gone, fleeting. I become deliberate about my breath once more. No self-scolding, no admonishment. The brain does its own thing naturally. One cannot blame the brain for thinking. Lovingly I remind myself to return, to train the mind to the present moment. What else is there? I recently read in a book that sooner or later, this present moment will be your last."* And here it is, and there it goes. Present for only the briefest instant, yet always there.
Until that sooner or later, that is.
*Deida, David. Blue Truth.
