Choosing where to place your attention
This is the second of what will be several reflections coming out of my 7 day wilderness retreat earlier this month.
Embedded in this wilderness retreat was a fair amount of kayaking. The itinerary called for several paddling trips over the course of 7 days The intention was to paddle to different islands in the Sea of Cortez - paddling for 2-3 hours and then set up camp where we would remain for the next day and a half. The intention was to practice being mindful, being present when the body was in motion (and 10 people are moving as one, in silence).
One of the great teachers of this trip is the Weather. While the plan was to paddle one morning, the water was too rough to cross the channel, so the revised plan was to have us all cross in the Panga (the supply boat that carried our supplies from island to island).
14 of us loaded up into the Panga and pushed out in the crossing. Now, I wouldn’t consider myself a veteran open-water boater by any means, nor do I consider myself to be timid (on a scale of adventurous to timid, I’m definitely on the adventurous side). However, halfway through the crossing, the boat stalled*. I found myself being tossed around and visions of going overboard filled my imagination. I certainly didn’t want to die - I had 4 kids at home. I noticed my stomach tightening and my throat clenching. I also remembered something that my teacher had mentioned in a meditation discussion the other night. That was “you can only be aware of one thing at a time”
At that moment, I decided to try it out. I’d much rather be aware of something other than the feeling of impending doom and, in exchange, I found a meditation object I could instead anchor on.
At first, I simply turned my attention to the feel of my body sitting. The weight of the back of my legs resting upon the seat of the boat. Like we practice in a body scan meditation, I rested my attention on the sensations in my body.
Within a minute or two, the boat started up again and we started crossing again. The waves, however, were still big and the anxiety found its way back.
Ah - The hum of the boat engine!
For the next 20 minutes, I closed my eyes and rested all my attention on the sound of the boat engine. Anytime I found my attention leaving the simple anchor of sound, I gently brought it back and started again.
That boat ride turned into a 20 minute meditation filled with calm and spaciousness. I later told my teacher, I was aware of my dropping heartbeat and the slow, almost imperceptible, sensations of breath. I was in a state of relaxation and the conditions had not changed.
That experience is one I will never forget.
The power of redirecting your attention is one of the most powerful tools I have learned in this practice. Who knew you could choose your thoughts? Who knew you could redirect your attention from a painful stimulus (here, the thought of dying at sea) and simply refocus and rest your attention on one of the other multitude of stimuli that are occurring? Here, a beautiful vibration and hum.
Life can be hard sometimes. And we often don’t help it along in the way we think, the stories we tell ourselves, the tales we spin.
I have learned that my mind can take a beautiful setting (blue sea as far as I can tell) and concoct a story that feels so real, my body begins to have physical pain. How lovely to also learn that I have choices? That I redirect the mind to where the story is simply in the background. I don’t need to fight it.
I can choose to place my attention elsewhere.
Now..this doesn’t happen just because I willed it. It happened because I’ve been practicing. And I think it’s 4 steps that need to happen.
I need to be aware that I’m thinking a thought
I need to be aware that I have choices
I need to have the “muscle memory” to find another anchor for my attention
I need to have the built-up concentration to remain on the anchor (or the grace and kindness to continue returning every time my mind leaves the anchor)
This is the beauty of a mindfulness practice. It keeps giving and showing me the power I have over my own experience.
