Tag Archives: mindfulness

Our Frames of Mind

              In the fifth game of the World Series, Toronto pitcher Trey Yesavage — a young man who has only been pitching in the major leagues for a few months — faced the most feared hitter in baseball, Shohei Ohtani:

Ohtani led off the bottom of the first inning with a comebacker. Yesavage bobbled the ball and then dropped it, but he had what you might call veteran poise, picking up the ball and throwing what Toronto manager John Schneider called “kind of a shovel pass” to first base for the out.  “The fact that he kind of shoveled it the way he did and kind of had a little smile on his face,” Schneider said, “it actually gives you a little bit of confidence that he’s in the right frame of mind.” (October 30, LA Times)

              What is the “right frame of mind” in this situation? It seems it’s being in a high-pressure situation, making a mistake, not losing your cool, remembering your purpose, and accomplishing your task – with “a little smile.”  Doing that demonstrated “veteran poise.”  Yesavage maintained that poise, set World Series pitching performance records that night, and helped his team win the game.

              This has got me thinking about the term, “frame of mind.”

              A picture frame is a structure we use to hold something we want to see well.  We choose a particular frame to highlight the photo or painting it will border. A good frame focuses our attention on what is important. 

A “frame of mind” is an attitude we use that helps us focus on who we want to be and what we want to accomplish.

              I’ve been thinking about “frames of mind” I have seen in action.

              I worked with a church custodian who always displayed a positive attitude no matter what the challenge might be.  One time I asked him how he did that.  He said he used to be a person who often complained.  But then he visited a pediatric oncology ward and saw children being treated for life-threatening illness. That day he decided he would never again let himself complain about everyday problems.  The experience helped shaped his frame of mind every day.

              Some years ago, I attended a special installation service for a new Catholic bishop. In his remarks, he said he had had polio when he was young, and though he had largely recovered, he was still falling occasionally.  “If you are with me when that happens,” he said, “…don’t become anxious… just extend your hand to me, help me to my feet, and we will go on.  And if, as your bishop, I make a mistake, don’t become anxious – just extend your hand to me, help me back to where I should be, and we will go on.” 

              At a conference last year at Westmont College, a group of staff members were interviewed about their jobs.  They were asked if they had any favorite Scripture verses to guide them in their work. A long-time student advisor cited 2 Corinthians 4:18: “…for we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen, for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.”  When she began working with a student, that verse helped her focus not on her initial impressions but on what the student’s deepest concerns and hopes might be.

              I recently heard a presentation from a colleague who had been the chair of an academic department.  One of his responsibilities was to interview people being considered for teaching positions. He established a practice of meeting each candidate for breakfast at a particular restaurant.  While they were talking, he observed how the candidate treated the waiter and employees who came to the table: did the candidate demonstrate courtesy and respect, or did they act as if the employees didn’t matter?  He came to believe that this behavior would predict how the person would treat students and anyone of “lesser status.”  He would only recommend the people who showed respect. 

              Spiritual traditions and practices can remind us of how we can find deeper meaning in life and how we can best serve others, offering us “frames” for doing that well.

              What frame of mind we choose as we go through our day will shape how we experience each day and our effect on other people.  A good frame can help us keep our poise, perspective, and purpose. And when we make mistakes, it can empower us to maintain our composure and do our best to still get the job done – with a little smile.

Lead Image: “Person Carrying a Big Empty Frame Outdoors,” freepik.com

Cat Stevens Went Away — and Came Back

“When he was a child in Catholic school in London, (he) asked a nun, Sister Anthony, what might have been his first existentialist question: “When do the angels start writing down your sins?”

After a pause, she told him the scorecard began when children turn 8, a relief since he was still a year or two away. 

“Religion constantly made me feel guilty about nice-looking things,” he writes in his book. “But balancing those kind of fearful images with what was going on outside the doors of the church after school, I felt the pull of the world mighty overpowering.”[i] 

The boy to whom Sister Anthony was speaking to was Steven Georgiou.  The call to find some beauty in the outside world led him to become a musician and a songwriter. He had gifts which he developed and shared. He changed his name to Cat Stevens.

I remember well the impact he made on my generation. In 1970 much of the music of the time reflected angst and outrage.  But then albums came out that carried with them a softer tone.  James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James was one.  Another was Cat Stevens’ Tea for the Tillerman, with songs like “Where Do the Children Play?” and “Wild World.” Then came his biggest selling album, “Teaser and the Firecat.”  We heard songs like “Moonshadow,” “Peace Train,” and the English hymn, “Morning Has Broken.” There was still social concern, but the mood was more poignant, reflective and hopeful.

Several years later, Cat Stevens disappeared.  Word came he had given up music and become a Muslim, taking the name Yusuf Islam.  Only recently has he seemed to resurface. In a recent interview in the New York Times, he shared highlights of his spiritual journey which includes three close encounters with death. 

The first came when he was a teenager.  He and some friends were jumping between rooftops when he slipped and one of his buddies saved him from falling at the last second.  The second came when he was 20 and discovered he had tuberculosis.  Then there was the third:

Late in 1975, soon after Islam turned 27, his career seemed to be flagging. While he waited for lunch with his manager and label boss in Malibu, Calif., he decided to swim in the Pacific. After 15 minutes in the cold water, he tried to head back, only to find that the current was sweeping him to sea.

“I thought I could swim well, but I could not fight or beat the ocean. I had only seconds left,” Islam, 77, said recently during a video interview from a rented London apartment. So he prayed, insisting that, if he lived, he would work for God. A wave pushed him forward. “When I realized my vulnerability, what else could I do? My body was disappearing. I had only my soul left.”[ii] He began an earnest spiritual journey which led to his conversion to Islam in 1977.

Recently I’ve been in group discussions where a key concept of Richard Rohr’s has kept surfacing.  According to Rohr, our spiritual journeys can often go through three phases: order, disorder, and reorder.  In the “order” stage, we have clear ideas about who we are and what we believe.  But times can come when it’s not making sense anymore – we experience things that challenge that clear sense of order.  We enter “disorder,” a kind of spiritual wilderness where we are not sure what we can trust and believe. But eventually, we can form a new sense of direction and place – our world has been reordered.  And the process can keep repeating.

Looking back on Cat Stevens’ life, it seems he went from the order of his Catholic upbringing, to the disorder of seeking a new identity “outside the doors of the church,” to finding a new reorder as a rock star, to finding that was not enough and entering a new time of disorder as a spiritual seeker.  Eventually he found a new reorder as a devout Muslim which included giving up music.  In recent years, he’s looked for yet a new reorder in his life, integrating his faith with his musical gifts.  He has gone away and come back more than once – something he needed to do to adapt to life while also honoring his soul.

I find many of us go through similar journeys.  We’ve gone through phases of being settled, then unsettled. Then settled again. Then unsettled.  We may not come close to drowning in the ocean like he did at age 27, but we experience our “vulnerability” as we deal with changes and challenges in our personal life, relationships and world; as years go on, we may even feel our bodies are slowly “disappearing.”  But the spiritual life is a pilgrimage in which we are constantly learning and adapting.  Along the way, it’s a beautiful thing to realize we will always have our “soul left.”  And we can be grateful for those who are sharing the journey with us.

For an old, grainy video of Cat Stevens singing “Moonshadow” in 1971 before an adoring crowd of long-haired fans, click on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGNxKnLmOH4

[i] “As Cat Stevens, He Knew That He Had to Go Away,” NYTimes, Sept 21, 2025

[ii] Ibid.

Red Light, Green Light: Lessons from the Copenhagen Bicycle Commuters

In February 2020, I was in Copenhagen having my early morning coffee in a corner café adjacent to my hotel.  It was raining, and I was watching Danes going to work on their bicycles.  The traffic light turned red and a dozen commuters stopped their bikes and waited.  I looked up and down the intersection and could see there were no cars coming from any direction. I expected they would do what many Americans would do – seeing it was safe, resume their pedaling through the red light.  But the cyclists patiently waited for the light to change. In the rain.  At peace.  The light changed to green, and off they went.

Four years later I was in Berlin and observed the same phenomenon: pedestrians obeying the red crosswalk signal, even when it was safe to cross.  My impatient American-self pleaded with me to cross, but not wanting to reveal my tourist identity, I waited.  Instead of being in a hurry, I became more aware of where I was; “present in the moment,” as the saying goes.

For the rest of my trip, I did my best to practice this discipline at crosswalks: welcoming the red light as an invitation to pause and reflect.  I grew to appreciate it.

Last spring, I shared a story about a group of indigenous porters who had been hired by Westerners on a journey.  After three days of relentless trekking, the Westerners had a sense of pride that they could cover so much ground in just three days. But that night around the campfire, the porters said they would not go any further the next day.  The Westerner asked why.  The response: “…we went so quickly yesterday that we must wait here for our souls to catch up with us.”

In the years I was involved at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center, I saw countless people arrive who had been allowing themselves to work nonstop; even as their body and spirit had been flashing a red light that it was time to slow down, they had pressed on. Now they were burned out. They’d leave their car in the parking lot and, eventually, leave their cell phone in their room. They would begin to slow down. Avoid the news. Nap. Walk.  Hike.   Meditate.  Read. Contemplate. Enjoy the food. Sleep in.  After a few days, you could see the difference in their faces: they were calm, alert and optimistic. Their personal sense of identity and purpose had returned.  As they packed their cars and drove away, they were ready for the green light of re-engagement.

In the last two weeks, I shared my experience of spending five days in the hospital in late June followed by six weeks of daily antibiotic injections.  I am free to do many activities, but there are others I cannot do — swim, play golf, and travel out of town (I had to bow out of three trips we had planned). It’s as if I was charging into summer, looked up, saw a red light, and came to a stop.  A familiar voice within me has been restless, looking for reasons I could charge ahead.  But another voice is inviting me to see this as an invitation to pause and take stock of my life.  I am working on a personal reset and curious to see what I discover. I also look forward to the day when the light turns green.

“Mindfulness Invitations:” Berlin, September, 2024

Lead image: “Copenhagen Bicycle,” ar.inspiredpencil.com

Dreams and Realities: Thoughts on the LA Fires

In the aftermath of the recent Los Angeles fires, LA Times theater critic Charles McNulty shared his impressions in a column titled “Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’ illuminates an existential truth revealed by the Los Angeles fires.”[i]

McNulty writes from a neighborhood just east of the decimated neighborhoods. He’s been reassuring friends back East that he is OK as he tries to make sense of what he has witnessed. He says, “Shakespeare helps me envisage the unimaginable, and a speech from “The Tempest” has been running through my mind since images of charred sections of Pacific Palisades and Altadena started circulating.” 

In the play, the exiled Duke Prospero has put on a “supernatural pageant” to entertain his daughter and her fiancé. But at one point Prospero realizes his enemies are plotting to take his life. He abruptly ends the performance.  Speaking of the imaginary world the play created which has suddenly disappeared, he says,

“And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-cappped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded
Leave not a rack behind.[ii] We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”

                  McNulty describes how the things that make up everyday life can seem so solid and permanent but are, in fact, subject to disappearing at any moment. “The grief of those bearing witness to the fires is more than sympathy. We’ve all been given a shocking lesson in the “baseless fabric of this vision” we call reality but which Prospero recognizes is no more solid than a dream.”

                  Have you ever had an experience in which something that seemed so “real” suddenly disappears like a dream?

                  My parents built our home in San Bernardino in 1953. They stayed after my siblings and I moved away.  After mom died in 1993, dad lived there on his own there for more than a decade.  Eventually he sold it and moved to a retirement residence; at that point it had been our family home for fifty years.  A year later, the house burned down in a wildfire (after the new owners evacuated). Months later my sisters and I visited.  All that was left was the partially collapsed chimney. I took a charred brick as a memento.  Now I look at old family photos taken there and wonder: ‘Where did it go?”

I was Director at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center in 2018; our work was thriving and the future was bright. On January 9, the Montecito Debris Flow destroyed eight buildings and left half the property a barren field of mud.  La Casa has yet to reopen.  Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I imagine giving a tour of the property like I used to.  I can clearly see everything as it was.   It’s still hard to believe that all those structures, oak trees and our vital work could disappear in an instant.

                  How many of us have suddenly lost a loved one or treasured friend and find it hard to accept the person is really gone?

                  Is everything tangible in life nothing more than a dream?

                  Like Shakespeare, the spiritual traditions teach us that what seems so real one minute can be gone the next.

                  One of the foundational truths of Buddhism is the impermanence of all material reality. Much of our suffering arises from our tendency to ignore that.  The path to enlightenment begins with this understanding.

                  Jesus teaches a similar truth: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  (Matthew 6: 19-21)   

                  Are we to avoid being attached to anything that might perish? If so, how do we live?

                  For centuries, one path has been to become a monk or a nun.  You give up all your possessions and don’t own anything apart from the clothes on your back. You become celibate. Being unattached to long-term relationships and material goods means you can totally focus on the path to enlightenment and “treasures in heaven.”

                  But there is another path. This path does not forget how quickly things can vanish but does not shy away from embracing them .  This path means we remember that many things in life that seem permanent may disappear at any moment.  But we don’t turn away from them.  We invest ourselves in relationships that matter.  We obtain and care for basic material things, including the dwelling in which we live.  We plan for the future, knowing nothing is guaranteed.  We remember that everything material is subject to change.  But we appreciate what we have while we have it and are ready to share it with others.  We know the deepest meaning in life is found in pursuing spiritual values, yet we also allow ourselves to be grounded in the material world in which we live.

Life is like a dream.  But the people, dwellings, possessions, and commitments in our life are, at this moment, not a dream; they are real.  We hold both perspectives as true.  And we go on.

The brick from our home.

[i] https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2025-01-13/los-angeles-fires-shakespeare-tempest

[ii] McNulty notes the word “rack” meant “a wisp of a cloud’

Lead image: “Still Life with Ham and Fruit,” Jan Davidsz de Heem,1656

Taking Care of Your Gyroscope and Your Compass

I follow different weekly columnists looking for useful insights.  I recently saw a comment by Peggy Noonan giving advice to fellow commentators as we face what might be a chaotic year: “Keep your tools, compass and gyroscope, clean, dry and level.”[i]

I liked this statement.  The metaphors weren’t new, but I appreciated putting them together: “Keeping your…compass and gyroscope, clean, dry and level.”

I take our personal gyroscope to be what keeps us balanced when our life gets topsy-turvy – what keeps us in touch with our deepest values and best thinking.

A compass helps locate where we are at any one moment.  It gives us trustworthy information with which we can decide on the best direction to go.

It is common for us to start our day, our year and any new chapter in our life with certain assumptions about what’s going to happen and how we will respond. Sometimes things unfold like we expect. But often unforeseen events happen – events that we did not see coming — and we can feel like we’ve been knocked off balance and are lost. Time to check our navigational instruments.

I have previously written about a scene from the movie Lincoln. [ii] In the winter of 1865, Lincoln wants to have Congress pass the 13th amendment (abolishing slavery) before the Civil War ends.  He needs the support of Thaddeus Stevens, an abolitionist who wants an amendment that goes beyond just the abolition of slavery to declare the total equality of the races.  Lincoln and Stevens have the same inner conviction that equality is the ultimate goal – they share a similar gyroscope.  But Lincoln knows Steven’s amendment won’t pass. Lincoln grew up on the frontier and has been in wilderness. He says, “The compass points you true north but does not warn you of obstacles and swamps along the way.”  Where we want to end up may be clear but the way to get there may not be; we must forge ahead as best we can.  Stevens reluctantly agrees to compromise and with his support the amendment passes.

I’ve performed many weddings in my ministry. Early on, I wanted couples to have a good experience in premarital counseling, but knew I was not equipped to provide it. I found marriage and family counselors whom I trusted and arranged with them to see couples for three sessions.  I would tell the couples that an added benefit would be becoming familiar with someone in town they could always go back to for support and advice as time went on – people who could help them get in touch with their “compass and gyroscope” when needed.

One topic I did personally discussed with couples was the vows.  Sometimes people wanted to write their own vows, which I could support. But I would also have them consider the traditional vows:

I, ____, take you, ____, to be my lawfully wedded (husband/wife), to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

I would tell them to consider the three couplets: “for better/for worse, for richer/for poorer, in sickness/in health.”  When events in life are going for the “better,” if we are feeling “richer,” and if we are in good health, loving another person is easy.  But consider what might happen when life events are becoming “worse.”  Or circumstances mean you are getting “poorer.”  Or one person becomes seriously ill.  These vows mean that you will not turn away in hard times but promise to dig in and deepen your commitment.  “Hollywood movies show how wonderful falling in love is,” I would say, “but over the years I’ve learned to look at the couples who hang together in hard times.  They develop a love deeper than just emotions – they create a bond that is lasting and profound.”

I would add that spiritual beliefs and practices become particularly valuable in disorienting times.  There is wisdom beyond just ourselves that can be found in prayer and contemplation, in timeless teachings about what makes life worth living, and what our ultimate purpose can be.  Calling on these resources is turning to our spiritual gyroscope.  Then we can check our compass to see if we are headed in the best direction and not get stuck in an egocentric wilderness.

Sometimes we need to find an environment which helps us tune in to our gyroscope and compass.  For three decades, I was involved at the La Casa de Maria Retreat Center as a board member and director.  Individuals and groups would come for a day or several days for retreats.  There were no televisions or newspapers, and we enjoyed limited cell phone service.  People were free to wander our 26-acre oak forest, orchard and spiritual gardens.  They could enjoy good food, leisure time and opportunities for meaningful contemplation and conversation.  This was our mission statement:

The mission of La Casa de Maria

is to be a sanctuary of peace

Where groups and individuals

Can renew their purpose

Strengthen their community

And increase their effectiveness in the world.

La Casa was a place where 12,000 people every year people could tune into their gyroscopes and compasses.  It was inspiring to see what a difference the right environment could make and what it means for people to find a direction in life they know to be right.

In the days to come, may we each make good use of our gyroscopes and compasses.

[i] https://www.wsj.com/opinion/what-is-your-attitude-toward-trump-2-0-f3f8532c

[ii] “Faith and Sight,” Dec 9, 2023,  https://wordpress.com/post/drjsb.com/2925

Lead image: La Casa de Maria, givinglistsantabarbara.com;

GRACE: A Focusing Practice

         Imagine you’re about to do something important and you want to be at your best.  Maybe you are going to visit a friend who is facing a personal challenge. Or maybe you are about to begin a creative activity you enjoy. Maybe it’s an action that requires skill and concentration.  In each of these situations, what can you do to prepare yourself?

         I recently was introduced to a simple practice that may help in these situations.  It uses the acronym G R A C E: Ground yourself, Relax, become Aware, focus on your Center, and Energize.

         I’m going to offer my own perspective on what each step means, drawing from the various classes, retreats, trainings, and readings I’ve done over the years. I don’t consider myself an expert, just an explorer.  Here it goes:

         Ground Yourself — I remember a meditation teacher beginning a session by saying our body is always in the present moment, but our mind is a “time machine” — it’s constantly moving backward into our past and forward into the future, chasing thoughts and feelings.  It’s helpful if we can slow it down and anchor it in the “here and now.”  We can pause and take three deep, slow breaths, noticing our inhales and exhales, inviting that busy mind to settle into the present.  We can pay attention to the sensation of our feet on whatever we are standing on – literally an act of “grounding.”

         Relax – Once we are grounded, we take a moment to put ourselves at ease.  We notice if there’s a part of our body that is tense and release it. 

         Aware — Grounding ourselves and relaxing, we now invite our senses to tell us more about where we are in this moment.  What sounds are we hearing?  Any sounds from nature, like a distant bird song?  What is our skin telling us – is the air warm or cool?  Is there a breeze blowing?  If so, do we want to turn and face that breeze the way cats and dogs do when they sit in a doorway, maybe closing our eyes to heighten that awareness?  Are there fragrances in the air?  What do we see if we look around at our surroundings?  Are there subtle and small details in our environment we did not notice at first?  We are patient with this process – even if we are taking just a few moments, we are not in a hurry.

         Center — When we’ve spent time to ground ourselves, relax, and become aware, our mind may have become more “present in the present.”  In that moment, we may imagine that our awareness is no longer being swept along in mental busyness and anxiety, but closer to the “center” of who we are.

         Energize is the final step.  This is when we calmly move from this time of focusing to engage in whatever activity is before us – knocking on the door of the person we are going to visit, beginning a physical or creative activity, or just consciously entering our day.

         I’ve been exposed to these techniques at different times in my life, but I think GRACE is an easy way to remember these practices in a sequence.

         Here’s the Big Reveal: I came across this practice not at a monastery or mindfulness retreat but at a recent golf event.  The event was organized by an international group that uses golf as a spiritual practice.  Doing this routine before making a shot has surprising results – the shot often goes better than expected.  If it doesn’t, we don’t get upset because we’ve become aware of the wonder of being alive in the moment.  This practice quite simply makes the game much more interesting and enjoyable, whatever the outcome.

         I once attended a hospice training retreat in Marin County led by a teacher who was a long-time friend of the popular spiritual writer Ram Dass. At one session we were able to Skype with him from his home in Maui.  Ram Dass was relaxed and shared some general comments about “presence” and was fielding questions.  Suddenly his expression changed. He became very serious and, addressing our group, said, “You are not a collection of your thoughts. You are loving awareness.”  I’ve heard many definitions of “soul” and “spirit” over the years, and I found this one intriguing.  Maybe at the deepest part within us, we are “loving awareness.”  If so, that is our center.

         By going through this process, we re-mind ourselves that we are more than just a busy brain loosely attached to a body.  We are embodied human beings who have been gifted with this amazing multisensory life-form and a miraculous mind which, when they are working together, can open us to a rich awareness of where we are and what is possible.

         GRACE brings together a variety of popular contemplative practices in a simple, memorable way.  No matter what situation we are facing, who doesn’t want to experience it with a tangible sense of grace?

Photo: UCSB Lagoon

Two Lasting Lessons from My Rock-Climbing Career

            Some years ago, I was at a wedding in the Sierras.  Guests stayed at a resort for the weekend.  The groom was a well-known mountain and rock-climbing guide and offered to teach any guests the basics of rock-climbing.

            I remember my lesson well. I was on a safety rope, and slowly made my way up the rock face with Doug coaching from below. I was maybe 20 feet up the rock face when I looked back down.  Even though I logically knew I was safe, the adrenaline began to flow, and I envisioned falling. My brain offered a vision of my head hitting the granite below like a dropped watermelon.

            “Ok,” I said. “I’m experiencing some fear right now.  Should I just ignore it and keep focusing on the next move?”

            Doug smiled. “No, your fear has important information to give you.  You want to take in the information, but not let fear control you.”

            Acting brave, I continued to climb for another ten minutes or so before I slowly made my way back to the ground. I thanked him for his patience.

            I learned two lasting truths that day:

  1. I don’t like rock climbing. I’ve never tried it again.
  2. “Your fear has important information to give you.  You want to take in the information without letting fear control you.”

            I’ve thought of this insight often over the years. It’s come to mind as I’m dealing with unexpected family medical situations, occasional crises at work, financial decisions and even when responding to political events.

            I know there are times when fear and adrenalin may save us from danger and there’s no time for thoughtful contemplation.

            And I know many people live with phobias, panic attacks, and chronic anxiety – those complex issues are not solved by remembering a simple principle.  (In such situations, I’ve seen impressive results from skilled practitioners using Cognitive-Behavior Therapy.)

            But I continue to value the basic insight.

            It reminds me of one of the five principles taught by Frank Ostateski as he applies Zen mindfulness principles to end-of-life care: “Welcome Everything, Push Away Nothing.” If we can find a still center within, we can observe thoughts and feelings as they arise in us and deal with them calmly and wisely, rather than in a state of fear.

            I’m grateful for that lesson: “…your fear has important information to give you.  You want to take in the information, but not let fear control you.”

            And I’m also grateful I don’t have to pretend I’m calm while I’m clinging to the side of a boulder.