Equanimity

 Since my last posting I have had many opportunities to practice equanimity. Besides coping with disturbing world and national events, stress increased when in early January a mild form of COVID  found Ann and me. Maybe we were exposed during a visit to Meriter's ER after my blood pressure spiked. Why it spiked is a story for another time. After a few weeks and a change in meds, blood pressure readings stabilized but to this day, a pesky and irritating dry cough is my companion.  

This 45 year old mobile illustrates equanimity. I made the mobile in celebration of marrying Ann. I found the pieces on the property of a friend's log cabin near Florence, Wisconsin. I made several mobiles during that time period (late 1970s) and two others are still with me.  

Building mobiles involves selecting, placing, and balancing different objects each with their unique traits. Alexander Calder's mobiles and  his static "stabiles " were my inspirations, while recognizing that mine would never be in the same class. I once intended to learn how to weld so I could make a Calder-like stabile (a large standing metal sculpture). Maybe there is still time to do that? Where would I put it?  Prospect Gardens?

Ruth King, a noted Buddhist teacher, uses the metaphor of nature to explain equanimity.  See Ruth's article

"We might begin to understand this power using nature as a metaphor. For example, equanimity can feel internally like a great mountain, with the mind solid and stable, undisturbed by the changing seasons. Or it can be like the ocean, with the mind vast, deep, and immeasurable, undisturbed by whatever swims, floats, or is housed in its waters. Equanimity can be like a strong fire — roaring, engulfing, and transmuting, undisturbed by whatever is thrown into it. Or like immense space — open, allowing, and receiving, undisturbed by the objects that arise and pass away." 

How do we cultivate equanimity? Notice I used "cultivate" instead of "achieve" which can lead to striving. Striving or an attitude of "I'm going to do this" can be counter productive leading to frustration. A friendly, curious tone is better. 

Equanimity in Buddhism is often taught within the context of four paired worldly winds. You can think of these as agreeable and disagreeable conditions of life. Moments of praise and blame, success and failure, pleasure and pain, gain and loss are woven into our lives. Equanimity involves responding to the winds by recognizing that they are part of  life, reacting to them as calmly as possible, and by knowing that they are impermanent. As my devote Catholic mother would say, "this too shall pass." 

Another way to cultivate equanimity is by setting the conditions for it, as exemplified in Margaret Renkl's book, "The Comfort of Crows, A Backyard Year."  A few weeks ago, I unexpectedly received this beautifully illustrated book from Jeanne, a friend. Thank you Jeanne. The book shows how mindfulness and reflection give rise to equanimity.

Short passages describe the particular object of Renkl's mindfulness and include what she learns from the experience. Most of the natural phenomena she observes are in her backyard  with its birdhouses, birdbaths, a butterfly garden, and native plants, or in parks and natural areas within her hometown of  Nashville. Her backyard has no lawn.

Renkl is very mindful of her surroundings. What mindfulness means in practice is a topic for another time. For now consider mindfulness as paying close attention to what arises in the moment (may what arises be pleasant or unpleasant), and without judgement or attachment. It doesn't mean just paying attention to the pleasant or pleasurable in the search to feel better.  

Below is Renkl's short introduction to a section about spring. This reminds me of our current unusual early spring weather. 

Spring Week 1 

"The world does not proceed according to our plans. The world is an old dog, following us around the kitchen with its eyes. The world understands us. We understand nothing, control less.

Today its springtime. Every green thing has grown greener as the pines send out new growth. Every brown thing is taking on green as the hardwoods wake into warmth. But tonight the black sky is spitting out ice, and the green sap rising will likewise turn to ice in the dark. Some of these frail green things will be blasted forever, but most will live. Life is what life does.

We, too, will live. In the morning we will wake and rejoice, for we are once more among the living."

The book reminds me to be especially mindful during my daily walks. One rule is don't look at that cell phone which records steps taken. Except for a few days during the peak of COVID, I have walked; usually fewer miles and at a slower pace than normal  Here's a few phenomena from these walks that generated mindfulness, reflection, and sometimes equanimity.  

Somebody spent hours craving this chair located in Glenway Children's Park, a short walk from our apartment. Or perhaps a chainsaw artist created it. What's fascinating is that the chair is one solid piece rather than separate ones put together. 

The chair reminds me of our need to rest both physically and mentally. Or perhaps it could be an altar waiting for sacred objects?  What important objects would you place on this altar? 

Nearby the chair and on a steep hill is a  limestone council ring with a fire pit. The  limestone most likely came from the park, which was once a quarry. If the spirit moves me, I walk up the steep incline, sit mindfully, and wait patiently for equanimity to arise. Many times it does.

Council rings support community and underscore the importance of collaboration and the pursuit of truth. Dudgeon- Monroe neighbors gather within the ring and around a roaring fire each winter solstice. An ancient ritual is once again repeated. Children and adults usher in the increasing dark days and honor the fading light while enjoying the bonfire and s'mores.  

Years ago, Don, a fellow Unitarian-Universalist Chalice group member, performed another ritual within the council ring. Don, dressed in appropriate robes officiated a Wiccan inspired marriage ceremony, including chants and blessings. 

A few days ago I heard the sharp calls of these two sandhill cranes as I walked on the other north side of the Vilas Park Lagoons. They were on the opposite side. Their calls enticed me to walk over to the other side for a closer look.  

While winter was slipping away, the calls of these unperturbed gracious birds seemed to praise the upcoming spring. They also seemed equanimous about the snow and the cold wind off of Lake Wingra that brushed against my face.

More days in the low 60's are predicted. Yes this is pleasant while reminding me of the climate crisis. According to an online source our weather will become warmer over the next few decades, with average temperatures closer to southern Illinois or Missouri. So far we had one snow storm. It wasn't like those that I frequently experienced as a child on our family farm. Those storms were brutal and could last for a few days. All of us, including the cranes, will continue to be affected by our rapidly changing climate. 

This rock within Lake Wingra Springs, located in the UW Arboretum across the street from our apartment, reminds me of a heart embraced by watercress. I saw it around Valentine's Day. A few springs ago, I watched women picking watercress. Did they know that early settlers in our area used the springs for water and perhaps harvested watercress? The hearty plant grows year round in springs that don't freeze such as this one. 

The Ho Chunk once lived on land now part of our westside neighborhoods. Springs have spiritual meaning to the Ho Chunk. Springs are places for gratitude, reverence, and links to the underworld. They were also once sources of water and food for the Ho Chunk..

During warm days I may sit near the edge of Lake Wingra Springs. Peace (another word for equanimity) reigns as birds splash in the rushing waters and warm breezes caress my face and bare arms. 

A few days ago I went on my daily walk despite feeling fatigued and tired of the persistent cough. The day was cold and overcast. A few ice pellets were falling and snow was predicted. As I rounded a corner, a flash of yellow in the distance caught my attention. Coming closer I recognized the winter aconite covering the entire front yard of a modest brown house. 

The brilliant yellow lifted my spirits. Feeling less fatigued and rather equanimous I continued my walk. I cut over a block to check out if there was a new poem on the stand in the front yard of another modest home. Nope. Same poem about September was still up. Maybe a new one will be posted now that spring is unfolding. I will watch for it. 

 What does this rock wall terrace within Prospect Gardens have to do with equanimity? The picture was taken shortly after the first warm days in early February. Usually this area would be covered with a blanket of snow, protecting plants, insects, and small animals like the chipmunks. I hope to be equanimous as we witness the effects of this mild winter on Prospect Gardens.

 The terrace also represents acceptance of existing conditions and in this case, rocks. Acceptance is another condition supporting equanimity. How we addressed the rocks is also relevant to equanimity. We did not give up or become indifferent to the rocks when we began developing the Gardens 14 years ago. Instead we created beds by removing rocks and filled the holes with new dirt or we built terraces like this one. 

At a societal level, the great late Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Buddhist monastic and peace activist, taught  that we must be engaged with society and do our part in resolving daunting problems. Being equanimous helps figure out what's possible. We avoid being indifferent, frustrated, or in despair. Instead we are stable and calmly decide what actions are possible as an individual and/or collectively.

   

Another way to cultivate equanimity is through formal sitting meditation. Many teachers provide guided equanimity practices. Jack Kornfield, a long time noted Buddhist teacher has a short practice at this link.  A Google search of equanimity practice will result in many more teachers and practices.  

Cultivating equanimity through reading and reflecting on poetry is the final option I offer.  Here's one by Mary Oliver.

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

breathing around me, the insects,

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night I rose and fell, as if in water,

grappling with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

Thank you for your time and attention. Be well.