The Wisdom of No Distractions

    When I’m feeling depressed, the cabin is sometimes the hardest place to be and yet the best place to be.  
     When I talk to my spiritual teacher about how to handle my moods, her advice is always to stay with the feelings, not run away from them. It’s as if by plunging down to the bottom, I might come out the other side and be cleansed. 
     There’s a strong impulse to deny these feelings, to distract myself with other things, yet at the cabin, there’s few distractions. Without a TV, radio, CD player, or good Internet connection, the chipmunk that comes to the feeder is my biggest entertainment. I’ve even tried watching the traffic go by, but at the rate of one car per every three hours, it’s hard to stay focused, though I’m always happy to see the UPS truck pass.
      So when I’m at the cabin, there are times when I just sit and let the feelings flood over me, as if I’m giving myself permission to let go, not keep up some pretense in the real world that everything is OK.  And the longer I stay with the feelings, the more comfortable I am with them, stop running from them. I’ve never gotten through to the other side, but I have found some acceptance and some peace.  
     It’s easier to accept the depression when you’re someplace that is beautiful and peaceful, as if I can absorb the comfort of this mountain valley. And, usually, by my second day here, I  start to feel better, and by the time I have to leave, I start finding reasons not to.
    In my usual pattern in coming to the cabin last summer, on the day I’m heading home, I work in the morning, then leave after lunch to head up to the high peaks for a good hike. For all the years I’ve lived in Colorado, my summer hikes to alpine lakes are something I look forward to all winter. And yet at the cabin, I find excuses not to leave, start cleaning behind the kitchen sink or dusting the rims of the windows, something I don’t even do at my home. There’s something about this place that wraps me in its protective cloak, a golden haze, and I don’t want to leave, even for my treasured hikes. 
    When I finally pull myself away, get in my car and head up the dirt road, my head and heart are still filled with the sights and sounds of the cabin. When I get to the main road, it’s like coming out of a dream into reality, out of that protective space. It feels wrenching, and yet parts of the cocoon stay with me, there when I need it in the real world.

Comments

[Maggie]

Enjoyed your post today!Allowing the feelings is difficult in our world, I agree. I think that the more we allow them, the less frightening and/or uncomfortable they are; and consequently, the less we have to distract ourselves. Loved the picture of clouds too!

[Lara Robinson]

To "sit" with a feeling, even when it's uncomfortable, is the hardest, yet simplest lesson there is to learn. We've learned to anestitize ourselves by moving, doing, plugging in, tuning out. To stay connected to ourselves is so HARD anymore, yet absolutely necessary. I appreciate the time and effort you've put into "staying connected". It reminds me of the inner work I've been putting off, as there are so many distractions in my own life and I don't want to be put off of the real work I need to do. So, in essence, I then put off the work until there's a "right time". A vicious circle.

[Bettianne Shoney Sien]

What an insightful and honest reflection on how hard it is to just be--with ourselves, in this moment, wherever we are. The photo of the clouds is stunning!