Jane Arie Baldwin

Personal Tools for Living at the Highest Levels of You

Tag: meditation

Winter: The thinning of the veil

Autumn-River

 

Originally posted November 12, 2009

As I sit here and look out over the river, the leaves, confetti-like in their enthusiasm to jump from the trees, fall to the ground to their final sleep. Like faithful followers drinking the poison punch, leaf after leaf falls with the turning of the wind. Soon the trees will stand naked, sleeping too, in a temporary sort of daze until the warm winds come again, next year.

Winter – the “thinning of the veil,” a time when nature perfects the concept of minimalism. In the winter there is nothing blatantly grabbing your attention with a myriad of colors and wings like the flowers and insects of the other months. In the winter you have to look for it, search it out. The stillness becomes much more magnified in the winter. It magnifies and stretches and yells and screams beyond our wildest imagination — if we can hear it. We can hear it. With the passing of every age the veil grows thinner.

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My grandmother carried herself with passion, determination and an acidic bitterness for life that compares to meeting a rattlesnake face to face in the mid-day heat of a Texas August afternoon. As her memory slipped away she became more complacent, happier in her daily life,if only because she could no longer remember the travails of those who trespassed against her.

The veil had thinned. As she grew closer to the end of her life, memory or no memory, worldly importances faded and she delighted more in abstract joy without the need to magnify the darknesses she perceived around her. As the veil thinned she let more light into her life. Just as the leaves jump from the trees, thus allowing more light between the branches – thinning the veil, and thinning and thinning until it is no more.

The Virgin and the Wind

La Virgen

La Virgen de Guadalupe

My first-ever blogpost. First posted April 2009.

The wind whipped upriver all week. Chairs lost their footing, a screen door twisted off it’s hinges, and the prayer hands of La Virgen broke off when she fell to the ground. I’m sensitive to the wind. In Ayurveda, those of us with a prana imbalance are labeled vata. People ask, “What dosha are you?” these days just like the old pick up line in the 1970’s, “What’s your sign?” But that’s really not necessarily the best question to ask. You really don’t want to be identified by your dosha because your dosha signifies your imbalance or what your physical body lacks, not what you ARE. Vata (air) doshas like myself have to work to be grounded – food is very grounding, as is rest. Think of marathon runners, of type – A personalities; people who are generally very thin because they go-go-go, forget to eat, and easily deplete themselves. Another way to say it is that I do not have a symbiotic relationship with wind, I do not naturally know how to regulate or nuture myself but have to have constant reminders all around me. I set the alarm on my phone to go off for my pre-lunch breathing time which segways nicely into lunch. I set my alarm for afternoon gardening and morning Kaya Sampat Kriya. Without this schedule my entire day would be a whirlwind of activity yet I would end overwhelmed and under nourished. In a sense I’d feel like La Virgen outside my mudroom looks — knocked to the ground with a big hole where her hands once held the Anjali mudra.

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