R is a letter with many sounds. Pronounced from the back of the throat, it’s a motor humming, a dog growling, a cat purring. When trilled with the tongue, it’s a snare drum. When made with the lips, it’s the wind whistling a tunnel or through a flute.

R is for ritual. I’ve mentioned the value of rituals for marking the beginning of writing time. But any daily habit, done with mindfulness can become a transforming ritual. Here’s a poem from Pat Schneider about transformation.

Instructions for the Journey
Pat Schneider

The self you leave behind
is only a skin you have outgrown.
Don’t grieve for it.
Look to the wet, raw, unfinished
self, the one you are becoming.
The world, too, sheds its skin:
politicians, cataclysms, ordinary days.
It’s easy to lose this tenderly
unfolding moment. Look for it
as if it were the first green blade
after a long winter. Listen for it
as if it were the first clear tone
in a place where dawn is heralded by bells.

And if all that fails,

wash your own dishes.
Rinse them.
Stand in your kitchen at your sink.
Let cold water run between your fingers.
Feel it.

From Olive Street Transfer,
Amherst Writers & Artists Press, 1999.

 

Daily Life

The last stanza is about micro-transformation, a daily chore done mindfully. Jack Kornfield’s book, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, reminds us. After a peak experience, we still have to learn how to translate that new wisdom into daily experience. We do that by greeting each state with the same mirror-like acceptance and curiosity.

Any daily habit can be a ritual, brushing your teeth, or making a cup of tea. In Japan, the making of tea is elevated to the level of ceremony, but simple mindful attention can turn it into a daily ritual. Make a cup of Darjeeling. Then sit down to write.