My flight across the ocean, from Denver to Chicago to London, would land at 7am. Fingers were crossed that I’d sleep on the red eye flight. I had a 9am train booked to Wales. Then, I’d stop for lunch in Bangor with my mindfulness teaching supervisor, our first chance to meet in person. Next, I’d travel to Trigonos, a peaceful lakeside estate with a majestic view of Snowdon, the tallest mountain in Wales. There would be just enough time to settle and have tea before the opening session. It promised to be a rejuvenating week. I would deepen my meditation practice, walk in spectacular nature, and expand my knowledge of mindfulness-based cognitive therapy tools.
Best Laid Plans – sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t.
In this case, a snowstorm in Denver delayed my flight just enough to miss the Chicago connection. Multiple hours of airport waiting and train ticket lines resulted in a raincheck on lunch with my supervisor, very little sleep, and arriving at Trigonos late for the opening. I tiptoed into the session, haggard and disappointed – to be expected from circumstances outside of my control. But the next morning I slept right through the first session. That was also fairly understandable considering the jet lag. But then I did it again the second morning! I slept through my alarm and woke up disoriented to time and place. Now, this was not like me.
I am a person who plans, performs, perfects – then perseverates when the plans fall through! I’m early to bed, early to rise, punctual and practiced. I felt embarrassed and a bit bewildered. I was also burned out from a decade of international school counseling with a grueling workload, regular travel in disparate time zones, and a nagging desire for something to change. The first few days of the retreat I was in an unsettled fog – where was I, what was I doing, what should I be doing?
Stumbling through British Tea
The training started off with several days of guided silence to deepen our presence. Sitting for silent meals at the long, elegant table, I was the only American amongst Welsh, British, Irish and Scottish colleagues – a setting and ritual I’ve come to love. But that second day of my fog, I awkwardly juggled my knife and fork. I was caught between my American way of scooping food with my fork like it’s a front shovel loader and the delicate British way of eating with fork in my left hand, using the knife to properly cut and prop food on the fork. I had playfully mastered the British way on previous trainings and retreats in the UK. On one attempt at this deft maneuvering, I dropped my knife. It crashed with a loud clang bursting the silence. I bent down to pick it up, bumped my neighbor’s leg, then hit my head on the table!
Thankfully, I had the gift of nature, solitude and quietude to soothe my dysregulated nervous system. Walking meditation grounded me. This is a formal practice that is typically interspersed with periods of sitting meditation. It consists of finding a spot, indoors or outdoors, to walk a short distance of 10-20 paces, then turn around and walk back. One continues to walk back and forth for the designated time period, often 20-30 minutes.
Slowing down the usual pace, though not required, encourages focusing on each fall and rise of the foot, placing mindful attention on the body as it moves through space. Just walking, knowing you are walking. As I placed my feet along the dewy grass next to the lakeshore, a new set of words bubbled up to help me focus: I would lift one foot – “Where?” then place the foot – “Here.” then lift the other foot – “When?” then place the other foot – “Now.”
Where… Here… When… Now… my new mantra is born
These words followed me back to the cushion. In sitting meditation I would focus on the breath, alternately sensing palms or soles of the feet, as I repeated the phrase. The week became a profound experience of grounding in the here and now, despite my mind traveling to the past, to the future, to reminisce and to plan. The nagging bubble welling up inside me came to the surface with a voice clear and direct: it was time to make a change. I realized the time had come to give notice at my school and allow my journey to shift toward full-time mindfulness teaching and counseling. But there was nothing “to do” in the moment but be present and be aware. I allowed the feelings and the insights to flow, grounding myself in the here and now. Where was I? Here. When was I? Now.
This mantra has since become one of my regular practices. It’s my personal rendition of Ram Dass in his seminal 1971 book “Be Here Now.” When my mind spins out of control, these words ground me in the moment. Where do I focus? Right here. When will it happen? Right now. That’s all that is truly ever available to us. Right here, right now. Where? Here. When? Now.
Sometimes a succinct, simple version accompanies the breath through inhale and exhale: in – “here”, out – “now”. Beyond the formal practice of using these words in meditation, they guide daily decisions and daily focusing on what is important. They remind me to experience who I’m with, where I am, what I’m doing, without trying to hold on too tight (oh, I wish this could last forever!) or trying to fast forward and escape (ugh, will this ever be over?).
How to Create and Use Mantra
Mantra is positive self-talk. Mantra is prayer. It is words that help to settle discursive thoughts or to navigate unpleasant sensations and emotions. The word “mantra” is Sanskrit and has its roots in two parts: “manas,” the thinking mind, and “tra,” which means to transport or to cross over. In other words, a mantra is a vehicle to take us beyond the chattering mind to connect with deeper awareness. When I served for nine years at the Haidakhandi Universal Ashram in Crestone we recited “Om Namah Shivaya” while we worked. It became a sustaining phrase for me that I still use often. It is a common Vedic Sanskrit mantra meaning “salute to the Lord Shiva” – or a bow to Shiva within, the personification of our inner force of transformation.
The mantra “Om Mani Padme Om,” is widely used in Tibetan and other Buddhist cultures. The Dalai Lama translates it as “praise to the jewel in the lotus.” The lotus in yogic tradition symbolizes the transformation of mind because the plant emerges out of mud to blossom into a many-petaled flower. These Sanskrit mantras are commonly recited over and over in daily life, a reminder to be present and awake from the trance of auto-pilot.
A Personal Password to Freedom
Since my early twenties I’ve also used the powerful prayer popularized by 12-step programs as the “Serenity Prayer”. Originally written by American minister and theologian Reinhold Niebuhr in an older format, it is best known as “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference”.
These words remind me to live “here” in the moment, letting go of what is outside my control, yet taking charge “now” of either “being” in the present or “doing” what’s in front of me. Because “being mindful” DOES include “doing” – but in a way that is not driven, manic or forced. It means discerning what is the right step, the best step, or the most helpful and courageous step that I can take right now, right here. What is in the best interest of my own wellbeing and the wellbeing of others?
“Where? Here. When? Now” grew out of my own journey using mantra. There is not one right or best mantra. It’s the one that best serves at the time and can be any word or phrase that speaks to the heart. This one gives me permission to let go and relax in the present moment. It brings clarity to how I see myself and the world, allowing me to tune in to what is happening around me and within me, in this moment. Then it guides me to the wisdom and compassion to take my next step in harmony with my outer world and my inner compass. “Where? Here. When? Now” is my updated password to personal freedom.
