Tell me what’s good and what helps when it’s not
On life logs and practice journals, and the overriding importance of doing it for yourself
One of my favourite spiritual teachings is that which reminds us to shift our perspective, to change our view, to pivot from the thought loops that might otherwise have us spiral down into the muddy quagmire, and so save ourselves from the all too easy momentum that has us running off and away in unhelpful directions.
It’s important to acknowledge that it’s easy to do this because the brain is wired to reach for the negative. Neuroscientists know this – it’s the nature of the amygdala, hippocampus and prefrontal cortex to register, remember and respond to what we perceive as threats to our survival (whether imagined, hyped up or really real). The Buddha knew this – hence the First Noble Truth; that we encounter suffering in this human life of inner and outer confusion is an inevitable part of it. Yogic sages and ancient teachers knew this – hence developing a whole psycho-spiritual system to withstand and dissolve the energetic disruptions of life’s waves.
It's equally important to acknowledge that yes, we are predisposed towards the negative, yes we suffer, yes we make things hard for ourselves – AND when we accept rather than run from, numb or deny this fact, we can pivot towards the positive, suffer less, and ease up.
Words that pivot us back to the point
Writing is one way that I acknowledge these hues of truths; noting the ups, downs, and the pivots from the lows to the highs, and everything in between. It’s also previously been a way that I’ve dug down into the negative, which is to say, contemplated, unpacked (and occasionally gotten stuck in) the reality of suffering that not just preceded but necessitated the shift to the flip side.
On that note, since the start of this calendar year, I’ve been keeping a practice journal, a daily checklist, a life log, of all the things I do, feel and notice in my inner world and the outer world as I encounter and relate to it. The conversations I have, the people I meet with, things said and emotions exchanged, feelings encountered, experiences enjoyed and endured. All the stuff that makes my life and feels worth marking, for no other reason than to pay attention and in turn, stay on track, and return to face a more helpful direction when I invariably meander off course.
Because like I (and others wiser than me) have said, such is life, that’s the way it goes – but it’s not the only way. And also because I’m still working my way through a bardo-like phase of a slow transition when it comes to what and how I show up in the world through my various strands of work, writing included (more on that in due course).
This journal, or log, or whatever you want to call it, is the one place that I’ve been writing consistently for the past few months, and in particular, these past few weeks that I’ve been absent from Substack. Initially that was a conscious decision to retreat and carve our space, time and silence for concerted practice (as it coincided with Ramadan, which I partially observed this year – more on that in a later post).
But then it turned into avoidance and resistance born of frustration with the written word, doubts about the merits of my own and the ongoing existential desire to retreat from (contributing to) the noise of a world where we are all interminably broadcasting our struggles (which I say knowing the merits of doing so).
Looking back through these pages on a day like today when my mind was on the verge of slipping into cynicism, anxiety, self-doubt and anticipatory despair, I was glad to see (and knew that’s why I started this practice, and looked back precisely so that I could give myself the chance to see and thus, check my perspective) that I have been true to my values and intentions – which move more towards peace and spaciousness, to presence over pretence, and to living life with a poetic sensitivity that is lightened up and freed from the need to do it out loud for it to matter.
In other words, all is, I am not, lost.
Checking in and off, not out
The things I log are reminders through which I check in with life (through the process of checking off my lists).
The things I log are the ways I like to spend my time and energy, because I know that they nourish and uplift my general intention to honour this precious human life, to pay attention to the things that matter, to take care of myself and the beings and spaces and places to which I am connected. Every day is a renewal of these intentions, a chance to recommit and begin again.
What makes for the shape of a good day for me includes something of the following, which I keep a list/log of (bullet journal style, completed with the joyful use of some very old colouring pencils):
sitting for meditation
moving my body somehow, whether walking, running, or working out
dispersing my inner winds and tending to my energy with yoga asana and/or pranayama
pausing in stillness or with my sketchbook
fasting for my hormonal health
reconnecting with nature’s vitality and the elemental forces within and without through Qigong
reading and/or writing poetry
drawing/painting
Questions I’ll loosely reflect on include:
did I listen?
did I care?
did I show tenderness?
was I generous?
was I patient?
was I kind?
where did I slip?
where is the block?
where is the ease?
The listed items and questions change each month as I look at where and what I’ve spent my time on, and what is dropping away.
These, and the practice of refining the log, are ways of caring, ways of being, ways that revere life and enchant the days. The fact that I know I will at some point sit down to look at this list and make my notes reminds me in moments of the day to return my attention to these things that I have decided matter most. Everything else might go to pot, but if I have sat to meditate, if I’ve read some poetry, if I’ve paused to do something or nothing of consequence, if I’ve tended to a feathered, pawed, clawed or stemmed being, then the day has been worthwhile.
Pleasure is much of the point
It’s more than a gratitude journal, it’s more than a diary, it’s both those things and then some – a way of keeping myself accountable in a pleasurable way. Because these books are specially selected as a tacticle and experiential treat; they are made of 150gsm art quality paper so I take pleasure in writing, drawing, doodling and colouring in them. And the practice does have to be pleasurable, for me, for it to enable a sense of presence freed from the kind of puritanical and productivity mindset that in my experience, can bleed life (and spiritual practice) dry of joy.
I do it because it keeps me on track. Admittedly, it can veer into a practice of self-critique, and I’m aware when that happens, and so purposely rebel as a way of reminding myself that the idea is to deploy my creative agency and nourish my mental health, not to berate it. So to intentionally skip checking the boxes, or approaching them and realising that I cannot because I did not do the thing, becomes an act of creative freedom, and loosens the old habit pattern of doing things because I must, lest I deem myself a failure at my own game.
One of my teachers once said, “don’t let busy work get in the way of liberation”. I have wondered if these things I do and the log I keep are a way of keeping busy where busy is avoidance of spiritual practice. And through having considered this deeply, and felt the difference in how I show up for life when I do and don’t, I know that actually, this is all part of my practice – it helps me to stay, and/or to return when I wander off track. These are the ways I stay present, aware, mindful and connected.
So often my daily logs - where I don’t just tick off the boxes, but I also keep a brief record of things - I note the pleasure of simple satisfactions. These are the things that bring the greatest sense of a day well lived and tended to: cleaning the muddy paw prints and footprints from the kitchen floor, wiping the work surfaces of the crumbs from the food we get to eat, freeing up the chicken coup of old bedding and debris, liberating the space around the shrubs so that everything can receive the nourishment it needs from the elements without being hindered or held back by weeds, the many moments walking back and forth to the chickens. This is where and how life (practice) happens.
There are failures and slip- ups too because this journal is a place to be honest with myself. To not let it matter so much that I feel the need to keep it a secret from myself, to hide it from the page, which would only give it more weight. Some days, the notes are as simple as:
Things were left undone, there wasn’t time, so what. Let it be enough.
Sometimes I have gone “mindfully through the motions”. I see, looking back that my days are nonetheless full of attention, tenderness and intention, even on those (these) days that I’ve felt I’m slipping.
Another thing I often write are simple prayers or invocations, incantations you might say, on days when I wake up feeling that there’s some rumbling of dukkha that needs some attention, inspired by the classic Buddhist Metta (loving kindness) practice – along the lines of:
May I be kind to myself in this moment of suffering, may I see my limits with compassion just as I see the limits of others, may my heart remain open as I seek to make peace with all parts of my inheritance, may I live in a constant state of awe.
And in some ways, even if not all, I am, I try, I do. That’s the magic of writing, practicing, acknowledging how we show up, precisely because it gives us a way to do so.