There is joy and an important sense of renewal in each effort to begin again. ~Sharon Salzberg
It’s been a while since I’ve written here. Right after completing our first sacred century back in September, life happened in stunningly surprising and sometimes disheartening ways. It was a wondrous journey, meandering the hills of Eastern New York. And, I lament not making time for sharing that experience with you right after it took place. In addition to not writing about our New York Century, I wasn’t able to pedal another century in the months that followed. So now, as I inch my way back into writing, and anticipate jumping back into my saddle, I feel a bit of reticence, a slight trepidation about starting all over again.
Meditation teacher, Sharon Salzberg, has written and talked a great deal about beginning again “when our attention wanders away from our chosen object in meditation.” Whether it’s a sound, smell, or the pounce of a kitten; a thought, or series of thoughts that wiggle their way into our psyche, Salzberg suggests we need only to “gently let go of whatever has distracted us and begin again….” “Beginning again and again,” she writes, “is the actual practice.”
Here in the Western Hemisphere, we’re about a month into Spring, though there are still some days here and there wherein flurries continue to fly. As I sit with Salzberg’s suggestion in the context of Springtime, I’m reminded of the first few lines of Brendan Kennelly’s poem, “Begin”:
Begin again to the summoning birds
to the sight of the light at the window,
begin to the roar of morning traffic
all along Pembroke Road.
Every beginning is a promise
born in light and dying in dark
determination and exaltation of springtime
flowering the way to work.
Taken in tandem, Salzberg and Kennelly offer that every new day is a chance to begin again. Every hour, every minute, every second; every month, every season, every turn to the left and roll to the right; every spin forward and at every stop. Every time we breathe, blink, bow, or barrel down a hill, these are all opportunities to let go of what disturbs, distracts and even delights us, and begin again. This is not to diminish or dismiss the beauty and burdens we might encounter on our saddles, cushions, in our lives or in our heads. Rather, we are invited to acknowledge, honor and release that which seeks to divert and possess our attention. Hear and herald the birdsong, and let it go. Witness the wonder of the peonies poking through the soil, and let them go. Wince—it’s okay–at the glaring horns or blaring judgments that assault from inside or out, and let them go. Feel fear, acknowledge anxiety, and let it go. Attend to what’s needed, to the calls of service, and the rousing of responsibility, and let it go. Let it all go.
So, today, I begin again, to the summoning of my precious friend, to the sight of the light as it peers through the budding branches lining the path we are called to explore. Today, I begin again, to the dings and rings of the bells passing by all along the Montour Trail; to the joy, renewal and the promise of possibility in each and every pedal stroke. Today, may you, too, feel invited to begin again.
Pedal on!