Taking Refuge in the Senses

It is so easy to forget ourselves in the tumult of living.

This has been one of the fullest years I've ever had. There is much beauty in what I've been involved in — restructuring my business, writing a book, doing a complete hands-on renovation of an old farmhouse, trying to be present for my family and community — but it's been a lot. I know so many of you can relate. As central as mindfulness, contemplative practices, and embodiment are to my life, I have found myself doing a very human thing: drifting toward numbness in the midst of the overwhelm.

Numbness is painful. Even if we don't quite know it (because, well, we're numbing), something inside us recognizes this disconnect, and it hurts. We know there is so much more available to us in life. As my own numbing has been dawning on me, I've been both giving myself a lot of grace (being human is hard! it really helps to be nice to ourselves) and asking myself, "How can I come back to presence in an easeful, accessible way right now?"

There are a lot of more involved, subtle practices out there that are rich and delicious, but sometimes, the practice our ailing hearts most need is also the simplest, and that's what I've started coming back to: the practice of taking refuge in my senses.

When I first thought of that phrase the other day, my whole body sighed. Taking refuge in the senses. How delicious that is. I feel it permeating my life, becoming real, even before I drop down into myself. Just hearing those words sets the stage for reconnection.

One of the reasons I love the senses is their simplicity and accessibility. The pathway to embodiment can feel a bit uncertain or vague to many folks. But the senses — now, that's a rich language which all of us understand.

Taking refuge in this way can be so simple. You can use a particular practice if that helps (my favorite is the method I'll lead you through in the resources section below), and this can be a beautiful way to focus your attention and have a framework to lean into. But at its heart, this is simply about feeling into each sense, one by one, as you go about your day. Taking dedicated time to really settle into this refuge can be especially relieving, but luckily, your senses are portable; you get to bring them with you wherever you go, whatever you're doing.

Attuning ourselves to our sensory being takes time, especially if we've been in a lengthy state of distance from our bodies, or we've been experiencing a lot of overwhelming emotions recently. This is natural and okay; please be gentle and kind and listen to what you feel ready for.

If you, like me, are feeling a tad overwhelmed or frazzled, it can really help to use your sensory awareness to focus more on what's outside of you; this can often be an easier pathway in than trying to directly feel your inward sensations. It can also be a profound way of reconnecting with the living world, a reminder that we aren't alone here, that we — along with the wind and the grass and the black snake and the serviceberry and the summertime cumulus clouds — are all in this life together. When you tune into the world around you — even if you're inside and not "out in nature" — it has a way of resettling you in a sense of belonging to life. And this is really, really good for us.

This is how I've recently been practicing this pausing and sensing: When I find myself keyed up and racing around in a sympathetic whirlwind, I pause, lie down on the floor (one of my favorite places in the world as a highly sensitive person :), and take a few moments to breathe, recollect myself, and slowly tune into what my senses are perceiving around me.

Or, if I find myself upright and doing something, I can pause in the midst of it. Right now, for example: I see my hands typing across the keys, crafting a letter that will go out to you this morning. I hear the sound of passing cars, robins, blue jays, the AC unit turning off, the spa-like music I have playing in the background. I feel my shoulders falling a bit as I notice their tension; I feel my feet against the rug, three different qualities of texture against my toes (one knobbly, one smooth, one tufted). I smell the bright mint from my cup. I taste undertones of green tea.

All that took was a few moments, a delighted bit of noticing, and I feel calmer, I feel more here, I feel more at home in myself and this chair and this moment. My body is more awake to sounds, to sensations, and to inner feeling, too. I feel so much more alive in and to the world.

This month, may you let yourself pause and reconnect with this most simple and rich of creaturely practices: tuning into your senses and coming home.

Practice: 5-4-3-2-1

Pause. Get comfortable, whatever that looks like for you. You might feel drawn to close your eyes after the first part:

Notice five things you can see. Name them silently to yourself. Let the naming be detailed, sensorily-focused; try not to get caught up in thoughts about the things. Take a minute to let this settle.

Notice four things you can hear. Name them silently to yourself. Take a minute to let them in. Notice their aural textures and contours, how it feels to hear them.

Notice three things you can feel. Name them, notice where and how exactly you're feeling them, let them settle.

Notice two things you can smell. Name them quietly to yourself, take a breath, pause.

Name one thing you can taste. Name it gently, let it soak into your awareness.

Pause. Take a few slow breaths in and out.