I traveled 1,100 miles over four days, and then shut everything off for another week of silent retreat. It was like crashing into a wall of water.
Pendulum Swings
Two weeks ago, I had my second silent meditation retreat. I chose this retreat because of my interest in John Prendergast, and the timing felt right, as it was six months after my first retreat.
In the buildup to my first retreat, there was a lot of anticipation and preparation. I’d never done anything like this before, turning off my phone and laptop for seven days. I didn’t know what to expect. I deliberately planned and prepared to ensure I could fully unplug and make the most of my week.
This retreat was very different. The month leading up to the retreat was filled with doing. I was unnesting, purging my possessions again, and preparing to return to nomadic life. At the same time, my work was evolving, bringing some temporary changes that felt more akin to my prior career. There was no preparation for the retreat, other than a few basic communications and setting out of office on multiple email accounts. In the four days leading up to the retreat, I slept in three different cities, always on the move.
My wall of water was shutting off my phone and beginning this retreat. Racing through life with no friction but the air, then sinking deep into the stillness of water. I can see how, in May, the pendulum swung hard to the doing apex, with so much activity and movement, and the retreat was a hard swing to the other side, as the doing stopped, and the being took center stage.
The retreat was centering and peaceful. I had some deep meditations and some delightful connections with nature, including my first experiences with Redwood trees. As we each shared our reflections on the final day, I highlighted the stark contrast I experienced between doing and being. The starkness of that contrast was a gift of awareness for me. I was grateful for the shift, and at the same time, I recognized I didn’t want my pendulum to swing so far to the doing side in the future.
Doing and Being
A few years ago, I coined the term teliodosis to embody this very phenomenon. It was born out of an exercise in which I contemplated two perceived opposites. One state was intention. Living a life of purpose with goals and direction. The other state was surrender, trusting the Universe to guide me. Teliodosis was my word to shift this from an either/or dynamic to a both/and state. Over time, I realized intention and surrender didn’t resonate for me as much as doing and being, and so I refined my new word:
Teliodosis (noun): te·li·o·do·sis | \ tē-ˈlē-ə-ˌdō-sis \
Definition: A state of living characterized by the integration of doing and being, where actions are naturally aligned with a deep sense of presence and purpose, fostering a harmonious and fulfilling life.
My week of retreat reminded me of teliodosis, and showed me how un-integrated doing and being have been for me as of late. I left that week contemplating teliodosis.
Integration
I have written about integration before. It’s a powerful construct that I think is best explained by Dan Siegel’s work. He describes integration in terms of interpersonal neurobiology:
Integration is the linkage of differentiated elements.
I reflected upon my first retreat. It was a week of being, to be sure. The doing deliberately came to a halt. But as I emerged from that retreat, I found myself in a state of teliodosis. The next two months included a robust morning ritual that centered me and anchored me. As I went through my day, there was a presence to my way of being that felt like teliodosis.
As the months went by, the teliodosis began to fade away. More and more doing with less being reduced that integration, resulting in the stark contrast I experienced entering my second retreat.
And so, I came out of this retreat recognizing a desire to return to teliodosis. The following week had plenty of doing, as I returned to the working world and had the opportunity to connect deeply with my cousin in Half Moon Bay. But that doing had a much deeper presence than I had in May. And as I arrived in Fairfax, California, last Friday, I naturally and organically left my weekend uncommitted, so I could settle in and be present without swinging the pendulum too far from center.
Teliodosis is the center of the pendulum’s arc. Not swinging back and forth between doing and being, but holding them in an integrated state.
Putting It Into Practice
Reflect upon your life. Where are you racing into stillness with no runway?
What is one thing you can adjust to deepen the integration between the extremes of your pendulum, bringing yourself closer to the center and reducing the wildness of the swing?
Tales of Wanderment
California has been very welcoming. On the first evening of my retreat, I encountered a pair of California Quail. It was a clear message from Quail that they belong in my pantheon of spirit animals, not just a Santa Fe experience. I will say, the California Quail are a bit fancier.
Not to be outdone, Hummingbird has made countless appearances as well. In hindsight, I recognize both Hummingbird and Quail have been meaningful for me, as I had paintings of each on the wall in my Santa Fe home.
Sitting on the patio on a retreat break, I sent a message to Hawk, whom I had not seen, and asked that they land on my armrest. On cue, a Red-Tailed Hawk appeared in the sky and circled overhead, red tail lit up by the sun. Hawk told me it was as close as I could expect them to get.
Ravens were everywhere, and as I walked the grounds, I went to the lake. It was a long shot, but I thought perhaps I could find Turtle there, the only spirit animal that had not made an appearance. I saw something on a wooden platform on the far end of the lake. As I got close, I got my wish. Not a live Turtle, but the thing I saw was, in fact, a Turtle statue. It was upended, which I took as a nudge from the Universe that my patience was a little out of balance.
Last week I was in Half Moon Bay, visiting my cousin and his wife. He remarked that our lives had had only small snippets of intersection over the years. We were both grateful for the chance to connect more deeply. A four-hour hike brought Banana Slugs and some amazing Redwoods. My cousin’s ritual of reading for an hour before bed felt like a perfect way to reintroduce my own bedtime ritual, helping me wind down and stay in teliodosis. One highlight for me was a shared love of reading, and we each prepared a list of recommendations for the other based on our discussions. They also have a lovely cat, Willow, who recharged my cat energy batteries.
And now, I have five weeks in Fairfax. Living most of my life in Fairfax County, Virginia, the idea of Fairfax, California, introduces quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. The view from my patio is delightful. I unexpectedly wandered into town in time for the 47th annual Fairfax Festival, with a parade and live music throughout the weekend. A nice way to settle in.
I am an executive coach and consciousness coach with software executive roots in higher education and EdTech. I coach because I love helping others accelerate their growth as leaders and humans. I frequently write about #management, #leadership, #coaching, #neuroscience, and #arete.
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