THE FLOW

When I recently visited my daughter Iva in her home in Frisco, Texas, I enjoyed wandering through the house, taking in the manifestations of her evolving sensibility. Every room seemed carefully decorated, with a blend of intention and personal taste. In quiet corners, she had placed 3D-printed small blue Buddhas, their faces bringing a joyful presence that seemed to permeate the entire house.

Outside, flower beds brimmed with fall blooms. Small pumpkins dotted the edges, hinting at the approach of Halloween, Iva’s favorite time of year. There was a cheerful appearance in her seasonal preparations, an evident satisfaction in the traditions she had made her own.

One room, which she called her yoga room, held a different sense of purpose. Two yoga mats lay side by side, weights leaned against the window, and on the opposite side stood a couch she had custom-made while living in Los Angeles. It had the clean lines and geometric simplicity of Art Deco, a style that seemed to represent the balance and symmetry she sought. I could easily imagine myself there, cross-legged, its solid back providing steady support for meditation.

A bookshelf stood in the corner, its contents dedicated to spirituality and healing. Among the books, I noticed The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle, the book I had given her as a Christmas gift in 2009. I recalled the day I found it in a small bookstore in Providence accompanied by my younger daughter, Simone. I had written an inscription about wishing Iva to be inspired by navigating her life without getting caught up in the traps of a self-absorbed state of mind. Now, years later, seeing it again felt like finding a connection between then and now.

It was one of the pivotal books for me, one that introduced me to the importance of grounding oneself in the present. I remember eagerly recommending it to some of my patients back then, hoping that the insights might help them loosen the grip of the unchangeable past and unknowable future. I thought back to the conversations I had with some of them, where transformation seemed possible for those willing to apply its principles in their healing. I wanted the same for Iva, but I never asked her if the book had made an impact. Perhaps, simply seeing it on her shelf was evidence that it did.

For most of my adult life, I had lived with a sense of constant anticipation, projecting myself into the future. And yet, there were times, fleeting moments, when I had glimpsed a different way where the mind didn’t have to grasp and sort every passing thought or sensation, reinterpreting the experience rather than being present in it. Those moments were rare, but they left behind an imprint, a longing to free my mind from the prison of psychological time perspective.

I recall my yoga teacher when she said, “The mind is a time traveler, while the body is always present.” I reflected on that, thinking of all the times my thoughts wandered, back to faded memories or, more often, forward to an imagined future, always planning in an attempt to control it, the times when I was not connected to my body or the surroundings.

Attending the Field of Awakening oneness spirituality program in Los Angeles this year brought the struggles of my restless mind into sharp focus. There, amidst the teachings and meditations, I realized how much of my mind refused to be stilled, being immersed in the ongoing chatter and removed from the present experience. One of the teachers said that an important characteristic of an enlightened state was to be fully present and free from the burdens of the past and future.

I learned that the meditation practice called Serene Mind is a way of mindfully staying in the present. It involves observing each breath, noticing each feeling and labeling it, being aware of the direction of each thought without trying to change it, and simply witnessing without judgment. To deepen this awareness and dissolve any walls of separation from the present, one visualizes a flame in between the eyebrows moving to the center of the brain, holding it steady in a state of calm presence.

Now while in Frisco, as I sat in Iva’s backyard, I let myself settle into a moment of stillness. The crisp October air held the scent of earth and freshly mowed grass from the golf course beyond the fence. My eyes stopped at the small fountain, which stood just a few feet away, its stone child statue poised in anticipation, hands cupped to pour water from the pot that wasn’t yet flowing. There was something intriguing in the statue’s pose, as if it mirrored the state of my mind, paused, waiting for the release of life energy flow.

I let my eyes drift from the fountain to my pen hovering above the page of my notebook. There, I saw a flow. I watched the ink populate the white paper without any conscious effort on my part, as my thoughts were pouring out directly from my mind in the flow of stream-of-consciousness writing. As the ink flowed effortlessly, I recalled the ideas in The Power of Now about experiencing life without endless mind commentary. Being present in each moment as it truly is, free from the habitual layers of interpretation and judgment.

I took a breath and closed my eyes, choosing not to analyze the sounds around me but to simply hear them: the distant conversations from the golf course, the occasional rustling of leaves, and the chirping of birds in the trees. I inhaled deeply, letting the air fill my abdomen and lungs, then exhaled, releasing the tension I was holding.

For a moment, I stopped trying to understand what it meant to be present and simply allowed myself to experience it. I opened my eyes and looked at the fountain once more, the stone child frozen in stillness. Something shifted in me, and I rose from the chair and approached the fountain. I reached out and turned the valve on. Water began to flow, slowly at first, then with increasing strength, cascading down the slopes and bringing the soft sound of running water. With it came a lightness of being.

Standing there, I realized what being present meant. It was about allowing things to flow as they were, without needing to grasp or hold on. This reminded me of a simpler time of childhood, of running barefoot through the grass, carefree and unburdened by thoughts of what came next. Back then, there were no problems to solve, no futures to plan, just the immediate joy of being present with the endless possibilities that were unfolding from moment to moment.

I stepped back from the fountain, letting the sound of the water fill the silence between my thoughts. I felt an inner smile forming on my lips. I walked back to the chair and resumed writing, letting the words come without thinking about them. They weren’t perfect or profound, but they felt genuine rather than constructed. I was simply there, alive, breathing, and connected to the world around me.

And perhaps, with further practice, I could experience this feeling longer, gradually finding my way back to the childlike wonder of endless summer days and boundless joy. I knew my mind would try to pull me back into its habitual patterns, into past regrets or future worries, but now, I had a deeper appreciation of another way of living that embraced each moment as it was.

The fountain continued to flow, its movement gentle and steady. As I listened, I felt a sense of peace, a presence that felt almost timeless. I was fully there, no longer the thinker, the planner, the writer, just the experiencer, quietly existing within the flow of life.