And what about "God"?

(Do we need it?)

Hi friends,

First of all, I love you! What a rare gift to find this kind of inspiration in the comments section. After we discussed the present moment, many of you shared what spirituality means to you. Through poetry and profundity, I noticed a binary among your responses: spirituality as relationship with a higher power versus simply that which is beyond the material. These definitions are not mutually exclusive, of course, though the apparent divide calls up a fresh question: What about “God”?

This week, I’m wondering: Do we need “God” to create a common sense conversation about spirituality, or are we better off rejecting the word altogether? (If you’re in the mood to share a longer answer than that one: What does “God” mean to you, and how has your relationship with the term changed over time?)

How annoying "spirituality"?

(I'm curious what the word means to you.)

Hi friends,

Thank you for your answers to my question about the present moment last week. It means a lot to me that this comment section is so thoughtful, a sweet sandbox in the cesspool (as I continue to struggle to get back online).

I was struck by the range of your responses! Manuela R. mentioned finitude, and I saw a cartoon coin flip of scarcity and the absolute — our tiny, little lives versus whole big thing we’re swimming in. Max K. contrasted the zeitgeist of “the present moment” with the application of his practice in Zen. Geoff T. also mentioned Buddhism, the preciousness, rarity, and constant challenge around the return. Chris D. made had me smirking over “healthy compartmentalization,” while Tom J. called it the sum of everything. This spectrum of interpretation seems part of the obstacle we move through within ourselves each time we rediscover the now. Sean S. shared a lovely definition of no past and future, admitting the space is still hard to enter. Courtney wisely noted the filters that keep us from clear vision of truth, while Richard D. offered breath as the best he can do to remember the real thing.

Related to the so-called “the present moment,” I’m curious: What does “spirituality” means to you? (One-word answers are fine, but feel free to pop off! I’m interested to know how you interpret the term and how it plays out in your life.)

Thank you for sharing, and for being here,
Lauren

What's the deal with the present moment?

(Please comment.)

Hi friends, I’m curious what you all think of when you hear the term “the present moment” or “just be present”? (Short answers are fine, but feel free to pop off.)

If only ease were really that easy

(A very dumb breakthrough)

Pancake Brain is a weekly newsletter by award-winning & -losing writer Lauren Duca.

In my spiritual practice, I’ve spent this year contemplating ease, praying for ease, really, just straight-up begging for some mother-fucking goddamned ease, and it has finally occurred to me that ease must be easy. This comes as a shock to my system.

After months of so many hours of practicing qi gong in honor of ease, I still snap out of my standing meditation and wantonly choose the other thing instead. Asking for ease, I’ve had my nose shoved in my own frustration, impatience, anger, fear, pain, and stress, not to mention the lingering fear that none of this matters if I don’t get enough done. I have faith in the infinite power of God, but only in theory. My heart opens to the unconditional love of Nature, and then outside in the grand majesty of the mountains at sunset, I kick rocks and miss the point. Where I am so endlessly connected to oneness in my practice at dawn, the world starts to annoy me before I’ve finished my coffee.

Then this weekend, I had a breakthrough. On a qi gong retreat in the Catskills, I tasted the trust I had been praying for, bursting beyond my mind to receive the flow of life. If this was a glimpse of the Great Mystery, that was certainly before I turned my phone back on, got wrapped up in a profound bout of family drama, closed my heart like a hockey goalie, and then, never mind, “trusting the universe,” I forgot how to make a decision.

The sudden slip of clarity was replaced with a fog then filled with Biscoff and ginger ale on the flight back to Tucson. Mulling over an offer to perform a run of my show in August, the whole thing felt like figuring out how to juggle sandbags on a full stomach. Desperately calling friends and family for advice the next day, I talked Becca’s ear off listing pros and cons, comparing calculators and calendars, until it finally occurred to me, clear as the voice of God, “What the hell do you think ease feels like?”

That slap of clarity was like taking one step backwards out of a swarm of gnats. If I know I want ease, why don’t I go ahead and choose that? Why would I juggle sandbags when they’ll never be light as a feather? Suddenly, there was no decision. As soon as I admitted it was going to be too much stress, something else was able to happen. Accepting defeat, I relaxed my shoulders, sighed, and the new thing floated right down into my open hand. Ease can only ever be easy, and you know what’s right, because your heart falls open, and a great “DUH” echoes out through the cosmos like a gong.

In regard to the theme from "Jurassic Park"

(And, by the way, what should I be sure to do while I'm in Paris?)

Hi friends,

If it seems like I tricked you into a newsletter about contemplating the expansion of consciousness by swearing to practice piano, rest assured, I also tricked myself. At first, I tried planning for ten minutes a day, thinking such a small amount would be almost impossible to avoid… but that wasn’t enough to stick. Last month, I swore I would do 30 minutes a day for 30 days, hoping such a crash course could turn me “fluent” enough to compose sloppy improv. As it turns out, that was far too much, and I have nearly managed to spend 30 days avoiding practicing 30 minutes a day, because with my 30 for 30 method, I might as well have replaced my Yamaha with a cardboard cutout of a crown of broccoli.

On Tuesday, I leave for the beginning of summer travels so complex that I need a hand-written planner to remember them all. My serious practice cannot reasonably resume until midway through September, when Becca and I return to Tucson. In the two days I have left, I thought perhaps I could at least declaratively redeem myself by learning the theme to Jurassic Park. Since promising to practice everyday in January, I have memorized two versions of Billy Joel’s Piano Man… and not much else. Piano Man was chosen on account of I played and sang the song in the seventh grade talent show with not a hint of humor. The theme of Jurassic Park is in honor of one Deborah “DJ” Vance Jr. on the baby grand and church organ in Hacks.

While avoiding practicing piano, I read Made to Love by Alissa Nutting, practiced qi gong for at least two hours a day, spent roughly 24 hours binging Hacks, and finally decided, out of shame and guilt, before I left until practically October, I would at least learn the goddamn fucking theme of Jurassic Park. And so then it stopped me in my tracks, when I called my best friend Max – the principle oboist in the Tucson Symphony Orchestra – and he said he had traveled to Modesta for a gig playing the theme of Jurassic Park! What in the Carl “Synchronicity” Jung, you cannot make this shit up! Honestly, now, if I don’t memorize at least the theme of Jurassic Park by the end of this summer, I am worried there may be a time loop, in a bad way. (Thankfully, Max has offered to help.)

With enthusiasm, Lauren

p.s. Please give me your best recommendations for wandering around Paris?? (Bonus points for the best street food and/or weird art and museums.)

Pancake Brain is a weekly newsletter by award-winning & -losing writer Lauren Duca. Please like / subscribe / share wherever you do your best doomscrolling.