Magic Node

The author reads chapter one of newly published young adult novel “Magic Node,” available as a paperback or a Kindle book on Amazon.com.

Upcoming Novels

This is the first of three, called "Six of Cups," an introspective journey of a man (Hudson) confronting the profound absence of a loved one. It explores themes of grief, memory, and regret while meditating on the meaning of life and the choices made along the way. The narrative uses personal mementos and evocative settings—a dusty study, torn photographs, a symbolic empty chair—to illustrate the weight of loss and the bittersweet nature of remembrance. It will be available in trade paperback format from Amazon very soon.

This is the second one, a young adult novel entitled "Magic Node," a story that unfolds in a near-future world transformed by a breakthrough technology—BrainLink—which unexpectedly unlocks latent magical abilities in animals. As canines and felines (and eventually other species) develop extraordinary powers, ancient bonds and new rivalries spark expansive conflicts. The resulting wars and ethical dilemmas force humans to reconsider their relationship with nature, technology, and magic, leading to interspecies alliances, global crises, and ultimately the hopeful (if uncertain) rebuilding of society. It too will be available in trade paperback format from Amazon very soon.

This is the third one, the 20th anniversary hardback compilation of "Ard Righ," "Kingdom of Summer," and "Reign of Fire," The King Arthur Saga.  It will also be available in a limited edition, commemorative hardback format from Amazon very soon.

Why 2025 is Better Than 2018

In 2018, as a follow-up to a successful 2017 campaign, the Philadelphia Eagles went on to beat both the Atlanta Falcons in the divisional round of the playoffs, and then the Minnesota Vikings in the NFC Conference Round of the playoffs, both games having been home games at Lincoln Financial Field in South Philly. These wins earned them a berth in Super Bowl LII at U.S. Bank Stadium in, ironically, Minnesota, against their AFC counterparts, the Mighty New England Patriots.

The city held it's breath from the first playoff game through the end of the Super Bowl, as their backup quarterback, Nick Foles, had become the starting quarterback several weeks before the playoffs began when Eagles starting quarterback Carson Wentz went down with a torn ACL in a division-clenching win against the Los Angeles Rams. Nick Foles's Eagles then went on to clinch a first round bye, and then home field advantage throughout the playoffs, with late season wins, to finish with a team-best record of 13-3.

This current (2025) Eagles Super Bowl win, however, was better than 2018… ‘18 was lightning in a bottle, a necessary and much appreciated popping of their cherry; the ‘25 team, on the other hand, was built for this, and has the potential to become a dynasty.

2018- lightning in a bottle.

Jalen Hurts is their “normal” starter, which feels to me better, from a sense that he and this team can repeat. No offense to (Saint) Nick Foles— his place in Eagle Nation’s history is assured— heck, we even built him and Coach Pederson a statue (“Philly Philly”) outside of the Linc to honor the accomplishment— but no one realistically thought that he could do it again. Thus the “Lightening in a Bottle” label— it looks great, it is great— but it’s a one-time spectacle.

The ‘25 team isn’t that kind of spectacle; the ‘25 team, led by our “regular” starting quarterback, can do it again. And again. And-- dare I say it— again.

And for the record, the Eagles have five world championship wins, not two. Just because it wasn’t yet called the Super Bowl doesn’t negate the wins!

© Ray Cattie

Foreshadowing vs Deja Vu

On the literary vs the real life, and which is which?

Foreshadowing is a literary device where something happens early on in the plot that gives you a clue as to something that will happen later in the story. For instance, a character sees some seemingly insignificant prop early on, and it turns out to be significant to the story later. That’s an example of direct foreshadowing.

Physical or direct foreshadowing, the “smoking gun,” as it is known in the trade, is actually a narrative rule that states, “If the author draws attention to a smoking gun in chapter one, it needs to be relevant in chapter 33.”

Otherwise, it’s an unnecessary detail that serves as nothing but a distraction. And that comes across as an obvious attempt at sleight of hand by the author, and no reader is paying to be fooled, at least accidentally. 

It's also known as "Chekhov's Gun," named for Russian writer Anton Chekhov, who said, "Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there." The "smoking gun" theory title works the best, in my opinion, as laypeople (people who aren't geeks about writing) hear "Chekov's Gun," and think its a phaser pistol being welded by Pavel Chekov from Star Trek.

You can also have symbolic foreshadowing, where for instance a character has a series of dark foreboding dreams and then later something dark happens. Or perhaps a character has an item early on, like Chekhov's Gun, but the gun isn't used in a literal way, but rather symbolically. For instance, someone has something bad happen to them later, after seeing the gun. A lot of it is dependent on the author-- much like contextual or authorial symbolism, it only make sense in the context if the author tells you it makes sense, and how it makes sense. Almost in a "sympathetic magic" kind of way: it works because we believe it works. That doesn't necessarily make it everyone's reality, though.

Deja Vu, on the other hand, is a feeling that you've already experienced something, seen something, have "been there before," and I suppose it is the real-life equivalent to the narrative device that is foreshadowing.

Science tells us that deja vu is nothing more or less than a "neurodivergent slip from the norm," if you will, whereby the brain literally "forgets" for a brief period, literally three seconds, and then remembers, but of course with a three second memory gap. So you enter a room, your brain has a very small blank hiccup, and then it's done. No time seems to pass subjectively, although objectively three seconds have passed. It is enough that we recognize the room, and seem to remember "being here before," because we were there before-- three seconds before. Really not a surprise when you learn the the brain is constantly "filling in gaps," up to 90% of what we see is being filled in by our brain based on previous experiences, throughout our waking day. The vast majority of that "fill in" however is a seamless process, until it's not. 90%... what does that suggest about what we call "reality" when even our own brains play games with us?

I know, it's all like learning the secret of a magic trick-- some don't want to know-- and to them, with the knowledge comes the ruination of the trick.

And some must have Truth, at all costs. They are the ones who would go on to be resentful at being lied to at Christmastime, who tell themselves that they would have appreciated the gifts that appeared under their childhood Christmas trees regardless of whether they were delivered by Santa Claus or by Mom and Dad.

They are the ones who don't like surprises, and need their world ordered and organized. To them, magic is the perfect schedule, the fifteen minutes early to every appointment, the "everything has a place" organizer.

Which is the right approach? I would say the one that works for you is correct-- as usual in life, if it works, it's an asset, if it doesn't, it's not. Either way, enjoy the ride your brain is taking you on-- 90%.

© Ray Cattie

Celtic Wedding Poem

Celtic weddings were events to behold, whether you were of the lower class, the middle class, or the upper class. There were two essential kinds of weddings: The Kidnapping, and the more creative Parley. Here is a clip from my novel "And Righ," where Arthur and his groomsmen have come to parley for the hand of Arthur's betrothed, Gwenhwyfar aka Guinevere. Arthur is represented on one side of the door by Myrddin aka Merlin:

Myrddin:
“The timing of our visit here
“To win the heart of one so
“Is written gently on our hearts
“A perfect day to make a start—"

Gwenhwyfar:

"A noise I hear outside my door
“I wonder who the noise is for?
“And wondering, I pause to think of
“Why you stand upon my brink?”

Myrddin:
“We seek the one who’s tall and fair,
“With jade-green eyes and golden hair.

“From Camelaird our lady came,
“Open now and end this game—”

Gwenhwyfar:
“The one you seek is here for sure
“But cannot face the open door.
“Try again some other day;
“Leave us be and go away—”

Myrddin:
“The game is up, the bride-price paid,
“A groom awaits his loving maid’.
“Unlock your heart and let us pass,
“Before the sun too high does pass—“

Arthur (in mock-frustration at this point):
“I am Arthur, come to call
“Stout of heart behind this wall.

“Gwenhwyfar my bride to be,

"Open shuttered door for me!"

And at this point the door opened, or not, as the case went. In this particular instance, the door opened.

© Ray Cattie

Hard-Wired Guardian Angel

As we've stated previously in this blog, humans have logic, or logos, in common with each other. Our big brains are very good at solving logical problems. So much so that we use logos to make effective arguments when we try to persuade or convince someone to believe what we want them to believe.

We do have other things in common as well. Such as emotion, or pathos. Again, we all have it-- the problem with pathos as the basis of an argument, however, is that among other things we don't all respond to emotional cues in the same way.

Thus, pathos is not a reliable root for an argument, outside of using it to "season" our argument once we have established its parameters. Like a stew, if you will: meat and potatoes-- the logical argument, and then the salt and pepper-- the emotional seasoning for our argument. And much like a stew, a little seasoning goes a long way; a lot of seasoning can ruin the meal.

Sometimes, however, our own logic can betray us. Imagine being in the woods on a hunt 15,000 years ago. Or being on the edge of the woods looking for mushrooms and edible roots and berries. As you are occupied with your task, you hear the snapping of a twig somewhere behind you. Logic kicks in, and your mind starts working on a scenario to explain the snapping sound.

…you realize that thesticksthatarescatteredonthatpartoftheforest'sfloorareonthethick sidesowhateversnappedthatstickbehindyouhastobesubstantiallybiggerthanasquirrelor othersmalleranimalinfactitwouldhavetobethesizeof— and you're dead.

Your logic turned out to be right-- the bear coming up behind you was significantly larger than a squirrel, and with one swing of its claw-laden paw it sent you to your death.

As you can see by that scenario, our logic didn't serve us too well in that case. It was correct, but it was far too slow to allow us to come to the conclusion that we needed to run in that situation, and quickly.

If not logic, what? This is where pathos, or the emotional response-- specifically the startle reflex-- saves the day.

Same setup-- picking mushrooms, or staking prey in the woods, and a twig snaps behind you. Only this time, the emotional response-- the startle-- kicks in, and you jump "out of your skin," as the saying goes, which essentially means you jumped up and to the right, allowing the trailing bear's paw to swipe through empty air that was recently vacated by your startled head.

This is also known as fight or flight, which is a reflex that immediately puts our bodies in the position to fight, or to run, with no logical thought pulling the strings. It's what’s called a hard-wired (non-learned) instinct.

Do we still have them today? Sure, you betcha. You're crossing a busy street, only you didn't see the car speeding up the inside lane, momentarily hidden from your view. The car honks its horn, scaring you and causing you to startle, saving your life.

Survival instinct-- it's what keeps us alive even when the situation might dictate otherwise, and in spite of ourselves. Like a hard-wired guardian angel, if you will. Hard-wired-- meaning, not learned, but inbred. For example, our startle reflex. Ingrained in us since the days we first climbed down out of the trees in Africa, our startle reflex activates-- that's right-- when someone or something startles us.

Beyond the startle reflex, we have an aversion to things that can be harmful to our survival ("our" also mean "as a species"). For example, we have an aversion to cannibalism. Such subject is actually a "taboo," that is to say in addition to being illegal, it goes against our survival (as a species) instinct and mentally and physically repulses us.

As does mating with people (and things) that cannot produce a viable offspring. Romantic love with a sibling? Taboo. Romantic love with a pit bull? Again, taboo. A vacuum cleaner? Taboo. Each of those examples goes against the survival of the species. How many generations would there be to extinction if we didn't have this aversion towards mating with people and things that cannot produce viable progeny? I'd bet the ranch on one... maybe two at the outside.

Killing also breaks that hard-wired survival instinct. It is incredibly hard for one human to kill another human on purpose. That's part of what basic training does for soldiers-- it helps them to get past the "taboo" of killing other humans where it might be “necessary,” such as in the case of war.

We are literally built with this hard-wired system deeply ingrained in us. The question then becomes, with such an autonomic defense system in place, how then are we able to consciously do things that otherwise put our lives in jeopardy, such as smoke, overeat, drive while intoxicated? If our autopilot is smart enough to keep us out of the line of fire, how then is our logical brain unable to do this job, or at least make the job easier?

© Ray Cattie

Haunted

What is "haunted?" More specifically, what does it mean to be "haunted?" Is it even real? I suppose it depends on what you believe of the afterlife: what happens to us after we die?

"Haunting" actually has a couple of meanings. First, it can mean that something comes across as particularly poignant: "That piece of music is very haunting." Meaning, it evokes a profound meaning within ourselves that touches us at a deeper level.

"Haunting" can also mean to be "haunted;" that is to say, that  something or someone is haunting us. Classic "haunted" house lore would have us believe that a human spirit is "haunting" a house, and refuses to "move on" to whatever is after life.

(why all of the "quotes" and the use of italics?  It's because the words and/or phrases I quoted or italicized don't necessarily have a clear meaning, or that their meaning(s) are controversial to the point where just as many people believe as disbelieve their purported definition. So I err on the side of caution)

I digress. A classic haunting is generally associated with the horror genre in the world of entertainment, and involves ghosts or spirits, or even demonic presences that are associated with a specific place or a house. Some even say they can be attached to specific people as well. We think of things that go bump! in the night, or we scrunch under our covers in bed, making sure that nothing is sticking out, because god forbid something strokes our bare ankle in the middle of the night... w-what was that noise! Our imaginations run absolutely wild with fearful thoughts at things that we are unable to identify.

I like to believe that there are rational explanations to everything that is unexplained, and luckily for me so far, I've been right each and every time. And even with alleged haunted houses in specific, or creepy places in general, science has come to the rescue; although their explanations aren't generally as fun, are they?

Science tells that generally speaking places that creep us out, make us feel uneasy, or just plain scare us, have a very sound explanation, literally. Infrasound, or sound that is just below conscious human perception at around 19 hertz, can't be heard but apparently can still be felt by the body, and in fact is directly linked to feelings of discomfort, uneasiness, fear, and even nausea. Recognize the haunted house symptoms?

Scientists have investigated for this 19 hertz frequency in alleged haunted houses and have found-- you guessed it-- it is present in over 90% of the cases investigated. Those house settling sounds-- the creaking, the pipe noises, the moaning sounds-- all of it (or at least 90% of it)-- fall into that infrasound frequency. Quite eye-opening, no?

Does the imagination take us on journeys? Yes it does, even though sometimes we know the rational explanation. I'm actually here to propose yet another definition of what a haunting is-- the mind.

Hear me out-- as the mind goes, so goes the body. Another one of those pesky scientific principles. So if it's real in your mind, it's eventually going to be real in the body. To quote Jo Rowling from HPatDH: Harry asks, “Sir, is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” To which Dumbledore sagely replies: "Of course it's happening in your head, Harry. But why on earth should that mean it's not real?"

I have come to believe a haunting-- in its simplest of forms-- is a lingering thought of a person. Not a voluntary thought, mind you, but a thought that pops into existence regardless of our attempts to keep it at bay, and one that we consciously have to banish. It comes on its own, but requires a purposeful mental process to banish it.

Sometimes it can be pleasant-- for instance, once in a while out of the clear blue I will get an urge to talk to my first muse— my Aunt Sadie, who passed a number of years ago. She will linger in my head for a bit, look over my shoulder, if you will, and continue acting as my muse, from beyond. It’s very pleasant, and I have that going with my Mom as well, and my Uncle Lou. Just the occasional presence felt-- perhaps a conversation ("...of course it's happening in your head... why on earth should that mean it's not real?" I think J.K.R. absolutely nailed it with that scene from "The Deathly Hallows").

And sometimes it can be unpleasant-- as with a snide comment from an ex-wife. Sometimes I'll accidentally allow it to devolve into a whole argument in my head before I finally pull the plug on it and banish it back into the netherworld of my deeper thoughts. It is disturbing though, each and every time. And then I feel silly, particularly with the ease at which it can be dismissed/banished. The interesting part of course is that I can "say" things in these “haunting” moments that I would have never said IRL, which can ultimately be quite therapeutic. Disturbing, but therapeutic. Of course.

Anywho-- those are my thoughts on "haunting," and/or being "haunted."

© Ray Cattie

Say What You Mean (& Mean What You Say)

 Denotation v Connotation

What's the difference between the denotation of a word, versus the connotation of a word? Well, the denotation refers to the dictionary definition of a word. It's pretty much the same, no matter where you look up the meaning-- a dictionary, an encyclopedia, Wiki. Doesn't change with the origin.

Connotation, on the other hand, refers to a word's secondary meanings, undertones, and implications. This can change from region to region, culture to culture, even town to town.

It's this latter meaning that makes English a very challenging language to learn for second-language speakers trying to gain a foothold in English perhaps for the first time. What do you mean that "cool" doesn't refer to the temperature, as in, "The temperature of the room was "cool" today;" versus, "He's acting really "cool" tonight." Or perhaps that "salty" isn't a way to describe a taste, as in, "That soup is too "salty;" versus, "She's mad-- she's acting all "salty." Or maybe that the term "woke" can refer to a social status, and not a condition of awake or asleep, as in, "The left tend to be very "woke;" versus, "She "woke" up at 8:15 this morning."

Let's look at a simple example: if you were to ask a woman how she'd like to be described from the following three words, what do you think her answer would be?

Slender.............Thin.............Scrawny

The answer would most likely be the word slender. While all of the words carry roughly the same denotation in that they all mean lean, as opposed to fat, the word slender carries more positive undertones, or connotations.

A slender woman is graceful, elegant, and perhaps even sexy. Most women would prefer the word "slender," as it carries the more positive connotation. The middle word, "thin," is a fairly neutral word, and can be used when in doubt as to the reception of the word. Finally, the word “scrawny” brings an unhealthy, overly thin, or bony person to mind, and most women generally do not want to be described in this manner.

Remember though that over time words can shift in their connotative implications, and people trying to use connotation should try be up-to-date on the current implications of a word before risking the use of the wrong word. When in doubt, go neutral, as with the word "thin" in the above example.

Here’s another example of connotation and how it can affect the strength of a sentiment:

• He is a crack addict.
• She is a welfare mother.
• He is homeless.

The words crack addict, welfare mother, and homeless carry strong connotations. It makes the above statements more powerful. Here are the same thoughts, only with weaker connotations, changing the tone significantly:

• He is a person who abuses substances.
• She is a parent needing gov’t assistance.
• He is itinerant.

So, say what you mean, but make sure you’re meaning what you say— know what a connotation is before you use it— wars have been started for (far) less!

© Ray Cattie

Legacy

One question has tormented me for most of my adult life and, in fact, has influenced a lot of my decisions: What will be my legacy after I’m gone? Who will remember me, and how will I be remembered. It’s a sad perspective, I know, but a realistic way of thinking none-the-less.

Family isn’t enough— they remember for maybe two generations, and then you’re forgotten. How many remember their great grandparents? I’d venture a guess and say almost no one.

So I became a teacher. And yes, it’s certainly true that teachers are in it for the outcome, not the income. And an asset of that outcome is that a lot of people will remember you. The conundrum is that again, like family, they will only remember you for their lives, best case scenario.

So I became a writer. I think maybe that’s the “write” (groan) track. My writing will live on long after I’m gone; long after my family is gone, and their families after that. I mean, we still read and study Shakespeare, and that was from 400+ years ago.

Although there's no sittable shade here...

Writing is like planting a tree. Sometimes it grows, and you get to enjoy its shade. Sometimes it grows more slowly, and that’s shade will be enjoyed by future shade-sitters. Sometimes, the tree is like Methuselah, the bristlecone pine, and people 5,000 years later will enjoy its shade.

For a writer, the point is that popularity is not necessarily achieved in your own time most of the time, and that is O.K.A.Y. as far as your legacy goes. By it's very definition, a legacy is, "something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor from the past" (Merriam-Webster).

Me at book signing in Philly.

The fact that you ultimately receive no significant recognition for your efforts in your own lifetime is almost the goal, or rather, becomes the goal, although recognition of that kind wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing of course. Writers write because they have to; there's something inside of them that they need to get out, in that specific fashion. But they also don't write in a vacuum, and to receive accolades directly is nice, be it in the form of an audience, or even better: a paying audience.

The bottom line, however, is that someone after my grandchildren will know who I am, or was. My ideas have been committed to permanent media, and somewhere, someway, somehow, they will continue to exist, long after any direct memory of me evaporates in the dustbin of history.

Food for thought. What will your legacy be? Will it be genetic, in which case no one in the future will know of you except by the genes you pass down through your family? And that's okay-- the vast majority of people will go this route. Or will it be something more substantial-- will you build something? Say something? Do something? Anything that will be around centuries from now? What say you?

© Ray Cattie

Fritter & Waste the Hours

 

Why does time seem to pass at different speeds at different points in our lives? I read a fascinating theory a number of years ago that resonates as true, at least to me:

Remember when we were kids, and the summers would last seemingly for months and months and months? You'd get out of school in June, and that time between then and the week after Labor Day seemed to be endless. It was roughly three months, but those three months yawned open in front of us like years filled with endless possibilities.

 

As adults, not so much. For adults, years slip by like they are months. What? But why? And more-- how is that even fair?

 

Three months is, however, three months; when we were kids, and now as adults. The objectivity of measurable time didn't change-- three months is roughly ninety days-- so why does our perception of it change? Let's take the objectivity of time out of the equation, and look at it as relative/subjective.

From a kid's perspective, time seems to pass slowly, because (ie) a year to a four year-old is a lot smaller of a ratio than a year to a forty year-old. To the four year-old, a year is literally a quarter of their lives; a significant percentage of time, from the four year-old's perspective.

 

For the adult, however, one year is a much less significant block of time— only 1/40th of their lives to a forty year-old; a much smaller ratio of time. And we feel it, as well. You know as well as I do that time seems to speed by, the older you get... so it is a real phenomenon. But why? Again, isn't time objective, no matter what you think of it?

 

And then there's The Zone. Athletes experience it, as do artists of all types. Anything that requires intense concentration, in fact, experiences The Zone. This is when time very specifically and deliberately seems to slow down, and the subject becomes "hyper mindful," enabling them to do almost superhuman feats.

 

Take a batter in baseball, for instance. When the batter is in the batter's box, and concentrating on the pitcher and the ball, they will tell you that time seems to stops for them, all-but allowing them to count the seams on the ball as it comes towards them at the plate.

It takes a major league fastball that's thrown at 95mph roughly 0.425 seconds to get from the mound to the plate, crossing 60 feet, six inches of space in the interim. Here is the specific mechanics of it: A 95 mph fastball travels at approximately 139 feet per second, reaching home plate in about 0.425 seconds. The human brain takes around 100 milliseconds to process the image of the ball coming towards them. Once the brain registers the pitch, the hitter has a very short window (around 125-225 milliseconds) to decide if and where to swing. The actual swing itself takes around 150 milliseconds.

 

As my Dad used to say, the hardest thing in professional sports is hitting a round ball with a round bat. Looking at those numbers, it's easy to believe that thought. It would in fact be near impossible, were it not for The Zone of hyper-concentration.

If you've ever stepped into a batter's cage and took some swings at balls thrown by the pitching machine, you know exactly how hard it is to hit a 95mph fastball. The average person might hit just as many with their eyes closed and swinging wildly.

 

The professional ballplayer, however, isn't the average person. The pro can get into The Zone, and with that hyper concentration/focus, hit the ball consistently and on purpose three or four times out of ten. Doesn't sound like a lot, but it actually is-- if you average anywhere from .300-.400 in the majors you're probably an all-star.

 

Same method goes to the artist as well. When the artist is deeply concentrating on

what they are creating, the Zone takes control and does funny things with time.

It becomes very, very subjective.

 

I know that when I am writing, for example, I could close my office door at 6:00am, work on my project for what feels to me like an hour of subjective time, and then find that five hours have passed in the objective sense. It's a very strange phenomenon, hyper focus. It allows our brains to bend time, if you will, taking what is normally an objective measure of the passing time and making it a subjective experience that can last more or less, depending on the situation, than the time that is flowing "outside" of our hyper focused bubble.

 

Could this be a key regarding the aforementioned speed of the passing of time difference

between when we are younger and when we are older? Undoubtedly it plays a role, the

idea of hyper focus, or as new agers like to call it, "mindfulness."

 

So what is this thing called "mindfulness?" Yes, it's when we are intentionally mindful of

what's going on around us, but what does it actually mean to be mindful?

 

We define time as the past, the present, and the future. As humans, we very rarely actually live in the present time. But what do you mean? Of course I live in the present time—what choice in the matter do I have? Not so fast. Let’s think about

your thoughts for a moment. What are you thinking about? Usually, you’re worried about something that has already happened (the past), such as with regret, fondness, euphoria. Or, maybe you're not thinking about the past; maybe you're worried about a meeting you have later in the week at work, or how you're going to pay a specific bill this month, or what you are going to make for dinner later (the future).

 

Surprisingly, the present isn't something that's generally on our minds. Oh, I guess

you could blame biology for much of that— specifically, our autonomic nervous system—

the physiological system that handle things for us-- our "autopilot," if you will. The ANS evolved to control involuntary bodily

functions like heart rate, digestion, breathing, sweating. You don't, for example, have

to worry about breathing, or keeping your heart beating, or regulating your body

temperature, or a million other things our body handles automatically. Those would literally be "present moment" things.

 

We can “induce” mindfulness, with several mind tricks. One that I like to use, where you can actually feel your perspective change, is counting your breaths. You inhale, and think, “one inhale.” Then you exhale, and you think, “one exhale.” And you do this for about ten breaths—usually by ten breaths you will feel the perspective shift. What’s really going on is that you are forcing your mind to focus on the present moment.

 

There’s a book called “Present Moment, Wonderful Moment,” by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh, that presents 79 meditative verses, or “gathas,” designed to help you practice mindfulness throughout the day. Basically, they help our minds to slow down, and consider everyday tasks as opportunities to be mindful. For example, upon waking, think:

 

“Waking up this morning, I smile.
“Twenty-four brand new hours are before me.
“I vow to live fully in each moment
“and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.”

 

Mindfulness can quite literally expand your life, or at least your perception of life. An hour will still be an hour, just as a year was still a year whether you were four or forty. When you practice mindfulness, you are purposely and purposefully putting yourself in the zone of hyperfocus, and the resulting perspective shift can really pull you out of the past and stop you from wandering into the future, and root you mind firmly in the present moment.

 

  

© Ray Cattie