Stopping. David Kundtz

      Stopping Before Everything

      Stopping is a gentle art and is like an encouraging word that urges us to make the right decisions and choices: the ones we really want and the ones that are life-giving. These decisions are both the big, life-changing ones such as a career change, starting or ending a marriage, or moving to a new home, as well as the smaller, day-to-day ones such as, This purchase? That sales pitch at work? Tell her now or wait ’til later? In both senses of the phrase, Stopping comes before everything: Stopping should chronologically precede everything we do as well as assume a position of priority in our lives.

      This is no small adjustment for most of us. This is a change in direction that will affect all the aspects of our lives. But I am not afraid that clearly stating the magnitude of the change will prompt you to say, “This is asking for too great a change. I don't think I want to get into this.” I am not afraid to tell the truth because the results are so promising: Not only will you find more moment-to-moment peace, but you will also find clarification of, even the discovery of, your life. Is there anything more important? And could there be anything much worse than knowing—when you are at the end of your life or even at the end of your day—that you missed it?

      In both of my fields of work, priesthood and counseling, I have had many occasions to be with people as they are dying. At those moments, the saddest words to hear, and not the least common, are “If only I had known!” or “If only someone had told me!” The implication is that they would have lived their lives very differently and more in line with the truth they now see at the time of their death. And now, of course, they know it's too late. The realization brings a deep sadness.

      This has led me to ask myself: Would they really have changed if they knew then what they know now? What if someone had revealed the truth to them? Would that have made a difference? My questions remain answerless until I direct them at myself: What do I need to know now so that I will not be in that situation? Since, as an adult, it is no one's responsibility to tell me what I need to know, what is it that must I tell myself? These are questions that will be answered only in the stillness that allows the hearing of difficult truths and in the slowness that allows me to notice them.

      This brings us to another point. It is so obvious that it often escapes our attention. It is this: slowness fosters remembering and speed engenders forgetting. Czech novelist Milan Kundera makes this point eloquently in his novel, Slowness. It is a point not only fundamental to the understanding of Stopping, but essential to living successfully in today's world: “There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and for-getting. Consider this utterly commonplace situation: a man is walking down the street. At a certain moment, he tries to recall something, but the recollection escapes him. Automatically, he slows down. Meanwhile, a person who wants to forget a disagreeable incident he has just lived through starts unconsciously to speed up his pace, as if he were trying to distance himself from a thing still too close to him in time.”

      Does that ring a bell with you like it did with me? Think of the times when you are trying to remember; you'll notice that you become very still and possibly stare into space. And when we want to forget something? Run, and keep running! Kundera states this truth in the form of equations: “The degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory; the degree of speed is directly proportional to the intensity of forgetting.”

      The faster we go, the more we forget. Then what often happens next is that we forget that we have forgotten. What a state to be in! But when we Stop, we remember again and, therefore, find ourselves.

      If you can't meditate, vegetate.

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      Contemporary Contemplation

      Stopping is not meditation as it is generally understood. It is a practice intended for citizens of the changing of the centuries who have no time to stop and smell the roses or the time or inclination to practice a whole system of daily meditation. It's for people who don't have time to fit in everything they are already obliged to do, never mind trying to fit in extras like meditating twice a day. Stopping is what I call contemporary contemplation. It is a variety of meditation for those too busy (or maybe moving too fast?) to meditate; it's a way to care for the soul for those who wouldn't otherwise have time.

      Stopping is specifically designed for people who are looking for a simple, uncomplicated, non-dogmatic yet effective way to cope with a too-busy life. While respecting and teaching many of the concepts and practices of Eastern (for example Buddhist) systems, Stopping embodies the cultural outlook and customs of the western mind: it's brief, simple to learn, and effective.

      From the time I first learned about meditation in my youth to well into the overbusy days of my adult life, meditation has been a challenge for me. It's not that I don't like it; I do. It's not that I have not done it; I have, for some periods of time, with success. I've also read many books on it. Certainly I know that when I do it, I benefit. It's just that I so often find my resistance to meditation stronger than my motivation. It's still hard to get it done. No doubt a simple case of the spirit is willing (but maybe not naturally inclined?) but the flesh is weak (or otherwise ill-adapted?).

      Stopping, because it is less structured, works better for me and for many of my clients, although the end results and some of the processes are almost the same as those of meditation. While I still occasionally meditate in a formal, somewhat structured way, I am always Stopping—many times a day, many more times a month, many, many more times a year. I don't find myself resisting Stopping as I do meditation. In fact, I look forward to it.

      Perhaps it is a matter of personal preference. The words of Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, a pioneer in training doctors in relationship-centered care, apply so well here: “I am not much of a meditator,” she says in her book Kitchen Table Wisdom. “No matter. I have come to suspect that life itself may be a spiritual practice. The process of daily living seems able to refine the quality of our humanity over time.” Yes. The intention of Stopping is to help us notice, enrich, and augment “the process of daily living.”

      One of the purposes of any kind of contemplation is to awaken us, to help us to be in the present moment, so that in the moments ahead we will be on the right track. The word contemplation has Latin roots in words that indicate an intensive time spent in the temple to be aware of the signs and omens of the times. Contemplation prepares us for the present moment (and thus for whatever is next) and for what we need to notice now to enjoy success in whatever we are beginning.

      I learned the hard way that if I undertook a self-improvement or spiritual project—anything from trying to lose a few pounds or quitting cigarettes to trying to be more patient with a difficult co-worker or less angry and aggressive while driving in traffic—it was doomed to failure if I did not begin the project from a Stopped position. In this way, Stopping is a preparation for the challenges that face us at every turn and even the challenges that we propose and welcome.

      The reason why so many of our well-intentioned projects fail is not from a lack of goodwill, not from a failure of willpower or determination, and not from a moral or character weakness. It's that we start these projects from a too-busy, distracted, and unfocused position. It's no wonder they often fail. So Stopping is a first step, a beginning, a prelude. It's the condition we need to be in so that our projects succeed. Beginners are welcome here.

      A too-busy, distracted, and unfocused life also kills the power of imagination, an essential part of any healthy life. If we cannot imagine what we dream or passionately desire, we will never be able to realize it. Stopping is a friend of imagination. During a time of Stopping, our imaginations are given space and encouragement to soar.

      Stopping is also a primer for some of the more challenging spiritual books and systems that are offered today in such large numbers and various forms. Stopping allows you to be more receptive and positively critical, more frankly understanding or confused, and, ultimately, more successful in whatever you are attracted to adopt and practice.

      Stopping can help