Unleash Your Mind: Collapse Mindfully

adannoone
Feb 17
6 min read

I know many of you are feeling growing anxiety about our accelerating collapse. It's completely understandable—we've never done this before. Free-falling into the unknown can be worrying and frightening. As systems collapse—systems we didn't even realize we depended upon—we can feel disoriented. Our minds spin trying to find answers and our position in the world.

Many of us find ourselves bouncing between regret and anger about our collective past, and fear and anxiety about the uncertain future. In this state of heightened anxiety, we struggle to stay present. When we do that, unable to stay in the here and now, we've already stopped living.

But we have an ally in these uncertain times. It just so happens to be ourselves. We just need to look inside.

Let's Take a Walk

One of the ways I stay grounded and sane (kinda) is to look for beauty while I walk. One of my favorite routes takes me to a large grassy park where neighbors bring their dogs to meet and play with each other. I could sit for hours on the park bench, filling my heart with the smiles of dogs. The park is not fenced and is bounded on two sides by busy streets, which creates an interesting dynamic I've come to observe closely.

Some dogs walk on leashes, straining against their restraints, bouncing from one distraction to another. Others run free, they and their humans seemingly unconcerned by the traffic beyond the park's boundaries. I used to feel my anxiety rise imagining the worst if a dog ran out of the park. But what I've come to find is the dogs running free seem to know where the boundaries are.

What fascinates me most is how this freedom was achieved. You can see the whole spectrum of human-dog relationships playing out. Some people frantically call their dogs, their voices tight with anxiety or sometimes anger (which I recognize is really just protective love). Others guide their companions with gentle words and clear communication developed through patient practice. And other times, the dogs just seem to "know."

The parallel with our own minds struck me one day as I watched a particularly joyful dog bounding through the grass, checking in periodically with their person with a quick glance or trot back. This, I realized, is how a well-trained mind moves through the world—free yet connected, autonomous yet responsive.

Invisible Leashes

Most of us walk through life with our minds straining against invisible leashes. Our thoughts lunge at every passing worry, bark at perceived threats, pull us away from the present moment. We try to control them through force, growing more reactive and frustrated in the process. We may even "yell" at ourselves or mentally punish ourselves. Like those anxious people in the park yelling at their dogs to come back, we cannot command our minds into peace. No one wants to come back when scolded.

I've noticed something particularly telling about dogs on leashes: they often become more reactive and aggressive during encounters with other dogs or people. This isn't because they're "bad dogs." I don't believe in bad dogs. No, it's because they feel restricted, unable to naturally interact with their surroundings. The leash, meant to provide control and safety, can actually create frustration and anxiety in some situations, especially if fear or apprehension are involved. Unable to follow their instincts to approach or retreat naturally, they may resort to barking, lunging, or displaying other defensive behaviors.

Our minds, when constantly tethered by fear, judgment, or rigid control, react similarly. Think about how we respond when we feel trapped in an uncomfortable situation, when we're wrestling with unwanted thoughts, or facing people whose views grate against our own. Like a leashed dog straining against their restraint, our restricted minds often default to defensive patterns—judgment, criticism, anger, or anxiety. We're not truly free in these moments; we're reacting from a place of constraint.

The path to mental freedom, like building trust with any living being, requires patience and consistent practice. We wouldn't simply unleash a dog who has never learned to return when called. Similarly, we can't expect our minds to find peace without gentle training.

Here's what I've found helpful in my own practice/training:

Breathe

Begin with the breath. Find a comfortable place, and simply notice your breathing. You don't have to try to change it. You don't have to try to breathe deeply or count your breaths, although you can advance to these helpful practices. For now, just notice that you are breathing. When your mind wanders—and it will, countless times—gently guide it back, the way you might call a beloved dog back to your side. No scolding, no frustration. Just a gentle return, again and again and again. You might be amazed how quickly you and your mind begin to trust each other and work as the loving companions you were meant to be.

Walk

Walking meditation has become one of my daily necessities. Rather than scroll social media, I get my dopamine hits from splashes of beauty: a flower, a trilling birdsong, the color of the sky. As you walk, feel the earth beneath your feet. Notice the play of sunlight through leaves, the whisper of wind, the sensation of movement. When your mind races ahead or falls behind, guide it back to walking and to beauty, just as you'd remind a companion to stay close.

Say Hello to Your Feelings

I've learned a lot about being present with emotions from Thich Nhat Hanh's teaching of saying 'hello' to our feelings. When anxiety or grief or anger arises, acknowledge it: "Hello, anxiety, I see you're here." No need to push it away or hold tight to it. Just recognition and gentle presence. You can go more deeply by asking why it has come to visit, but more often than not, with practice, simply acknowledging the presence will quiet the unwanted guest.

Micro Meditations

Small moments of mindfulness weave throughout my day. Before meals, I pause to consider the journey of my food—the sun that warmed the soil and fed the plants, the rain that fell, the bees that pollinated flowers, the farmers who tended crops, the many hands and hearts that brought nourishment to my table. Happily, I no longer eat animals so that horror no longer takes up space in my head or heart. Instead, I reflect as Franz Kafka did while watching fishes swim, “Now I can look at you in peace; I don't eat you anymore." This simple practice grounds me in a web of connection and gratitude.

Get Curious

Curiosity becomes such a powerful practice. Just as a thoughtful dog trainer might pause to understand what's triggering a dog's reaction, we can learn to pause and investigate our own responses with gentle interest.

When we feel our emotional temperature rising or our buttons being pushed, instead of tightening our grip on the mental leash, we can ask ourselves: What's beneath this reaction? What makes that person or situation trigger me? What am I afraid of? What makes that person tick? What would happen if I loosened my grip just a bit?

This focused curious attention often reveals that our defensive reactions, like a dog's leash aggression, come from feeling trapped or threatened, amplifying our desire to gain control. By approaching our feelings with genuine interest rather than resistance, we often find the tension dissolving naturally, like a dog (or any animal) relaxing when they feel truly seen and heard.

Practice Does Not Make Perfect

With practice—gentle, consistent practice—you may notice your mind, like those free-running dogs in the park, developing a natural grace. Even happiness can find it's way into difficult situations. Your mind might roam more freely while maintaining an invisible connection to present awareness. And when needed, your mind returns from its wanderings without force or struggle, happy to be home, welcomed.

Remember, the goal isn't to eliminate thoughts or achieve perfect control. Instead, we're developing a relationship of trust with our own awareness. In these uncertain, increasingly difficult times, this inner freedom becomes especially precious. It allows us to remain present and responsive rather than reactive, to find moments of peace even as the world around us shifts and changes.