Ollie and the Chessboard

This week in my world, I was looking after a small, gentle presence named Ollie, short for Olive.  From morning to night, she seemed completely at home in her body and in her quiet world.

When her dads left, she looked for them. Not long after, she settled. Soon she was comfortable simply being with me, resting nearby, watching, waiting, and returning easily to whatever was in front of her.

I am not sure how many thoughts pass through her mind in a day, or what they might be. But being with her, I notice how present she is.  She responds to what she sees, hears, and smells.  She notices, reacts, and then moves on.

Her whole body goes wild with excitement when her humans come home, just as it does when I return after being out.  The joy moves through her completely, from nose to tail, without hesitation or holding back.

Then, just as easily, she settles back.

Ollie does not seem to linger on yesterday or worry about tomorrow.  If they are not there, she rests in what is here.  There is something deeply grounding about being with a creature who lives so fully in the moment and so at home in her body.

Watching her respond to what’s actually here has changed how I tend to what’s happening in my own mind.

Being human is different.  While Ollie responds to what is in front of her, we often respond to what is in our thoughts.  Our minds reach backward and forward, replaying, rehearsing, imagining, and predicting.  Sometimes these thoughts help us, and sometimes they tangle us.

Over time, I have come to think of unhelpful thoughts a bit like triage.  Not something to fight endlessly, but something to tend to gently.  The first step is simply noticing.

Sometimes noticing begins with a pause.

A slow breath.  Feeling my feet on the floor or the chair beneath me.  Letting my shoulders drop just a little.  Coming back into my body, even for a moment.

Then I name what is happening within me.  Sometimes I catch a thought and quietly say to myself, “I notice I’m having the thought that…”

Even this small shift can create some space.  It's still there, but now I can see it rather than be inside it.  Then I wait a moment.

Sometimes I imagine placing that thought on a single square of a chessboard rather than letting it cover the whole board.  The thought is still there, but it is no longer the whole sky.  It becomes one piece among many, moving across a steady surface.

I notice that not every thought requires the same care.  Some can be gently questioned.  Some are old stories that keep returning and can be held more lightly.  Some contain real problems that call for a small, steady step forward.  Sometimes the feeling is simply too big, and the kindest place to begin is to settle the body and return to the present moment.

Sometimes it helps to pause, name the thought, take a breath, feel what is touching the ground, and let the thought sit without answering it immediately.

Like Ollie, I can return to what is in front of me, even when the thought lingers nearby. She notices, responds, and settles again. Again and again, she returns to the present moment.

When my mind wanders too far ahead or too far behind, I sometimes practice returning the way she does, not perfectly, but gently.  One moment at a time.  We may need a few more tools to find our way back, but returning is always possible.

The chessboard image has been with me for years.  Long before Ollie, it helped me understand my thoughts.  This week, being with her brought me back to a poem I wrote in 2017, when I was learning that I mattered.  I spent a long time examining my thoughts, asking whether they were true or fiction.  It was a journey.

Maybe that is where perspective begins, in the quiet realization that we are not only the thoughts moving through us but also the space that holds them.

I am the chessboard

I am a magical chessboard

I hold

exquisite powers

opening or closing

the chessboard squares

as I choose

allowing one to share

my inner world

—my marble world

while others are the

chess pieces

playing

on my chessboard

taking away

or giving

life to me

teaching me

moves

I have never experienced before

I listen

I hear

I see

I know

what I know

I recognize

what I did not know

beforeI know

I hold

POWER

mystical, magical powers

coming from a place of

"I matter"

I have many squares

on my chessboard

sixty-four to be exact

we can name them

THERE IS A PATTERN

patterns we can learn from

—once we see the patterns

a whole new world

of possibilities

opens

life becomes easier

to navigate

reflectingon

life

understanding

our lives

through patterns

is

life enriching

If I am the chessboard, then the thoughts are only pieces moving across me.  Some arrive loudly.  Some linger.  Some try to convince me they are the whole game.  Yet the board remains steady beneath them all.

If you are the chessboard and your thoughts are the pieces moving across it, which thoughts would you let take up space today, and which would you simply notice, name, and gently set aside?