tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88810074212708176432024-03-05T23:39:50.073-08:00parenting as patha blog on mindful parentinggesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-53567477203786810252018-06-13T08:26:00.001-07:002018-06-13T08:26:10.505-07:00mothering through depression, mindfully or not<i>“My dog doesn’t worry about the meaning of life.” <br />
― Charlotte Joko Beck, Everyday Zen: Love and Work</i><br />
Trigger Warning: Suicide/Self-Harm<br />
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My nine year old, who is often quite sassy, and often quite rejecting of me as he tests his wings (oh, testing, testing) spent much of the winter with me and his brothers sledding. We would go almost every day after school, as long as there was some powder, or at least a lovely layer of ice. His favorite thing to do was to fly down the hill, deliberately turn his sled over, and then cry for me to come down and help him. "Mommy!" he would call. "Mommy, help! I need your help!" I admit I found this annoying, as I knew he wasn't actually hurt, but nevertheless, I would tramp down the hill, lean over, and help him up. "Are you ok?" I would ask each time. "Yes" he would respond, and smile. Sometimes he would hug me. He did this again and again, but I kept going down. I did it, even though I didn't really want to. I did it, even though I was cold and tired of walking up and down a snowy hill. I did it because I could tell he needed me to. Despite his sass and his pushing me away, he needed to make sure I would really come if he called. That I would be there, with love and hand extended, even though he is a big boy of 9. So I came. <br />
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"How can I work with depression?" This was the question I asked teacher after teacher, no matter what their lineage, no matter if they were a Rinpoche or a secular instructor. I asked this question at every teaching I attended during my early years on the path. "What can I do?" The teachers often paused, looking at me thoughtfully, and then answer - all with compassion, some with more skill than others. To be perfectly honest, I do not recall what they said. I suppose that is because I was depressed, and the question was less a query than a supplication. What I was really asking was, "How do I stop this pain? Help me. Can you help?" This pain, this shadow, had been with me for my entire life. It first arrived, almost like a physical entity, in my childhood. Some of it was probably biochemical - depression and anxiety run through my family tree, permeating both my paternal and maternal lineages. Some of it was situational. By the time I was 12, various traumas had occurred, including the suicide of my paternal grandfather, with whom I was very close. I was also parented by a mother who was quite critical, and I internalized her criticism, as children will do. There was no felt sense of being basically good, of the world being a basically whole place. Instead, there was a sense of being bad, of being flawed, of the constant probability that the world would in turn recognize that and respond accordingly, with judgment and rejection. In fact, in the incidences when disappointments, failures or rejections occurred, it was hailed as evidence of just this.<br />
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But my parents did the best that they could to help me. I began therapy at a young age. I was prescribed pharmaceuticals. And these things did help to some extent. But the depression never lifted. I was self-destructive. I engaged in self-harming behaviors. I was hospitalized, more than once.<br />
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I survived. Not always very prettily. Often quite messily. Depression will do that. Anxiety will do that. I floundered. Pursuing an acting career, one predicated on consistent rejection, didn't help that much. Living in an isolating and anxiety producing city like New York didn't help. But I continued. I found solace in medicine and therapy yes, but also, eventually, in the Buddhist teachings and meditation. They felt like very strong medicine - not substitutions for conventional therapies, but powerful supports. Looking at my thoughts as just that, not reality, but fleeting ideas and responses, was extremely helpful for me, someone constantly drowning in thoughts and feelings.<br />
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For me, the strongest medicine was this idea of basic goodness, of Buddha nature. That our essence is essentially good, whole, well. That all the other stuff, the thoughts and actions caused by ignorance, greed, aggression (depression and anxiety would seem to arise from ignorance of our true nature and the true nature of reality), are temporary obfuscations, a forgetting of who we really are. This was a revelatory idea to me. I wondered what I might be like if I had been fed this as a child. Would I be different now? <br />
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Of course, even that thought is misunderstanding. Charlotte Joko Beck also says, "There is a foundation for our lives, a place in which our life rests. That place is nothing but the present moment, as we see, hear, experience what is. If we do not return to that place, we live our lives out of our heads. We blame others; we complain; we feel sorry for ourselves. All of these symptoms show that we're stuck in our thoughts. We're out of touch with the open space that is always right here.” Accessing that open space is why I continued to meditate, although it wasn't easy. In my early years of meditation, my anxiety and depression threatened to overwhelm me on the cushion. I spent a 30 day silent retreat crying over old trauma and wounds that I had buried down deep deep deep. My meditation instructor reassured me it was ok. He told me that once I was able to see even those things as just movements of mind, I would know I had progressed past them. At least I think that is what he said. In any case, it bore fruit. I survived. I felt free.<br />
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What has this all to do with mothering? In my deepest, darkest depressions of my twenties, I swore I would never have children. I did not want to condemn a future generation to the absolutely unbearable mental pain I suffered. But, after meeting my now husband and progressing on the spiritual path of dharma, I felt differently. I felt I could beat this, and raising children in our community would give them a leg up on any genetic predisposition.<br />
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Well, mothering did not change my habitual pattern of depression or anxiety. Parenting has the uncanny ability to bring out both the best and the worst in us. I have written before that we cannot look to our children to make us happy. Our children cannot save us from ourselves. As our most intimate teachers in fact, they will reveal everything about ourselves that we attempt to hide or would like to pretend isn't there. My children have shaken to the core any idea I had of myself in terms of patience, generosity or gentleness. They have expertly revealed all the places I hold back, all the tricks I use to escape, to hide, to reject. How deep my aggression is. So why would I think that my depression could escape the ferocity of parenting? It didn't. It is always there. But I see it, know it. This seeing isn't always pretty. I see how my depression makes me absent with my children, even when I really want to be completely present. I see how my depression makes me impatient with them, even when I really want to be generous and kind. I see how absolutely un-mindful I can be with them. Most terrifying, I see how they have inherited some of my depressive patterns. I worry that even raising them with the fundamental belief in their own goodness will not save them from the brain chemistry they have inherited.<br />
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But my practice does allow me to see the ways I succeed with them. It gives me hope that in the end, they will be ok. I have no way of knowing if that is true - I have lived long enough and studied enough dharma to know any sense of control over the future is purely illusory. But I have to keep trying. There are days when my depression and anxiety are so strong, so familiar, that I believe the lies they tell me. I believe how terrible I am. How unlovable. What a failure. Friendless. Doomed. They are expert liars. They are seductive, their darkness magnetizing. My mindfulness practice gives me the insight to see the lies. To say "no." To open to the space always available in the present moment. To continue. To take my boys sledding on a cold and darkening winter afternoon when I would rather just get into bed and not get back out. To laugh with them as they fly down. To recognize the need in my 9 year old's voice, and trudge down down down the hill, lift him up out of the drift, wipe the snow off his hat, and ask, kindly, "are you ok?" And maybe that is the good news about depression, the crazy gift of it. That I really want to know if he is ok, because so often, I have not been. And how I suppose I really wanted at least one of those teachers to respond to me, "Are you ok?" and wait to hear the answer. <br />
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Meditation is not a substitute for medicines or for therapy. But it is a support. It can help us recognize our minds and hearts as more resilient and free than what our illness leads us to believe. Through experiencing small moments of open space, we begin to trust that reality a bit more, every time. We can see through the lies depression and anxiety tell us. Seeing through them, we experience that another, more profound reality exists beneath. One that is sustaining, nurturing, and strong. One that allows us to get up another day to help our children experience their own strength and good hearts. One that allows us to admit to them when we have messed up, but to keep going anyway. It isn't perfect. Nothing is. Or everything is. In fact, that was the piece of wisdom I came away with, from all those teachers. The depression and anxiety are perfect in their own ways. Basically good. Not bad. And that if I can bring myself back to the present moment, even just my breath, even just a sound, or the feeling of my feet on the floor, that it begins to break through the heaviness, the feeling of solidity and permanence that depression can give me. So I keep doing that. Imperfectly. Perfectly. "Are you ok?" "Yes, mommy. Yes."<br />
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<i>If you are experiencing depression or anxiety, please ask for help. 1-800-273-8255 CHAT for trained professionals at the suicide hotline. Help also available en espanol</i><br />
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gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-48158036831745468402017-05-09T08:40:00.000-07:002017-05-09T08:40:47.920-07:00true practice<i>"You think that you can only establish true practice after you attain enlightenment, but it is not so. True practice is established in delusion, in frustration. If you make some mistake, that is where to establish your practice. There is no other place for you to establish your practice." - Suzuki Roshi</i><br />
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I've always been a good student. One of those pupils who listens attentively, studies assiduously, tries very hard to "get it right". When entering into my sangha, I paid close attention to the forms the practice took, the proper way to open a shrine, light the candles, sit on one's cushion, ring the gong and so on. These forms exist for a reason - they help to create a strong container for the mind to practice in. Strong forms are conducive to deeper meditation. Strong forms create a wide corral for our minds to roam in and then settle. Strong forms can also rub away at the ego like fine sand paper, smoothing out all the quirky ways we like to exert our "selves" into any situation. When related to with an attitude of openness and curiosity, they can really show us where we get stuck, where our hang ups are, what triggers us - in other words, they can be a wonderful antidote to ego.<br />
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We have been taking our boys to a famous zendo the last couple of months. They run a very established and wonderful dharma program for children and teens, and after years of wanting to attend, we have succeeded finally in showing up, dragging reluctant, sleepy, children out of bed at a very early hour on a Sunday in order to travel an hour and half into the mountains to participate. The boys enjoy it. Except when they don't. This past weekend was the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buddha%27s_Birthday">Buddha's Birthday</a>, and they participated in a wonderful puppet show relating the story of <a href="http://anitasnotebook.com/2012/04/the-story-of-prince-five-weapons-and-the-monster-called-sticky-hair.html">"Sticky Hair"</a> and (in this case) "Princess Five Weapons". The children performed it for the sangha, after first participating in the beginning portion of the celebratory practice, where they offered flowers and water to the Buddha with the full sangha present.<br />
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I would like to report that the boys all behaved appropriately in the zendo, that they "followed the forms": standing still behind their cushions, being respectful of the space, joyfully making their offerings, excitedly performing the play. That would have been easy, right? What actually happened was, yes, my eldest behaved appropriately while in the zendo. My younger two sat on the meditation cushions at various times, rolled around on them a bit, poked eachother, pulled some sibling hair, reluctantly offered flowers, and proclaimed at various moments in a loud whisper, that they were BORED. Towards the end of what was a genuinely beautiful ceremony, my youngest pulled me out of the shrine room on the verge of tears, cranky and hungry.<br />
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Prior to the play performance, there were several run throughs. All three of my boys at one point or another during the next two hours of run throughs (yes, that is a LOT for small kids), QUIT THE SHOW. As a former actress, I had to fight my urge to admonish them that one DOES NOT SIMPLY QUIT THE SHOW DURING THE FINAL DRESS. My three year old demanded rice crackers for going onstage. My eldest broke down because his 7 year old brother had gum and he did not. My 7 year old was upset when one of the puppets he had been rehearsing with was given to another boy without a role. Much frustration was experienced by all.<br />
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They weren't the only children having a roller coaster of a day. When it was finally time for the puppet show to be performed, all my boys rallied, although my three year old insisted I move his puppet for him, rice crackers or no. Not all of the other children did, though. A couple sat out, their individual disappointments not salved. The show went on. The sangha was delighted. The children all smiles (I think). It was all perfectly imperfect.<br />
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Isn't that all it ever is, though? Perfectly imperfect? We might have illusions of perfection before having children. We certainly have an easier time performing a task for instance, cleaning a room, completing a thought, sitting in the proper way on our meditation cushion and respecting the forms of a zendo. Children quickly show us how it's all been a bit of a charade though. When have things truly gone completely to plan? We clean the floor and discover the scratch in the veneer. Empty the sink of dishes and catch sight of the chipped plate. Paint the room and see where water has made a small, corrosive pocket. Get the job and discover our manager is unkind, the tasks unreasonable, the coworker a bit weird. Sit silently in zendo and accidentally allow a loud fart to escape. Trip over our feet during walking meditation. Children, because of their energy, authenticity, chaos, show us immediately how silly the entire enterprise of "getting things right" is.<br />
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So how do we react to the inevitable mistake? Do we find ourselves getting really uptight? Letting the frustration build and control us? Do we feel shame? Do we rebel? Do we laugh and move on? Do we make it into our practice, as Suzuki Roshi admonishes us to? The zendo is a kind place. The forms are very very strong there. Which is why the chaotic energy of children can be welcomed into it on the Buddha's birthday and allowed to play. Which is why we can notice when our back stiffens and our fingers wag at a child poking his brother. Which is why we can notice tears coming to our eyes when our three year old pulls us out, and sit, and breathe and open to what lies beneath those tears - a longing. A longing not for perfection, but for touching space. That is the irony of tight forms - they create a vast space. But only if we relax within them. Only if we can let go and accept things as they are. Sitting on a hard wooden bench, a wiggly, nursing toddler in my lap, watching the sangha complete their prostrations and chants, I let go. There was the space. There was the practice. There was the perfectly imperfect. All of it. The wiggling kids, the yawning parents, the contained sangha, the wooden Buddhas, bathed in water spooned gently over them by small, sticky hands. All of it. All of it. <br />
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gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-54381746108981740982017-03-08T13:31:00.001-08:002017-03-08T13:31:53.346-08:00no escape<i>I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the Stern Fact, the Sad Self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. - Ralph Waldo Emerson</i><br />
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"Don't sing!" my three year old warns me. Unlike his older brothers, my youngest seemingly detests my singing. He began to express his dislike around 14 months old - putting his hand over my mouth when I began the nightly lullabies. So, after more than five years of this nightly ritual, I stopped singing my little ones to sleep. My older boys sometimes still request me to sing our favorite - "Edelweiss" - and I acquiesce - but I have to do so hurriedly, almost sotto voce, in order not to provoke the ire of the preschooler in the house. <br />
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"I hate you! You're the meanest mother in the WORLD!" shouts my newly 7 year old. I have offended him by not allowing a second piece of chocolate cake before bedtime. This child, who would sometimes break down into tears over the thought of me dying, now informs me at least once a week of his antipathy towards me. When this happens, I take a breath, tell him that I recognize he is really angry, that it is hard to accept limits/disappointments/changes in plans, and that although he may despise me, I love him and I like him. The rages pass. We reconcile with hugs. "I love you so much, mommy" he whispers to me as I tuck him in.<br />
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"I don't want to be a Buddhist." This is said sternly, resentfully, by my 8.5 year old. We have just finished volunteering at a local food bank, sorting through boxes and boxes of donated toiletries. After several hours hard work, even by the three year old, we clamber into our van. I ask the boys to pause and recite the <a href="https://shambhalatimes.org/2016/09/13/the-shambhala-dedication-of-merit/">"Dedication of Merit"</a> with me. This is a traditional Buddhist prayer to dedicate any good gained from an activity to all other beings, rather than keeping it just for ourselves. My eldest shakes his head. Refuses. "I don't want to be a Buddhist." Glares at me. "Ok" I say. "You don't have to be. But your family is Buddhist. Maybe you will change your mind. Maybe not." I finish reciting the brief prayer. Make sure everyone is buckled in. Drive back home.<br />
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I think of these episodes as the "slings and arrows" of daily parenting. Also big, challenging opportunities to truly let go of how I think things should be. When I am able to be present with my children when these occur, I am able to stay curious - about their sentiments, about my reaction to them. Curiosity invariably leads to greater perspective, understanding, compassion, patience. I have been thinking alot lately of my own childish critiques of my mother. She also loved to sing. I also would ask her to stop. I think of that now and feel a pain in my heart. This pain leads me to more memories of times when my childish ego got in the way of accepting my parents for who they were, not just as my mother and father, but as people going through life. I think of being embarrassed about my mother's toe nails. I felt she kept them too long. I hated that she insisted on painting them and wearing sandals in the summer, rather than hiding them under socks and closed toe shoes. This memory comes to me as my youngest repeatedly pulls off the knit hats I like to wear three seasons of the year.<br />
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This is a little taste of what we Buddhists call karma, in its more simplistic sense. The causes and conditions that come together through habitual mind and actions, leading to flowering, or echoes of past actions. When we notice such an echo, it is a good reminder to stop and look deeper. To laugh, if we can. This flowering of karma keeps us stuck in samsara, the endlessly turning wheel of birth, old age, sickness and death. We often fool ourselves into thinking that we can somehow escape this wheel, thinking a change of scene, a different path choice, a different partner, job etc will stop us from experiencing the flowering of old karma, take us off the wheel of suffering, but then we wake up once more, like Emerson in Naples, and see our same "Sad Self" there, still with us, as inescapable as our shadow.<br />
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I have written before about not looking to our children to make us happy. If I wasn't so rusty at this blogging thing, I would be able to link that entry properly. Ahem. In any case, looking to our children to save us, or in fact anything to save us, is futile. Our children will throw these slings and arrows at us. All children do this, to a greater or lesser extent. Sometimes, these arrows will hit their target with some force. The work then is to stay aware, stay curious, and not get sucked into resentment or retaliation. Yesterday, my eldest, very angry that I had taken away his screen time privilege as a consequence for bad behavior, told me I was "failing as a mother". This arrow really hit me hard, and of course I knew why. I often feel I am failing as a mother. Every single day, to be honest. I began to engage in an argument with him, and then, feeling a familiar ache in my belly and heart, I was able to stop. This feeling of failure, of feeling like a helpless, unsuccessful dilettante, is a very very old feeling for me, much older than my children. Older, too, is the feeling of being judged and rejected by others. Our children are so skillful at uncovering our old, unhealed wounds. I am not going to tell you I was immediately able to switch gears. No, in fact, I went into a bit of a wallow in self-pity and self-loathing. Fortunately though, I was able to notice that as well, take a breath and just sit with that old, old pain. The longer I sat with it, the better I was able to see it for what it was - old story, old patterns, nothing more. My urge to argue with him was an urge to somehow escape those old feelings, my old shadow. "No escape", I thought. I left the room. I made dinner. My son came up to me as I was setting the table, hugged me, and told me he loved me. <br />
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Surrendering to the reality that we cannot escape our "selves" allows us to actually get off the wheel of suffering, to stop creating the karma that keeps us trapped. Being present with our children when they let fly those arrows, being present to our reactions, helps us break the chains of karma, weaken the patterns that hold us fast. The more we can do this, the smoother this path will be.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-3862873868796142852017-01-30T13:56:00.000-08:002017-01-30T13:56:13.168-08:00working with aggression<i>"not setting up the target for the arrow,<br />
connecting with the heart,<br />
seeing obstacles as teachers, and<br />
regarding all that occurs as a dream."</i><br />
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During times of widespread aggression, you may begin to notice how your own aggression becomes amplified. Perhaps you find you are more impatient with your children or partner. That you are more liable to use shaming language, or to yell. Authoritarian parenting becomes more atttractive, or you begin to stray regularly into unkindness. Your children will in turn begin to behave more aggressively, modeling what their grown ups do. The good news is that in the path of parenting, to notice when you begin to behave aggressively within your family, whether through thought, word, or deed, is the first step to being able to transform that aggression. <br />
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<a href="http://shambhala.org/teachers/chogyam-trungpa/">Chogyam Trunga Rinpoche,</a> the founder of Shambhala Buddhism, taught that contemporary times are a "dark age" where the forces of materialism and dehumanization are prevalent, and we are often cut off from the experience of our own basic, fundamental goodness and that of others. Current events in the United States seem to give evidence of this, as aggression and prejudice, fear, and ignorance are on the rise. The challenge for a practitioner of a spiritual path, for a parent, during difficult times is to maintain clear seeing and continue to cultivate compassion and patience, gentleness and dignity in daily life. This can be difficult, but to cultivate within our own families and homes the seeds of goodness, can actually be a powerful action for the greater good. <br />
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So, first off, let's breathe. Just feel your feet on the ground, solid, really there. Breathe in slowly, for four counts, then out for four counts. Repeat a few more times. The more you can do this throughout your day, the steadier you will feel. Times of chaos remind us of the truth that life is inherently groundless and always changing, which adds to our feelings of fear and anxiety. So ground yourself in the breath, whenever possible. Our breath is always with us, and we can always touch it and let it anchor us to the present moment. This kind of deliberate slowing down of the breath is a useful tool to use even with young children when they are also anxious or upset. When very small, I use the "Three Little Pigs" technique - I have them blow down first the straw house, then the wood house, then the brick house. Just that can help calm and anchor.<br />
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The quote at the top of this post is from an excellent <a href="http://www.lionsroar.com/pema-chodron-what-to-do-when-the-going-gets-rough/">Pema Chodron piece on working with anger/difficulties. These teachings are pulled from the<a href="https://www.lionsroar.com/dont-give-up/"> lojong, </a>or mahayana mind training slogans of the great teacher Atisha. These four pithy reminders can help us in our daily lives with our children as we transform our own aggression. "Don't set up the target for the arrow" - in other words, if we don't keep strengthening our anger habit, when our children misbehave or disappoint, those actions will cease to solicit our push button response - we will no longer have a button that can be pushed in that way. Have you noticed that when our children begin to irritate us, that irritation often builds and builds, and however hard we try to ignore or push that anger away, however hard we really wish we did not respond with anger, we eventually blow up? Just this morning, my middle son, who gets very anxious if he is late to school, began to send out arrows my way that all hit their target. First he didn't want to get out of bed for school. Then he insisted I come back upstairs and choose out his clothes for him. Then he didn't like the clothes I chose. Then he wouldn't eat his breakfast quickly. Then he ignored my warnings that we would be late for school and instead chose to play with his Legos, without responding to my reminder that we needed to leave. When he finally got in our car with his brothers, when we were at this point 5 minutes late, he chose to fiddle with something in the seat rather than sit down and get buckled in. I finally blew up at him. Each time I saw him actively work against both his own and my own goal of getting him and his brother to school on time, rather than feeling that discomfort of anxiety and anger, and then choosing something different, I chose to feel exasperated, anxious, and mad. Which built to the point of blowing up. <br />
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Here is where I need to pause and add that like all afflictive emotions, anger has a seed of wisdom or enlightened energy it. In this case, clear seeing. I could clearly see that the choices my son were making would make him and his brother late to school, which would upset all of us. Where I ran into trouble was then trying to push the anxiety around that away - rather than just acknowledging it. I find when I am able to really touch my fear (which is often what lies beneath anger), and really acknowledge it, then it releases its hold on me and I can be resourceful and playful in what I do next. So, rather than pausing, and getting present to my son and to my own emotions, I just carried on with the busyness of the morning routine, allowing myself to get annoyed and frustrated at each impasse, until it all fell apart. I allowed my view of my son to change - I viewed him as an obstacle, rather than as a small human who was struggling with waking up and going to school after a weekend at home. That is another way we set up the target. We view other beings and phenomena as for us or against us. What better way to prime ourselves for aggression? <br />
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This leads us to the second little slogan above - "connect with your heart". By connecting to our own discomfort which lies beneath our aggression, and with the discomfort that is often being experienced by the person giving us trouble, we can begin to feel some compassion for our shared predicament. Just as we can welcome into our arms the toddler who stumbles and hurts himself, we can begin to welcome our own stumbles with some love. Holding our anger in loving arms encourages us in turn to look on the aggression of others with compassion, and even curiosity. Millions of other humans are tripped up many times each day by anger. We can hold that truth in our heart-minds and create a kind space around all that misery, rather than continue to respond with aggression, feeding into an endless loop of mutual lashing out.<br />
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The last two reminders are encouraging us to cultivate gratitude and equanimity around the things and people that provoke us. By seeing all "obstacles as our teachers", we are reminded that until we have transformed our own aggression, things will keep showing up in our lives to help us to do so. One of the many profound ways in which our children teach us is by ripping off any mask we may have. My children have shown me repeatedly how much aggression lives in me, how deeply it is rooted, and how much of a habit it is. These small people, who I love more completely than any other being, are also those who provoke me the most. When I am able to be grateful to them, to view them as teachers intent on awakening my heart to a more boundless compassion, a more genuine patience, any anger or irritation becomes workable. If I instead lose mindfulness and just become resentful, then our day (or evening) together is lost. Our last reminder, "regarding all that occurs as a dream"- I think Pema does the best job explaining this: <br />
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<blockquote>"Rather than making it so important, we can reflect on the essencelessness of our current situation. We can slow down and ask ourselves: “Who is this monolithic me that has been so offended? And who is this other person who can trigger me like this? What is this praise and blame that hooks me like a fish, that catches me like a mouse in a trap? How is it that these circumstances have the power to propel me like a ping-pong ball from hope to fear, from happiness to misery?”</blockquote><br />
When we believe the story our ego has written around us and our lives, thinking it solid and true, we suffer. If we can view every situation and being (including ourselves), as like a dream - a passing memory, constantly changing and shifting - those stories lose their grip on us. It becomes a bit harder to get so angry, to feel so at war with what we think opposes "us". So, try some or all of these today, during this difficult time. The more we can use these reminders, and unseat our habitmind of aggression, the more manageable the aggression of the larger world will become.<br />
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gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-46690760746994815702016-10-02T19:32:00.002-07:002016-10-02T19:36:35.372-07:00Reboot - or accepting that things fall apartSo. It's been two years since I announced "hey, I'm back to writing this little blog again." And then, nothing else emerged. A bit ridiculous, and funny, and well, if truth be told, a bit like the practice of waking up itself. If you practice any spiritual path really deeply for long enough, you have more than one moment of walking to the edge of a big "something" - call it the abyss, the big aha, the edge of really, finally starting - peering down, feeling perhaps a fresh breeze push ever so slightly against your skin, and then walking yourself right on back. This path of parenting is challenging. Add to that challenge the death of one's mother, the main source of those <a href="http://parentingaspath.blogspot.com/2010/06/transforming-our-family-karma.html">lineages of enlightenment and neurosis</a> I have written about in the past, and at times many things begin to seem rather insurmountable and overwhelming. Writing about parenting when my mind was constantly shadowed with the loss of my own mom was an obstacle I didn't quite know how to overcome.<br />
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Pema Chodron writes in one of her more <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Taking-Leap-Freeing-Ourselves-Habits/dp/1590308433/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1475461304&sr=1-1&keywords=pema+chodron+taking+the+leap">recent books</a>, "When things fall apart and we can’t get the pieces back together, when we lose something dear to us, when the whole thing is just not working and we don’t know what to do, this is the time when the natural warmth of tenderness, the warmth of empathy and kindness, are just waiting to be uncovered, just waiting to be embraced. This is our chance to come out of our self-protecting bubble and to realize that we are never alone. This is our chance to finally understand that wherever we go, everyone we meet is essentially just like us. Our own suffering, if we turn toward it, can open us to a loving relationship with the world." I am not sure how well I have done with this teaching, but I am trying. My mother's passing, while casting darkness over my world, has indeed made me softer. In other ways, I think it has made me harder, as I struggle with a tendency to solidify around the grief, rather than allowing it to continue to work on my heart. Not dissimilar at all to the path of parenting, or waking up in general. So many times in our daily life, with our children or without, we are given profound opportunities to open or to close, to gather our ego tighter around ourselves, or slowly unwind its grasping fingers. <br />
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Since my mother died, I have come back, again and again, to a memory I have of her. It is one of my earliest. I am snuggled against her chest, her arm around me, as she reads a book to me on the old, threadbare couch of my childhood home. A shaft of sunlight warms us. I smell her perfume, and hear her voice reverberating slightly through her rib cage, my ear pressed against it. This memory often comes to me at the end of hard days with my boys, days when I have not walked this path skillfully, but have been impatient, unkind, ungenerous with them. I think of the hard days my mom had with her own children, and the many ways she failed. But my ultimate memory of her is this - warmth, sweet scent, love, cloth, sun and breathing bone. This gives me confidence that the many times I fail on this path will hopefully be transformed into those moments of compassion, love, generosity and space that my children deserve from me. <br />
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I think if we hope our children to be generous in their memories of us, we also need to be generous not only to them, but to ourselves. This takes bravery. So I am back, trying to be brave, inching up again to the edge of becoming, or as this is a Buddhist blog, to the edge of unbecoming. Here is the first step.<br />
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gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-6573215098307827632014-01-12T19:16:00.002-08:002014-01-12T19:16:38.521-08:00I'm backWow. That was quite a hiatus,wasn't it? I am looking at the little "last blogged" date stamp and suddenly, realize it has been almost two years since I wrote anything substantive for this blog. In those almost two years, quite a bit occurred. My husband and I bought our first home. I got pregnant again and had another miscarriage, only this time at 15 weeks, after having heard the heartbeat. Then a few months later, my mother died. She passed away shortly after I found out I was newly pregnant. That pregnancy came to fruition, and I now have a third beautiful boy, almost 6 months old, born almost exactly a year from the date I learned I had lost the previous pregnancy. I hope you will forgive my absence, but the highs and lows of joy and grief kept me from sitting down to write. I have been meditating, and contemplating. And I hope to be able to begin sharing some of my thoughts again with you all. Wishing you all peace.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-41541013162792915692012-03-04T18:13:00.001-08:002012-03-04T18:13:35.437-08:00giving up our stories is hard to doCan you notice when you are acting due to a thought or story you made up about your child, rather than acting in response to what is actually occurring? Particularly when we are at our limit, we can begin to believe the storyline over things as they really are. The more you can notice when you do this, then take a breath and reconnect to what is happening, actually happening, the easier things become. Even when they are hard. <br />
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My children were sick all weekend. My husband was working. He has been working every weekend the last month, as well as late nights. I am at my limit. And I was at my limit tonight when they both repeatedly asked me for comforting, at the breast and with snuggles. I just wanted to get dinner in the oven. I didn't have much to do, I hadn't been able to attend to anything else all day outside of playing with them and snuggling/nursing them, changing them, caring for them in the many ways we do when they are ill. I just needed five minutes to get one thing done. They needed me. They felt bad. They needed mama's touch, mama's milk, mama's lap. I didn't want to give it to them anymore. Their cries that they felt sick, that their tummies hurt, that they wanted me - it all felt like way too much. Instead of taking a breath, and acknowledging that indeed, this felt like too much, and working with the energy of that, I began to go off on a storyline, voicing my frustration and resentment. I began to exaggerate in my mind, project my own fears and sadnesses onto them. And I began to speak to them out of that muddled dream. Luckily, I noticed. I heard my words and saw my little ones' faces. But it took a few minutes. <br />
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It took a few minutes. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it takes a few days. With some storylines and emotions, it can take a few years, or more. The important thing is that at some point, you notice. You stop. You take a moment to look, and you see that what you thought was true, well, it really isn't. "Life is always kinder than the story we tell about it." <a href="http://parentingaspath.blogspot.com/2011/11/what-is-your-story.html">I know I am always mentioning that Byron Katie quote</a>, but my goodness, it is apt.<br />
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It is only when we can let the whole thing go, watch the shadow unravel, that we can actually stop perpetuating suffering, both our own and others'. The important thing is to notice. Then you can open back up to things as they are, really are. I always say to my meditation students that even if they just notice one time during a meditation session that their attention is not on the breath, and then bring their attention back to the breath, even just once, well - they have meditated. It just takes one time. Over and over and over again.<br />
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So. Tonight was one of those times. Noticing that I had allowed myself to be carried, once more, on the wave of story - carried away from the present moment, and into my projections. And behaving badly because of it. I noticed. I came back. I picked up my two crying boys, and I apologized to them. I got warm cloths, and laid them on their tummies. I held them. I nursed them. I hugged them. I asked my husband for help when he got home, even though I knew he was stressed and tired as well. I realized I couldn't attend a meeting I had been planning on going to this evening. That commitment, nagging at the back of mind, had also fed my little tirade. I let go of what I had planned and embraced what needed to occur. <br />
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The boys are sleeping now, as is my husband, who is also sick. My kitchen, no, my whole house, is a mess. The cats need to be fed. I need to wrap a birthday present for my youngest and finish a felt crown for him, as it's his second birthday tomorrow. I feel that I am about to come down with this illness too. But still so much to do here. It's ok. And it's hard. I can just acknowledge that, and not add any of the other stuff to it. I don't need to write a whole story of how it should or could be, or why it is hard or whatever. Just breathe. Just be here. Then it isn't hard, or at least, not so hard, anymore.<br />
<br />gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-53140206336646434972012-02-10T11:47:00.000-08:002012-02-10T11:47:41.231-08:00on patience<i><blockquote>"Being angry and wanting to be peaceful all of a sudden doesn't usually work. If we're about to blow up, the best thing to do is just sit there, settle, breathe. The best technique may well be patience." - Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche <i></i></blockquote></i><br />
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I have been contemplating the <a href="http://www.khempo.com/teachings_six_paramitas.htm#Patience">paramita of patience</a> all week, as the facebook page for Parenting as Path attests. Patience (or ahem, a lack of patience) is a daily theme for me, felt more keenly with the care of young children. The teachings on patience in the buddhist tradition are rich, and often focus on the quality of forbearance, which I don't find necessarily useful. It is a word that has such negative connotations, with more than a hint of martyrdom. I prefer to see it as acceptance, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Radical-Acceptance-Embracing-Heart-Buddha/dp/0553801678">radical acceptance</a>, as teacher Tara Brach describes it. Being present to what is occurring, and instead of trying to manipulate, change or escape it, to relax, let go and open. <br />
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It can be so hard to do this with our children, particularly when they are pushing our buttons, not doing what we want them to do, or testing boundaries. Who knew that simply attempting to get a young toddler ready to go outside to play could be such a stressful experience at times?! Or getting your child ready for school, or to do their homework, to go to bed, or to be integrity with their curfew? So many things can trigger our impatience, but I have found that fundamentally, impatience has to do with an unwillingness to just be there, leaning into what is happening in the present moment, no matter how uncomfortable it is. When I am impatient with others, it is almost always because rather than opening to what is occurring, I am stuck in the past or projecting myself out into the future. How exhausting. No wonder I get snippy.<br />
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Cultivating patience with our children means that we notice when we are relating to them from the past or from the future rather than the now. We notice when we are speaking from anxiety and a sense of what should be happening, and then let it go and open to what is actually occurring. It means leaning into the discomfort, the fear, the aggression - leaning all the way until we can open to the still, tender spot that is always at the center of even these painful emotions. Cultivating patience also means nourishing ourselves so that we have the space to relate skillfully to others. Maybe this means going to bed earlier so you have more energy in the morning when things are more intense getting everyone ready for school. Or perhaps it means taking the time when your children are napping to rest yourself, or eat a nice snack, or watch an episode of a show you like. The other day, our schedule got really wonky and my children would not nap. My husband was working very late, so I knew I would not get any break until they were asleep that night. I was a bit at my wits end, as I can't get much done or relax when they are both up and grouchy from being overtired. I drew a bubble bath with some soothing lavender oil, and put them and myself into it. I let them splash and play while I also got to relax a bit. Then I let them help me make butterscotch pudding, which we ate together after our dinner. The kitchen and bathroom ended up being a total mess, but it was worth it. The bath and the pudding cheered all of us up and helped us enjoy the rest of the day together, although we were all very tired.<br />
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Part of being patient is being resourceful, creating space even in the most claustrophobic situation. That is why the recommendation for times when you are feeling impatient is to stop, get still, and just breathe. By bringing our minds back into our bodies in the present moment, we open to the vast space that is always available to us. It can be difficult to do this when we get caught up in impatience, feeling justified to keep pushing rather than stepping back. But the more we can just take a step back from our impatience, resynchronize our bodies and minds, the easier it will be to accomplish what needs to be done. I think another important aspect of this all is having confidence that you can do it - that you can actually let go, open and relax. That you can be patient. Sometimes, we get on such a roll with a habitual pattern that we begin to distrust we can do anything differently. I am here to tell you that you can! Every habitual pattern can be transformed. Every time we let go and relax, we are weakening the hold impatience has on us and our families. <br />
<br />gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-6857632531504030322012-02-02T10:05:00.000-08:002012-02-02T10:06:07.981-08:00opinions don't help our children<blockquote><i>It is only with the heart that one can see<br />
rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.<br />
- Antoine de Saint Exupéry</i></blockquote><br />
Sorry for my absence. 2012 has gotten off to a bit of a rocky start - some juicy challenges and opportunities have arisen, including attempting to purchase our first house, and these things have kept me busy. But the parenting path doesn't pause for obstacles, it just intensifies, doesn't it? There is so much I have been contemplating, so many things to write about. What has been on my mind this week though is opinions. Specifically, the opinions we harbor about our children. And how these get in the way of having a positive relationship with them.<br />
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"Is she a good baby?" This is a question we hear often, sometimes from the moment our child is born. The question is asked by strangers, friends, close family, in-laws. I always respond with "every baby is good." People take this response in different ways. Sometimes they laugh. Sometimes they say, hurriedly, "oh, of course!" And other times they explain further: "oh, I just meant does she sleep. I just meant, does he eat well. I just meant, does he do what you say." And so on. People respond to us when we say, no he/she is not sleeping much, not eating solids, not potty learned - "oh, that's bad. What are you doing to change that?" I guess what they really mean to say is, "is she easy? does she conform to your wants and needs, rather than to her own?"<br />
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The view we carry is that all beings are primordially, fundamentally good. Goodness is their, and our, essential nature. But even on a relative level, children and babies are good. The behavior we tend to label as "bad" is merely behavior that does not conform to how we think things should be in that moment. Maybe our child (or, ahem, our friend's child, or, even worse, our grandchild) is not sleeping as we think they should, is not eating as we think they should, is not speaking, playing, listening, interacting with others and on and on, as we <i>think</i> they <i>should</i>. On the flip side, when they behave as we think they should, we praise them for being good. "You ate all your dinner - what a good boy." "You didn't come into mommy's bed all night - what a good girl." <br />
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This habit of putting our opinions on our children, of labeling their behavior, does them and us no favors. It allows no space for growth and no space for compassion. It closes down connection between us, and creates in its stead disconnection and a feeling of being judged, of not being accepted. It also makes it harder for us to teach and guide our children to behaviors that are helpful for them. It is hard to see what would really help them learn when we are coming from a place of making them wrong or right.<br />
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An example of this is how we relate to our children's emotional outbursts. In the vajrayana buddhist tradition, emotions are considered to be energy. Emotions are neither good or bad - although they do have wisdom. Anger for instance - anger has the wisdom of clear seeing. We lose that clear seeing when we constrict the anger into aggression, when we add the story to the anger that we are right about something or someone. When we can open to the energy of anger, to its wisdom of clear seeing, and drop any story line we have attached to it, well then we can act skillfully, responding accurately to what we have seen with clarity and compassion. <br />
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Whether or not we are able to work with our emotions so that we can access their enlightened aspects and express their wisdom rather than their neurotic qualities - this all depends on how we relate to them. If we relate to our emotions in unskillful ways, then we behave in neurotic ways that harm ourselves and others. To behave skillfully begins with accepting whatever we are feeling without judgement. In order to teach our children to access the wisdom of their emotions, we also have to accept them (their emotions) without judgement. Then we have to take the additional step of accepting their behavior without judgement as well. Whoa - that sounds like I am giving them an excuse to behave in any way they want and do whatever they want, right? No, not at all. Our job as parents is to help our children relate to their energy in a skillful, compassionate way. In order to do that, we need to drop our opinions about it.<br />
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We tend to label behavior as being "good" or "bad". Can you try to see your children's behavior as just behavior? As energy expressing itself? Sometimes the energy is brittle, tight, and unhappy. Sometimes the energy is joyful and free flowing. Sometimes it is loud and overwhelming. Sometimes it is sharp, and wants to jab at us and the world. Sometimes it is quiet and soft, and needs warmth and gentle nurturing. It is all just energy. It isn't personal, though it can feel that way, and we often respond out of that personal sense of hurt or displeasure, embarrassment or resentment. When we can see their behavior as energy expressing itself, then we can respond to it cleanly. We can provide boundaries so the energy does not harm them or others. We can teach them how to self-regulate when they are upset. We can notice when we make a bigger deal over something than is helpful. We can notice when our expectations of what should happen are getting in the way of accepting what is. We can cultivate gentleness. We can stop telling ourselves and them that something is wrong, we can open to what is right. We can accept that whatever is happening is already a passing dream, changing and impermanent. Once we make sure they and others are safe, we can also practice just sitting with their energy.<br />
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Sometimes, when our children's energy is very wild and chaotic, like in a tantrum, it can be very hard to just sit with it. It is scary for them and for us. We have a tendency to just want to make it stop - and who can blame us? It isn't pleasant to be around a tantruming toddler. Sometimes both my toddlers tantrum at the same time, and well, part of me just wants to teleport the hell out of there. But when I notice my own discomfort with their emotions, I can relax and just open to them, hold them, just be with the raging until it passes. The calmer and gentler I can be with them, the more quickly they tend to calm down. The more I acknowledge what they are feeling, rather than try to convince them they are feeling something else, or that they shouldn't be feeling that way, the more they are able to just release it and move on.<br />
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We have to model this ourselves. When your own energy of anger gets sparked, how to do you relate to it? What do you do? What do your children see? If we have the tendency to yell at our children, we cannot expect them to speak gently to us. If we hold onto our emotions, stuff them down, judge them - our children will eventually do the same.<br />
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Notice when you label your children. Notice when you label yourself and your own emotions and behavior. Through cultivating mindful body, speech and mind around and with our children, they will learn to work with their own emotions. They still will not always do what we would like them to, or behave in the way they "ought to", but neither will we. It is part of the joy and pain of being in this human body - we make mistakes. If we can embrace those mistakes with acceptance and love, we will all flourish.<br />gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-921897827193292312011-12-30T06:32:00.000-08:002011-12-30T06:32:07.343-08:00new year aspirations<i>Bodhichitta is essentially a quality of warmth, an experience of our connection with all beings and with all things. It's said traditionally that it's expressed as a wish or an aspiration, initially expressed as a strong longing or wish that nobody suffer, and that we could in some way in the course of our lifetime, as much as possible, help to alleviate suffering in the world. - Pema Chodron</i><br />
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One more day left in 2011, and to be honest, I am happy to see the back of this year and ready to greet the new one. In these last days of the dying year, my mind turns to aspirations. Not resolutions - I've <a href="http://parentingaspath.blogspot.com/2010/12/blogging-is-lighter-than-usual-due-to.html">written about that trap</a> before. When we make resolutions, we are often setting ourselves up to fail, to repeat the constant cycle of aggression and suffering rather than cultivating seeds of gentleness and compassion. Aspirations are powerful because they are more open ended - we are not so much attached to a particularly specific result, but to a slower, more encompassing transformation in our lives or patterns. Our personal patterns and the patterns of our family. <br />
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What are your aspirations for yourself and your family in the coming year? For your parenting path? The fundamental aspiration of bodhichitta, as Pema Chodron describes above, is to cultivate our fundamental warmth and connection with all things, and prevent and alleviate suffering. This aspiration seems a powerful one to continue to return to on the parenting path, so that even at our most stuck, our most habitual, our most overwhelmed, we can breathe, touch our hearts, and return to some kind of gentleness. The gentleness has to begin with ourselves. We cannot be consistently gentle and compassionate with our children, our partners, our friends, strangers, unless we can be so with our own basically good selves.<br />
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My own aspirations for the new year are gentleness, compassion, understanding, and mind of no complaint. The last one has to do with continued mindfulness of speech, whether spoken or written, and refraining from complaint and negativity. On a more subtle level, I have the aspiration to continue to work with my thoughts, noticing when they are complaining or negative thoughts, and holding those thoughts with gentleness and compassion, rather than pushing them away or justifying them. I feel that by continuing to return to these aspirations, I will be nurturing the seeds of basic goodness in my family.<br />
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What are your aspirations? Whatever they may be, I wish you all a beautiful year to come, full of joy and sweetness.<br />
<br />gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-50132434496198111352011-12-19T06:05:00.000-08:002011-12-19T06:05:42.688-08:00gentleness during this seasonDuring this time of year, it can be easy to put our children into situations where they are set up to fail. Where there is too much stimulation, too much going on, too much forced affection, too many expectations. Because of our own hope and fear in family and friendly gatherings, we can meet our children with a lack of understanding and compassion when they act out or do not conform with how we or others think they should be behaving during these times.<br />
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An important part of mindfulness during this season is to continue to cultivate gentleness and understanding towards our children. We can look at our schedule and see where things need to be dropped in favor of providing some quiet time for our family. We can provide some extra nurturing to ourselves and our children to bolster everyone for interactions with groups of family and friends. We can stay aware of our own expectations - are we projecting lots of hope and fear onto a situation? Are we being influenced by how others may be viewing our children, rather than viewing them from a place of basic goodness, compassion, and awareness of what their experience of the gathering, the gift, the person actually is?<br />
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Rather than reacting with disappointment and aggression when our children do not act as we think they should during this time, can we continue to cultivate gentleness, by acknowledging our own fear or sadness around what has occurred and out of that soft spot, helping our children by reassuring them, cuddling them, acknowledging their difficulty, their discomfort, and letting them know it is ok to feel what they are feeling?<br />
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My own family will be attending a Christmas gathering where I know my children will be overstimulated and will most likely, not be at their best. I am laying the ground this week by continuing to find spaces for us to pause and reconnect with the ground of goodness, to join our bodies and minds in the same place, to be gentle, gentle and again, gentle. There are lots of opportunities during the holiday times to really work skillfully with what is, to be aware of the story line we are creating around situations, and to cultivate our appreciation and compassion. This may actually be the greatest gift of this time! <br />
Wishing everyone a mindful and peaceful season.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-87463102612630949242011-12-05T11:26:00.001-08:002011-12-05T12:23:06.715-08:00mindful holidayThis is the time of year when many families around the world are preparing for winter holiday celebrations. It is a time when speediness, busy-ness and materialism can overwhelm us and fill what we expect to be a happy time with aggression, depression and stress. It can be easy to have our minds stolen away by anxiety, desire, poverty mentality, and disappointment during these days. We can put so much pressure on ourselves to create the <i>perfect</i> holiday, to give our children everything they want, to reciprocate with family and friends. Our to-do lists seem endless, and our mind and body are often in two different places.<br />
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In the United States, it can often seem that a kind of never ending, naked materialism has taken over what has traditionally been a time when we cultivate and honor a radiance that cannot be dampened even by the darkest days of winter. Whether celebrating the inextinguishable lights of the Temple, the brilliant love of the Christ child, or the liberation of the Buddha - or simply the light of the returning sun on the shortest day of the year - this time has traditionally <i>not</i> been about buying X-boxes and knick knacks that will soon be discarded. In my own sangha, we celebrate <a href="http://parentingaspath.blogspot.com/2010/12/true-gifts.html">Children's Day</a>, a day when we honor our children for their constant reminder of goodness, even during dark times. Whatever we celebrate, these holidays all reflect the unchanging luminosity of our own basic goodness that shines in every moment, no matter what the weather or mood.<br />
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How can we honor our goodness and that of our children during these days, rather than giving into our confusion? How do we stay mindful and aware, when things are swirling and we have so much to do? How do we continue to cultivate appreciation, rather than create more wanting?<br />
Following is a list that is helping me and my family to stay mindful and connected to appreciation during this time. <br />
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First, of course, is practice. What has helped me is to find a time each day, morning or night, where I can practice some sitting meditation, no matter how briefly. This clears away my discursiveness and joins my mind back to my body. Throughout my days, when I notice my mind is somewhere totally separate from the present moment, without judgement, I bring it back again. I take a breath.<br />
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Secondly, I continue to let go of "the perfect holiday", whatever that may mean. There is no such thing, and everything is perfect anyway! There can be the impulse to try to attend every holiday event, do every holiday craft, bake every cookie and so on! If our tree isn't like this, the holiday is ruined. If we don't see those lights, the holiday is ruined. Whatever - it is different for all of us. But to let go of externals, to let go of how the holiday "should" look, creates space for the true magic of this time to occur and be noticed. It is different for every family, but I encourage you to look at your "must do" lists this season, and see what is really doable and enjoyable. Young children in particular do better with spaciousness, so to clutter each day with an outing can be overwhelming for them as well as for you. Sometimes we discover that even cherished traditions or events are either too much right now, or no longer really resonate with our family. Be brave and let them go! The space created will have its own gifts.<br />
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During this time, I continue to contemplate what nurtures goodness and appreciation, and attempt to focus on creating traditions that align with that. For instance, although I am buddhist, I find Advent calendars to be a lovely way for young children to connect to the magic of this time as well as a helpful channel for their anticipation - an energy that can quickly turn to grasping if left to its own devices or fed in the wrong ways. I made our own calendar and filled it with pictures of birds, elves, stars and other animals. They are enjoying opening a picture each day, though it can be hard to open just one. It is an interesting dance of patience and impatience! I have found this to be a lovely, grounding ritual to begin our mornings with, and each day we are also doing a small craft or baking session that produces a present to give to friends or family. Again, it is different for every family, but what traditions, either from your own lineage or another, resonate with you and your children, and remind you of goodness and appreciation? What traditions encourage generosity and reflection? I recommend focusing on those - just be careful what you choose, as young children will expect them to be repeated the following year!<br />
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In terms of gifts, our full undivided presence and attention are the greatest ones that we can give to our children. Notice if you have the impulse to overwhelm with material items. Is there another way you can share your love? Can you spend an afternoon sledding with them, baking cookies to enjoy together and give away, looking at the seasonal light displays? How much do our children really need? How can we celebrate these days without encouraging materialism and grasping? I leave this to you to contemplate for your own family. For us, we give only a couple of toys, and try to focus on spending time together doing special activities, most connected with crafting or being in nature as a family. For me, buying gifts can actually be an awareness practice - before buying something, we can look at 1) what is motivating me to get this? 2) what will the impact be on our family? 3) what is the impact on the earth? 4) is there something else, simpler, more connected, that I can give instead? 5) will this gift create more wanting in the recipient, or does it satisfy a more profound need?<br />
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There are many opportunities during this time to encourage the seeds of generosity in our children. Baking cookies to give to others, making cards together to mail, letting a little one put some money into a Salvation Army can. On Children's Day at our center, we will be bringing food to bless and give to a local food pantry. Just as there are countless beings suffering, there are countless ways to ease them, and children often have an intuitive grasp of how that can be done, although our own modeling will be a great influence. <br />
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Ultimately, we can use this time of year to create deeper connection and appreciation in our family rather than stress and discord. We can use this time to nurture our goodness rather than simply feed our fleeting desires. I wish everyone a beautiful season, one of compassion, peace, love and unshakeable confidence in basic goodness.<br />
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<br />gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-22158032592205369722011-11-30T16:43:00.001-08:002011-12-03T09:10:26.134-08:00help for a sangha familyI learned last week that a new mother in my Shambhala Buddhist sangha had lost her life after giving birth to her much desired twin babies. <a href="http://www.thesnydertwins.com/">Here is a link</a> where, if you are inspired to, you can donate an amount, however small, to her husband and new babies, who are healthy and peaceful, but in need of assistance. If you can hold this family in your heart minds this week, and send them love and peace, I am certain it would be felt and appreciated. The preciousness of human birth, and the reality of death. Good contemplations to turn our minds to appreciation. May Michal be reborn in a completely pure realm, and may her family know peace and goodness.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-32901537319138636882011-11-22T10:57:00.001-08:002011-11-22T10:58:30.430-08:00Repost: be grateful to everyoneThis was a popular post last year, so thought I would share it again.<br />
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<i>"If we were to come up with one word about each of the troublemakers in our lives, we would find ourselves with a list of descriptions of our own rejected qualities, which we project onto the outside world. In traditional teachings on lojong it is put another way: other people trigger the karma that we haven't worked out. They mirror us and give us the chance to befriend all of that ancient stuff that we carry around like a backpack full of granite boulders."</i><i> -Pema Chodron <br />
<a target="_blank" href="http://www.amazon.com/Start-Where-You-Are-Compassionate/dp/1590301420?ie=UTF8&tag=parentingaspa-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969">Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living (Shambhala Library)</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=parentingaspa-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1590301420" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important; padding: 0px !important" /></i><br />
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We are celebrating Thanksgiving this week in the United States, and so I have been contemplating this particular <a href="http://www.sacred-texts.com/bud/tib/training.htm">lojong slogan</a>. It is a tough one. It is so tough that I often feel that if I was truly successful in following its teaching, I might actually wake up. Can I really be grateful to everyone? Not only that, but can I really be grateful to every circumstance that arises, no matter how challenging?<br />
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It is easy to appreciate the good things in our lives, the people and circumstances that make us happier. But to appreciate the other stuff - the people and situations that only cause us trouble and agita - well, that seems to take some practice. "Be grateful to everyone" is a radical way to live. It requires you to open up and let go when you would really prefer to close down, lash out, be right, hold onto a preference or opinion, and maybe just crawl into bed and stay there all day. It requires me to thank those circumstances and those sentient beings that I find difficult, distasteful or distressing. Because without them, I would have no opportunity to see where I still get stuck, caught up in this illusion/delusion of "me" and "mine". I would ultimately have no path to walk, nothing to transform. The difficult people and circumstances are the friendly reminders to me to wake up. They are the constant feedback telling me which way to go on the path, what I still need to make friends with. They show me where I still create suffering for myself and others. <br />
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In <a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=D703ICbu5O4C&pg=PA76&lpg=PA76&dq=be+grateful+to+everyone+Chogyam+Trungpa&source=bl&ots=rtp2AJzRku&sig=Goe1K6zIQeAkY1oGvw3I01ULLDg&hl=en&ei=hoXsTJq8EMb_lgf_w7mWAQ&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=2&ved=0CBoQ6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q&f=false">his teaching</a> on this slogan, Chogyam Trungpa says some truly radical, ego shattering things. He also says a very small thing that always sticks with me: "if there is no noise outside during our sitting meditation, we cannot develop mindfulness". Our usual modus operandi is to try and protect ourselves from the noise, to shut it out. We want to try and wrap the world in bubble wrap rather than relate to the phenomena that arise constantly to disturb our peace of mind. But if we are really committed to manifesting our basic goodness and to getting unstuck, we need that noise, and we need those people - you know - those people that make us want to run away and wrap <i>ourselves</i> in bubble wrap. As I gather with family this week during the holiday, I will be holding this slogan sharply in focus. Our families are often so hard to be grateful to, especially when all gathered together with the expectation of having a celebratory day. So many buttons can be pushed during this time together. It is a good time to practice our mindfulness, especially with our children watching. A good time to practice gratitude for the troublemakers we know in our own inner circle - who hook us into our habitual pattern, into our old karma. <br />
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This is ultimately a friendly practice. It doesn't mean that we allow people to abuse us or walk all over us. If we need to set a boundary, then we do so. We can do that out of compassion for ourselves and our troublemakers, and not out of aggression. We do it out of gratitude. They are teaching us how to take care of ourselves, and by extension, others. This slogan can be contemplated on a daily basis, and I have found it invaluable in my own life with small children. There are times when I don't feel particularly grateful to my children even, and it is in those times that I bring this slogan to mind. It helps. I see where I am stuck. I see where I am not very friendly to myself and others. Slowly, I let go. Gentleness grows. Appreciation dawns.<br />
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So this Thanksgiving, try this slogan out for size when you feel like grabbing the turkey leg and running out the door. Or when the children are screaming in the car, when the person behind you in traffic cuts you off, when your mother-in-law makes her passive aggressive comment about your parenting, or whatever. Happy Thanksgiving, and as always, be gentle.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-52324637885597219672011-11-21T11:40:00.001-08:002011-11-21T12:38:56.509-08:00cultivating appreciationIn the days leading up to Thanksgiving here in the United States, I find it useful to consciously take on the daily practice of cultivating appreciation. Appreciation, while it encompasses and encourages gratitude, is a bit deeper than just being thankful. It includes deep respect and sacredness. Appreciation nurtures trust in the basic goodness and brilliance of the world and its beings. To water the seeds of appreciation in our daily life brings great joy to our time with children. When we are able to model appreciation and reverence for our tasks, our environment, our family, our neighbors, even our burdens - our children witness basic goodness and dignity in action.<br />
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The teacher Gaylon Ferguson writes in his book <a href="<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1590307690/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=parentingaspa-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399369&creativeASIN=1590307690">Natural Wakefulness: Discovering the Wisdom We Were Born With</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=parentingaspa-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1590307690&camp=217145&creative=399369" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;""></a><br />
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<i><br />
<blockquote>"The atmosphere surrounding meditation is warm and welcoming. We are cultivating appreciation, friendliness, a sense of gratitude for what we already have and are. This undercuts the speed and restlessness of materialism of all sorts."</blockquote></i> <br />
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To begin cultivating appreciation in our daily life with children, we can work with mindfulness to create a similar atmosphere of warmth, welcoming and understanding. We can work with our habitual pattern of judging our experience and things as "good" or "bad", "for us" or "against us". Using mindfulness, we can notice when we are engaged in negative speech (whether internal or external), and then make the choice to change our speech. We can treat ourselves with gentleness and acceptance, which will naturally extend out to others. Rather than looking in the mirror and greeting ourselves with a negative commentary of our flaws, we can smile and appreciate that we have a human body. Even if we are ill or disabled, there is something that our body does well, that works within it - our minds, our hearts, the blood flowing, our hair growing - something. <br />
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It can be easy this time of year to focus on what we <i>don't</i> have, on what we <i>want to</i> have, instead of taking a breath and the time to acknowledge everything <i>we do possess</i>. We can notice throughout our days when we are focusing on what is wrong - what is broken, who is misbehaving, when the weather isn't cooperating, the heat won't go on - we can always find a lot! Try to notice if you are dwelling on these obstacles, telling yourself or others stories about them, instead of just relating to them, cleanly. Then try to consciously notice what <i>is</i> working in your world! If we can pause and drop our projections and labeling, we will actually find, no matter how dire our circumstances are, that there is at least a little bit of magic and beauty and flow in our days, if we can only make ourselves available to it. Can we drop our resentment about the weather enough to notice the delight our children take in the rain falling down? Can we drop our scolding of a recalcitrant child long enough to see the fear or discomfort that caused the misbehavior? Can we notice the hawk circling overhead as we wait for the tow truck next to our broken down car? You get the idea.<br />
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So, in these days leading up to United States Thanksgiving, I am trying to pause each day, many times a day, and just honor my children, my physical space, animals, trees, my body, the food I am eating, the people I am passing - and just open to their wonder and sacredness. Sometimes, appreciation is as simple as bowing and acknowledging that this is how things are right now, and that this will also change. As simple as tasting our tears as they fall and savoring their salty warmth, another indication that yes, we are still alive, and that being alive is an extraordinary fluke, a gift, no matter how painful at times. We can appreciate how no matter how bad our day or week or year may be, the good earth is holding us up, the good sky is encompassing us, the sun is shining or the rain or snow are falling, nourishing many beings. The air is flowing through our lungs, in and out, in and out. All these little, interconnected, incredibly vast things that actively sustain us as we move through our days. And in every acknowledgement, we can bow to our children for being their brilliant, shining selves, whether smiling or screaming. Wishing you many days of appreciation and joy.<br />
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gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-64851736850579874412011-11-15T12:02:00.001-08:002011-11-15T12:33:18.377-08:00what is your story?<i>“The difference between misery and happiness depends on what we do with our attention.” <br />
-Sharon Salzberg</i><br />
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If you can pay attention to your mind during the day, to where you are placing it, to the thoughts running in and out, you will discover something. You will discover your <i>story</i>. It is the thought you turn to again and again when you are feeling hassled by things, when your back is up against the wall. You probably turn to it even when you are feeling pretty good about everything, happy even. In those cases, it is usually a kind of nagging little fear that will raise its head. When you are really stressed out, or trying to get something done, your children out the door, the dinner ready, whatever - going forward with your agenda - and it is not happening easily - the eggs fall out of the fridge and break on the floor, your youngest poops his pants as you are getting him in the car seat, you get the phone call saying you haven't gotten the job- your story might even slip right out of your mouth, verbalized for all to hear. What do you say to them, to yourself?<br />
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With the last months being so stressful for us, full of so much heartbreak, I have found my story slipping out. It came out this morning in the seemingly simple task of getting my three year old and my 20 month old out the door to the library. I can't even remember the series of events that made this outing seem akin to climbing the Himalayas barefooted, but after yet another delay caused by some act of typical toddler behavior or potty learning adventure I said, aloud, "I just can't catch a break."<br />
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It is the same sentence I said aloud to my husband in the days after learning about my miscarriage, as I tried to prepare for my three year old's party, and a dozen eggs slid from their perch in the fridge and broke all over the newly mopped floor minutes before guests began arriving. "I just can't catch a break."<br />
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It is a sentence I have been repeating to myself for what seems like all of my life. "I can't catch a break, I can't catch a break, I <i>just</i> can't catch a break!" With meditation practice, I finally noticed it, finally really heard what I have been spending years telling myself. When I was home with my parents last month briefly, I heard the same sentence and its variations uttered many times by my father. I doubt he has ever really, truly noticed this story flying from his lips with such regularity.<br />
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We all have our particular story. Often, it is a story we first heard from our own parents, or perhaps it was given to us by another authority figure or maybe we came up with it all by ourselves. In any case, it doesn't serve us. It isn't true. It is a story, just that, and since we have been writing it, we can also rewrite it.<br />
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It depends, as Ms. Salzberg says, on <i>where</i> we place our attention. When we hear ourselves telling our particular story to ourselves or to others, we can stop. We can notice what is going on with our bodies, our breath. What are we feeling? Where are we? What is actually happening in this particular moment? Things as they are do not conspire against us, although that may be how we feel. Things just are, true, variable, moving, changing, vivid. If we drop the story, we may actually really see, really perceive what is actually happening in any given situation, what the phenomena is truly communicating to us. The world is not for or against us. Things and beings are all dancing, shifting, arising and ceasing in an enormous interconnected dance. What are we choosing to tell ourselves about it? It is important where we put our minds and what words we choose - the story we tell. Can we recognize it as a story? Or do we call it the truth?<br />
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When we sit in meditation practice, we notice the tricks we play on ourselves, the wild tales we tell that keep us hooked, deceived, yo-yoing up and down. The more we sit and just let those stories go, not feeding them, not pushing them away, just letting them flow through and continually dropping them, dropping them, dropping them, the more space we create and the more we can laugh. Laugh at what we have been telling ourselves for so long.<br />
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Byron Katie has a powerful book of her work entitled "What Would You Be Without Your Story?" It is full of dialogues between her and different students, all with a powerful story that they have spent many years placing their minds on, again and again, with great emotion and intent. In the simple conversations with her, these stories fall apart, get flipped on their heads, and the people become so much freer. They no longer believe them.<br />
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This is what I am working on this week. Noticing my story. Catching when I am telling it to myself or others. Dropping it. Touching it. Asking myself, "Is this really true?" And placing my mind again on the present moment. I don't want to give this story to my children. I would rather they tell themselves the vivid truth of basic goodness, again and again, rather than this lie of "I can't catch a break."gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-87805147035300191992011-11-10T04:40:00.001-08:002011-11-10T04:44:03.951-08:00wonderful remindersI often find myself returning to the amazing dharma book "Radical Acceptance" by Tara Brach. Ms. Brach is a compassionate, insightful and wonderful teacher - I really can't recommend the book enough. I was looking at some old interviews with her the other day about her book, and came across this wonderful teaching, which I am reprinting in full, because it is just so good :). This is her response to a question about working with depression and anxiety, or other painful emotions. These gateways she discusses are powerful tools to use in our daily life and practice, and gifts we could give with great love to our children. Enjoy:<br />
<blockquote>We suffer because we have forgotten who we are and our identity has become confined to the sense of a separate, usually deficient self. All difficult emotions-fear and anger, shame and depression-arise out of this trance of what I call false self.<br />
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I’ve found that whenever I am really suffering, on some level I am believing and feeling that “something is wrong with me.” Over the years I’ve been drawn to three primary gateways for awakening from this trance. In the Buddhist tradition they are referred to as the three refuges:<br />
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One (called “sangha”) is loving relationship-both live contact with loved ones and also meditation on the love that’s in my life. In the moments of remembering love, there is an opening out of the sense of separate self. For me, reflecting on love has included prayer to the beloved, to what I experience as the loving awareness that is my source. When I feel separate and stuck, that loving presence might seem like it’s apart from me and “out there.” But by reaching out in longing and prayer, I’m carried home to the loving presence that is intrinsic to my Being.<br />
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A second gateway (“dharma” or truth) is taking refuge in the present moment. The training of meditation is a gift as it has helped me to pause, wake up out of thoughts and contact my moment to moment experience. When I am no longer running away or resisting what is happening inside me, I reconnect with the space and compassion that has room for whatever is going on. <br />
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A third gateway (“buddha” or “buddha nature”) is turning towards awareness itself. Most of the time we are paying attention to the foreground of experience-to our thoughts, feelings and sensations. What we are missing out on is the background of experience, the formless dimension of Being itself. By asking questions like “What is aware right now?” or “What is knowing these sounds?” or “Who am I?” we begin to intuit our own presence or Beingness. The signs of this presence are space, stillness and silence.<br />
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For myself and so many I’ve worked with, becoming familiar with this formless dimension of who we are makes it possible to open with love to the changing expressions of life within and around us. It allows us to make peace with living and dying, and to live our moments fully.</blockquote><br />
Wishing everyone connection with your own Beingness today and every day. Much love to you all - you are all Buddhas!gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-36151010540897541282011-11-09T08:14:00.000-08:002011-11-09T08:14:40.715-08:00this is what we practice forI have been waiting for my body to miscarry. I learned last Thursday that the baby didn't have a heartbeat, but my body wasn't ready yet to let go. Finally, yesterday, the process began, accelerating this morning, until the little being passed out of my body. <br />
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The waiting was an experience of consciously bringing myself back to the present moment, over and over. And when the process finally began, it was the conscious letting go, the noticing when I was resisting the process, and opening back up, just like in birth. This is what we practice for, with the little stuff. With letting go of our agenda of getting something done, or being right in an argument, or wanting our living room to be clean, or a person to like us, or our child to behave a certain way. With the letting go of our little hopes and fears in daily life with our children and in the world - so that when we are faced with the big stuff, with the letting go of a child, a loved one, a big dream, our own life itself - we can do it without suffering. Or if we do suffer, we can work with that, rather than being totally overwhelmed and stuck in our grief. We can face the moment, we can notice what we are feeling, and we can accept it. All of it. <br />
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It doesn't mean we don't grieve. It doesn't mean we aren't angry or sad or afraid. It means we accept all of that, fully. Once we do that, we can also accept that those emotions change, just as this moment is constantly changing, changing, ending, beginning. Never static, never still. That is the flow of life and death. It is in constant movement. This is what we are practicing for. To let that movement flow through us, and not resist it. If we resist it, we will get knocked down and pulled under. <br />
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So today I am trying to put all my years of practice to the big test of letting go of this brief little life. Of being present to my other children, who need me very much to be with them, and not distant or distracted. Practicing diving into the flow of life.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-84163567024670843352011-11-07T12:39:00.000-08:002011-11-07T12:39:27.801-08:00when you are sad, be sadI haven't written here in several weeks. As I have mentioned in this space previously, the last couple of months have seen my family facing a series of obstacles that have arisen around our living situation, our livelihood, and our health. Things at times have been quite difficult, seemingly very immovable and unworkable, but somehow, we have found our way through. A bright spot in all of this was that after many months of trying, we discovered I was pregnant with a much wanted third baby. Because of all of the challenges we were experiencing, this third pregnancy felt like much more of a leap into groundlessness than our previous ones. But leap we did, as we all do when we open our hearts to life.<br />
This past week, at almost 10 weeks along, I went in for an ultrasound my OB wanted in order to determine gestational age. During the exam, the technician told me that she couldn't find any fetal heartbeat. <br />
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We often think that enlightenment experiences are blissful, beautiful, gold tinged occasions that occur in a flowery meadow or on a mountain top or in a sacred meditation hall. We don't often think of them as occurring in a cold, clinical examination room with an ultrasound machine and an uncomfortable technician holding a latex gloved wand in her hand. But when we are faced with the stark fact of impermanence, of the reality of death and loss, we often experience an opening. Our usual torrent of habitual thought can be stopped, at least for a moment, and we can experience a kind of clarity and calm, when things as they are reveal themselves, naked, and completely vast. That is what happened when I heard "I can't find a heartbeat". It only lasted for a moment.<br />
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Immediately after that brief opening, the pain came. The sadness of losing a baby. The heartbreak of it, of watching all the aspirations, all the dreams pinned to the new life I carried so briefly. It is always so painful to have to let go of such hopes. To accept loss and the reality of the first noble truth - that life is full of suffering, and we suffer because of our constant desire to make permanent that which is inherently not. <br />
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Any loss we experience has been and will be experienced by countless other sentient beings. The nurse who took my vitals that morning told me of her own miscarriage when she was 17 weeks along with her first pregnancy. So many other women I know have had miscarriages, many more than one. I have friends who have lost children shortly after their birth, or years later. My own loss seemed so small when compared to all of those others. My heart is opening, breaking for so many other women and children.<br />
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<i><br />
"When Marpa's young son died, he cried so sadly that his disciples flocked around him and asked, "Master, didn't you say that the world is only an illusion? Why are you crying so brokenheartedly just because your son has died?"<br />
Marpa answered them, "Yes, everything is illusionary, but the death of a child is the greatest illusion of them all."<blockquote></blockquote></i><br />
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At times like this one, it can seem important to find a reason, an answer to why this happened in order to prevent it from happening again, I suppose. But like all blossoming of karma, there are so many causes and conditions that lead to this, that it is impossible to tease out the what and why of it. We can surmise, guess, and so on, but to try and pinpoint, try and build some ground from what is inherently groundless, only causes further pain and is illusory at best. All my husband and I can do that is really useful is to keep touching our sadness, to just be sad when it arises. To not avoid it or cover it up, or elaborate upon it. To just be sad.<br />
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And to be happy when that comes as well. My eldest son turned three the day after we got the news of our loss, and we went forward with a nice birthday party for him, with guests and cake and balloons, all as he requested. And we allowed ourselves to be present to his joy and the joy of his brother during the festivities. We are exerting ourselves in cultivating appreciation - appreciation of what we have, of our two little boys and the goodness they weave each day into our lives. And when reminded of the vastness of loss, the knowledge that all beings lose those they love, both born and unborn, we are touching our tender, broken hearts, and sending our love out to everyone.<br />
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<br />gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-8036580265409753052011-10-10T12:58:00.000-07:002011-10-10T12:58:01.790-07:00this takes practice<i><blockquote>"For the warrior, rather than getting away from the constraints of ordinary life, letting go is going further into your life. You understand that your life, as it is, contains the means to unconditionally cheer you up."<br />
- Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche</blockquote></i><br />
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Letting go continues to be the theme of my practice. Letting go of my grasping to things as I wish them to be, and all the suffering that story entails. Practicing mindfulness means letting go again and again of our dream of the past and fantasy of the future, coming back to the present moment. Practicing mindfulness means letting go of our agenda to protect and enhance our own little self. It means being aware when we are holding on tight. When we are pushing our own projections onto things as they are. When we are closing up, rather than opening, just a little bit.<br />
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This takes practice. We can't just wake up one morning and say, "today, I am going to let go of this false sense of self and all the busy projects it has, and just be present." I mean, we have to start somewhere. Usually, we start by noticing how <i>not</i> letting go creates vast suffering for ourselves and others. How much harder it makes our lives. How much more hassled we feel by ordinary existence. And so yes, at some level, we do decide that we at least need to let go, that we would like to begin to let go, just a little bit. Dip our toes into the waters of things as they really are. But if we don't view letting go as a practice, as a daily, sometimes moment to moment work, then we are setting ourselves up to fail. <br />
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So, we need to hold the view that letting go is part of our fundamental practice of mindfulness. We have to set the intention to be aware of what we are up to in our daily lives. And we need to be gentle with ourselves, and hold ourselves in loving kindness when we notice we are hanging on tight. We can have compassion for that very human need to not let go. And if we can, it is helpful to have some form of meditation practice, no matter how brief it is, where we can just sit quietly, even for a few minutes, and work with our minds. Focus on our breath, notice when our mind is not on the breath, and gently bring it back. That is all. Really. The more we do that, the more we can let go of the thoughts that our minds wander off on, and bring it with deliberateness and gentleness back to the breath, the more we can let go in our daily lives when we have everything else going on.<br />
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So when, for instance, my18 month old and his three year old brother decide to pull all the new groceries out of their bags, even after being told many times not to, and pour their contents all over my apartment building's hallway, perhaps I won't totally lose my mind. Perhaps, instead of freaking out and feeling totally pissed off, I will be able to let go of being right, let go of my anger, my tiredness, and with firmness, pick them each up, bring them up the stairs to the apartment, sit them down at some crayons, and then go clean up the mess, without engaging in an internal or external tirade. I may, ahem, lose it for a moment, and raise my voice just a touch, or express some frustration, but I won't make an enormous deal over it, or scream or use it as evidence of how hard our daily life is or whatever. The letting go will allow the space for me to cheer up, as Chogyam Trungpa writes, and perhaps, just perhaps, laughter might occur, or at least some softening around what is, after all, just another bit of mess in a rather messy world.<br />
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It is so easy to feel overwhelmed and frustrated by the daily chaos of raising children. Any tools to help liberate ourselves from this sense of hassle and overwhelm are precious indeed. Letting go can feel like surrendering to groundlessness. And yes, ultimately, that is what we are doing. Letting go isn't sloppy though - it is occurring within enormous discipline and good heart. We can have confidence that each time we open and let go, we are building our courage, our resilience, our flexibility, and our good hearts. Wishing you all good luck this week in letting go with loving kindness and courage.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-68937985883055006142011-09-27T10:05:00.000-07:002011-09-27T10:05:12.090-07:00painful reminders<blockquote><i>We can stop looking for some idealized moment when everything is simple and secure. This second of experience, which could be painful or pleasurable, is our working basis. What makes all the difference is how we relate to it. <br />
- Pema Chodron</blockquote></i><br />
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I had the painful reminder today that when I lose my temper with my little ones, it is so very, very rarely about what they are or are not doing. Instead, it is most often the result of me carrying the past and/or the future into the present moment. My worries, my story lines, my fears, my hopes. I am caught up in all that when suddenly, one of my children acts out or does something that is upsetting. Or like today, when my eldest got a pricker in his finger and refused to let me help him in any way, but instead screamed in pain, complaining that it hurt him, for five entire blocks, then in front of our apartment house, then up the stairs as I carried him to our apartment, both fighting me from touching him, but refusing to go up the stairs himself. <br />
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I shouted. I told him "to walk up those stairs." I told him, "no, we are not going to just stand outside here and scream." I said, "I am very frustrated right now, because I want to help you and you won't let me." I suppose I could have said all of the above gently, but I did not. I was angry. I was angry because I have been having one of the worst months I have had in years and years, a month full of obstacles and threats. Challenges and setbacks. I was angry because I was looking forward to going to the library storytime with my little ones, which we have not been able to do for quite some time due to several of the aforementioned obstacles and setbacks. I was angry because on the last three outings I have taken my children on, they have either gotten hurt or had a huge tantrum that forced us to leave said outing often almost as soon as we had gotten there. I was angry because I am worried about where we are going to live. I was angry because I am worried about getting food on our table. I was angry because my mother is dying. And so on. It had nothing to do with my poor little boy and his very uncomfortable finger. <br />
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And it is at times like these, when I totally lose it, that I just can fall so easily into despair. It is so easy to use an outburst like this as evidence of what a failure I am as a mother. But instead, I can use a time like this to be more gentle, kinder to myself. Pema Chodron says: <blockquote>Openness actually starts to emerge when you see how you close down. You see how you close down, how you yell at someone, and you begin to have some compassion. </blockquote>If we can see how we shut down and yell, then we can begin to understand how others can yell too, or how they can hurt us or others. It comes from their own suffering, just as those moments when we do it comes from <i>our </i>suffering. So again, we are presented with the choice - close or open? Touch that tender, broken heart of our's or pretend it isn't tender at all, and wrap ourselves in duality and aggression? In being right?<br />
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So, I began again. I apologized to my son for shouting. I got a bowl of warm water, and had his little brother splash in it. This helped my eldest relax enough to try putting his hand in it. We were home again, stuck inside on a beautiful day, story time a lost event, but he was calm again, and the pricker floated out, as I knew it would. His younger brother, who had been very upset at having to leave the library, played happily with some blocks. I got some support online from caring friends, who have been there, in that same kind of painful, raw moment. Things changed. I had to let go. Let go of my worries. Of my story line. Of my hopes for the day. Of my little one letting me help him, even. The letting go was the opening up.<br />
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I haven't been writing here often because of all the obstacles my family is facing currently, but you are all in my thoughts. I hope you and your little ones are able to relax into whatever moment is arising, and let go again.gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-64940894628742645922011-09-19T10:42:00.000-07:002011-09-19T10:43:01.309-07:00cultivating joy<blockquote><i>The Buddha said that we are never separated from enlightenment. Even at the times we feel most stuck, we are never alienated from the awakened state. - Pema Chodron<blockquote></blockquote></i></blockquote><br />
I have been working the last couple of weeks to cultivate joy, in these last dying days of summer. This is a choice I have to make on a daily basis - what to cultivate and what to reject. It can be so much easier to cultivate resentment, dissatisfaction, inattention, mindless indulgence in entertainment and so on. Whatever we put our attention on each moment is the seed we are watering in our hearts and minds. What do we choose to grow? Especially while raising up our children?<br />
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At those times when we feel most stuck in our habitual patterns, our environments, our relationships - we can choose to open our hearts to our basic goodness. When we are feeling most stuck, we can remember that who we are is awake and sane. Even when we are feeling totally crazy and overwhelmed. We can turn our minds outward, to the open sky above, a sunbeam in the dusty corner, a smile on our child's face, a beautiful dandelion struggling up through the concrete. What nurtures your goodness? What reminds you of your true nature? For me, in these last few days, it has meant turning my back on the chaos in my apartment and driving with my little ones out to a local farm to celebrate the fall harvest, pick apples, and enjoy the sheep and chickens. It has meant baking my mother's apple pie, even though it makes my heart ache knowing she can no longer bake it herself. It has meant staying in and cleaning my kitchen from top to bottom because the chaos was dampening my spirits and making me cranky with my children. It has meant bringing some straw home from the farm for the neighbor's bunny, left each day in a hard metal cage with no soft floor. It made the children feel better to see him snuggled in the hay.<br />
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What can you do today to remind you of your true, joyous nature? To remind your children of their own? To water the seeds of goodness?<br />
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gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-60068655656117701222011-09-07T09:49:00.000-07:002011-09-07T09:49:16.052-07:00being who we are<i><blockquote>[The] complete teaching of Buddhism is how to re-discover who we are. That is a straightforward principle, but we are continuously distracted from coming to our natural state, our natural being. Throughout our day everything pulls us away from natural mindfulness, from being on the spot. We're either too scared or too embarrassed or too proud, or just too crazy, to be who we are. - Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche</blockquote></i><br />
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I am trying to write here more often, but I was at my parents' house over the long weekend, and there is just so much going on there with my mother's illness and the family dynamics that it is impossible to even go online for a moment, let alone be at all eloquent or useful. So, here I am, back in my own little chaotic nest, getting us unpacked and trying to keep my little ones happy on a day when it is pouring rain. These three things saved us this morning from tantrums: 1) the construction of a small city out of all available cardboard boxes; 2) the making of ribbon sticks; and 3) a wet, wet walk in the rain, where we got completely soaked from jumping in every available puddle. We also made the happy discovery that the apples from the sadly neglected apple trees on the street behind us are actually tasty, and so, pockets brimming with ones gleaned from the wet ground, we made our way home and into nap time.<br />
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There were still tears, as my little ones didn't sleep well at my folks and the long car ride yesterday put them in a bit of cranky mood. But, I was able to go with the flow, even with the detritus of our journey all over the house and some unhappy felines making demands after our absence. I'm tired, certainly. My toddlers are both nursing much more than I would prefer. The house is a mess. Loads of laundry to get done. Our bedroom ceiling is leaking from all the rain, and I have no idea when the landlord will relate to it. There is still the emotional residue of my visit back to my family. But...it is all ok. I have been able to keep coming back to the present moment today. I have been able to keep letting go of my various agendum without any fuss. I have been able to surrender to the fact that my 18 month old has fallen down, once again, and is crying, once again. I have been able to pick him up, hug him, comfort him until he feels alright, put him back down, and keep making that cardboard garage my 2 year old is asking me to make. I have been able to just be myself today, and to just let my children be themselves. Funny how often I don't allow either to happen.<br />
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The quote above from Sakyong Mipham is from a longer talk, <a href="http://www.dharma-haven.org/shambhala/how-to-meditate.html">here</a>. It is a fabulous talk about how to meditate, and I reread it every year, sometimes several times a year. Different things jump out at me each time I read it, and this time, it was the following line:<br />
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<i><blockquote>When we're talking about being mindful and living in a mindful way, we're talking about the practice of spontaneity.</blockquote></i><br />
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Spontaneity for me has been the key to being happy with my children, and keeping them connected to their own goodness. And it is really, really hard to be spontaneous when I am obsessing over the past or thinking about the future. There is no space for spontaneity to emerge because I am so entirely disconnected from what is actually happening, right in front of my very eyes. It's funny how resentful we can get when other beings, our children included, pull us out of our dreams of the past and the future with their very real needs happening in the now. But if we let go of those imaginings, how much richer and happier we become. The world is so much more alive when we are actually fully there to experience it. <br />
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This is what I am working on today. It is what I am always working on. Being who I am, right here, right now. It can be so difficult, can't it? Wishing us all luck in being ourselves today, fully, completely, lovingly.<br />
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gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-51570559088292532982011-09-01T11:41:00.000-07:002011-09-01T11:42:34.526-07:00a helpful postRead this <a href="http://teachertomsblog.blogspot.com/2011/08/spoiled-brats.html">post today </a>when a friend linked to it on Facebook. What a wonderful blog and what a thoughtful teacher and father. <br />
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Lately, I have been struggling with using gentle, respectful language with my two boys when they are engaged in behavior that frightens or embarrasses me, like hitting, pushing, biting, throwing toys etc. My buttons get pushed and I tend to react with aggression rather than making it into a teaching moment. Today, we had a friend over for a play date, and my eldest greeted him and me (I was ushering him in through our door) with a barrage of thrown, heavy metal trains. I kind of freaked out, readers. I raised my voice (a polite way of saying I shouted) and told him I was angry. He shrank. <br />
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I ended up being able to catch myself and hug him close, while explaining that he had hurt me with the trains and almost hurt his friend, and that it had scared me. I am not always able to come down so quickly though from the anger high. In any case, this is a helpful post. <a href="http://teachertomsblog.blogspot.com/2011/08/spoiled-brats.html#.Tl_KwllIYC0.facebook">Teacher Tom: "Spoiled Brats"</a>gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881007421270817643.post-57716547969441276612011-08-30T06:12:00.000-07:002011-08-31T10:59:03.789-07:00giving yourself space to be<blockquote><i>When you begin to touch your heart or let your heart be touched, you begin to discover that it's bottomless, that it doesn't have any resolution, that this heart is huge, vast, and limitless. You begin to discover how much warmth and gentleness is there, as well as how much space. - Pema Chodron</i></blockquote><br />
So, I have just been terribly lax at blogging this summer. Something about the warm, open ended days has made me want to just do anything but write in any depth about any thing. My apologies about that. If given my choice, I would probably spend every day in the summer either lying on my back in the middle of a country meadow or just being at the beach, my feet submerged in water, while my husband fed me watermelon and my children played happily by themselves with the local flora and fauna. And I have actually had a couple of days this summer when such a scenario materialized, more or less. How lucky!<br />
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I have been contemplating my difficulty in giving myself and my family the space to just <i>be</i>, whether in the summer, fall, winter or spring. As a society and world, we seem hell bent on keeping ourselves as busy and productive as possible. It is one of the very disorienting things about being a new mother in fact - the sudden surrender of activity, or at least activity that outwardly manifests as such. Nursing or feeding your baby, changing diapers, comforting, bonding - it is actually incredibly demanding work, but much of it looks sedentary, still, and monotonous. Even amongst all this work, there is a lot of just sitting, just being there with your baby as he or she rests or feeds. And of course, with a newborn, you are usually confined to your home for the first few weeks, depending on different circumstances. A new baby forces us to take a long, deep in breath, perhaps for the first time in many years. As in sitting meditation, we can react with a hot, itchy boredom to this, or we can begin to relax, surrender to the present moment, and breathe in deeper, allowing ourselves to just be. In this space, our heart can be touched, deeper perhaps than it has ever been touched before. We can begin to really get to know that bottomless gentleness and love that it contains, as Ani Pema mentions above.<br />
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We can do this no matter how old our children are, no matter if we work outside our home or in it. We can find periods each day to breathe in, deeply, and ground ourselves fully in the now, before breathing back out into our busy lives. This can be an internal breath. A letting go of our constant inner activity, our planning, story telling, criticism, gossip, complaining and so on. We can notice our thoughts and let them go, leave ourselves alone for a bit. It can manifest as an external letting go as well. Letting go of a project, an agenda, an activity, even for a moment or two. It can be getting outside, as I often advise - just getting outside, even for a short time, no matter what the weather. You don't have to do anything in particular outdoors. Just open. If you have young children, let them guide you. They will lead you to many important discoveries - a large slug, inching its way along the wet grass. A collection of choke cherries lying on the sidewalk. An interesting crack in the sidewalk. A broken street lamp. A new stray cat on the street, who is so friendly she allows them to rub her tummy and follows us to the old church yard where we like to play. Try not to hurry them along. Linger with them. Allow yourselves the space to be open, curious, attentive to the magic of the world. <br />
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We experienced a forced in breath just the other day, because of Hurricane Irene. We lost power for about 24 hours, and were unable to do the laundry, or use the computer, or stay up late doing chores. Instead, we lit our candles, gave the boys each a flashlight, and spent hours playing together in a large tent made up of sheets on our bed, exploring the play of light and shadow. It was a lovely pause, a gift. We could have chosen to be hassled by it, and there was some anxiety about the food warming up in the fridge, but what was there to do other than put it all (along with our ice trays) in the cooler and then let the anxiety go, so we could be with our littles? Hassle was replaced with warmth and laughter. Space.<br />
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Give yourself some space to be today. Engage in some aimless wandering outside with your children, or by yourself. Leave yourself alone. You don't always need to be so busy. We are always so afraid of things falling apart without our constant interference. I will let you in on a secret - they fall apart anyway, no matter what we do. So relax. Let go. Let your heart be touched. In that soft, tender spot of stillness, great power exists. <br />
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[NOTE: blogger is giving me lots of trouble in terms of formatting, so I apologize for the appearance of the blog, and if this posts appears as one big block of text. I will eventually figure it out when I don't have two nursing toddlers on my lap as I type.]gesbabyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00574952336090797198noreply@blogger.com0