this is why it's called "path"

"Whatever our level of practice, there will always be obstacles. The Tibetan word for obstacle, parche, means “what cuts our progress.” In fact, sometimes the more we are engaged in practice, the greater the obstacles become. If we understand that obstacles are part of the spiritual path, we can learn from them. Obstacles can be messages. We need to wake up and look at what is going on. On a deeper, more profound level, we can include obstacles in our journey. This is a more challenging approach."
- Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche

I apologize for falling silent here for a bit - I have been offline for a few weeks now, working with many obstacles. Spring has always been a charged time for me - a time of great blooming of karma. This spring has been no exception - so many challenges have been arising that I simply had to take a break and try to put things in order in the evenings when I would normally be blogging.

My children have been having major sleep disturbances, in that they are going through a period where they are refusing to sleep. They are going to sleep late, they are waking up at an ungodly hour, and are often refusing to nap - or napping with great difficulty and for very brief periods. I have tried to investigate the reasons for all this, and have finally thrown my hands up and told myself "this too shall pass." That is the good news about impermanence - the good things pass away, but so does the really crappy stuff. But I have definitely had some very dark moments in the last few weeks, when being completely sleep deprived, I have had to catch brief snatches of sleep whenever and wherever, and when that doesn't work, have resorted to yelling at my babies to "go to SLEEP!!!" Funny, but that didn't work.

Within all this sleep drama is also the fact that my mother is dying, and this has made my heart ache in ways that the lack of sleep seems to exacerbate. A hard time. And I have gotten very stuck. VERY stuck indeed. I have found myself in certain moments caught in an intense paranoia, believing my thoughts that this situation is very solid, very permanent, and not changing at all. This of course, has brought out my fear and aggression, and my babes had to deal with a very cranky, not nice mama at times. My patience flew out the window, and I felt totally unresourceful and isolated, very lonely and almost in despair.

So, what to do in these kinds of moments? Just breathe. Hah! But it's true. Find your breath. Touch your heart. Feel the tenderness, the fear. Breathe it in. Breathe out relief, breathe out space, breathe out comfort. Hold yourself in loving kindness. This has helped tremendously. Admitting to myself that I feel so stuck, so in despair, so at times, desperate for things to be different. Which of course, leads to aggression. But the acknowledging of it does the opposite - it creates space and gentleness.

Then what? Then go outside. Seriously. Get physical spacious sky over your heads. I did this, even though it has literally been pouring rain for the past TWO WEEKS. I took my little ones outside in their rain coats and boots and we stomped in puddles and splashed each other and played in the mud and rolled in the huge wet holes opening in the damp earth. We played in a sopping wet, empty playground, ending up covered in mud and exhilarated by the physical connection with earth and sky and water. It was great. It ventilated a claustrophobic household situation and helped us appreciate each other again. Or I should say, it helped me appreciate them again.

And there was of course, ice cream. Lots of ice cream for mama. And some for the little ones as well. It was that kind of a week.

What else? Remembering impermanence. That they will eventually sleep again. That I could relax a bit and let things go. I could surrender to them and their sleep pattern. When I was able to do that and not fight it like a crazy banshee, it changed, miraculously. It didn't get perfect, or even significantly better, but they have been sleeping ever so slightly more deeply, and napping ever so much better, and I have just accepted that my house and life are going to be in chaos while I nap whenever they do in order that I don't yell at everyone every minute of the day. Ahem.

There is an image in the Shambhala buddhist teachings of the Perky Snow Lion, bounding joyfully through the mountain highlands. The Snow Lion is joyful because it has complete confidence - he or she takes complete delight in the discipline of mindfulness, and has compassion for all beings - so much compassion, that the thought of others fills it with joy. The Snow Lion has a great sense of humor and curiosity. There is no stuckness - just big, bounding leaps and delight in things as they are. No doubt. I have been holding the image of the Snow Lion in my mind, and letting it guide me. No doubt. Confidence, humor, compassion, joy, mindfulness, discipline - these are the tools that are helping me through the day.

I have been falling on my face a lot lately, unlike the Snow Lion. But I keep picking myself back up and trying another leap. This is why it is called a path, and not an "accomplishment" or "wow, you did it!" It takes constant cultivation, and nurturing of our willingness to open. So, that's where I have been. Where I am. Trying to jump into openness instead of hunkering down in my stuckness, which, believe me, is no fun for me or my children.

Surrendering to the present moment

Our life is completely full even though we might be completely bored. Boredom creates aloneness and sadness, which are also beautiful. Beauty in this sense is the total experience of things as they are. It is very realistic. - Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

I feel that life is constantly offering us the opportunity to either open ourselves to what is, or to close the gates of our heart and mind tight against the present moment. My children are constantly pushing me to open wide to the world and the present moment, much wider maybe than I had ever planned on doing. I can either fight with the present moment, or I can relax into it, and find the beauty described by Chogyam Trungpa above. It can be so nuanced, the way we close ourselves off to what is actually going on, how much we can resist what is, because we are so afraid of ...of what exactly? Of space, and of boredom, which is what we seem to project onto our experience of simply being present. Whether in meditation or in our daily lives, we can become so afraid of boredom that we forget it is full of beauty.

For many months I have been eagerly awaiting the opening of a new library branch a mere three blocks from where we live, hoping that the librarian would offer a regular storytime for children. It was finally completed, and I trekked down one day with my two boys to check it out. The library was not yet open to the public but the kind librarian invited us in and gave us a tour of the facilities, which includes a lovely children's area. She was wonderful with my toddler, and he seemed excited to play with the toys and the books. And she informed me that yes, a weekly storytime for toddlers would be offered. I was thrilled, and left that day with much excitement and many promises to my toddler (who didn't want to leave) that we would return the following week for our first storytime.

The day and hour come, and we trek over once again, my toddler very excited. We enter the building and immediately, excitement turns into reluctance. I have to repeatedly coax him just to stay inside. We approach the story circle very slowly, very hesitantly. He backs off, and sits in the middle of the book aisle, refusing to budge. He is on the verge of tears. I continue to coax him, trying to entice him into the circle with the other children, who are happily interacting with one another and the librarian. He instead turns to the puzzle shelf, pulls out a puzzle and begins to point to it insistently, wanting to play with it. Story time begins, with the librarian singing with the children. I continue to try and push him verbally away from the puzzle, and into the cozy happy circle that I want to be in with him. I am beginning to feel the rising energy of frustration and the familiar tiredness that accompanies it. I begin to weave a mental storyline about my young son, about how cautious he is, and what a challenge it can be. How it worries me. How it must be bad, right?? And then I realize . . .that's just it, isn't it? I want to be in that circle. My son doesn't. Why isn't that ok with me? Why can't I just accept him for who he is in this moment? Why can't I accept what he wants to do? And so, I drop it. I drop my storyline, my frustration, my "but I want him to . . ." I stop trying to persuade him to join the others. I unzip the puzzle bag and take out the pieces, and hold my newborn as my eldest happily begins to play with the lovely new puzzle full of trains, trucks and airplanes - his favorite things! My energy returns and I can enjoy him, his baby brother, the sound of the other children singing, responding to the lovely story the librarian is reading. We are outside of the circle, but in our own cozy space.

Not that we must always surrender to our children's wishes - my son doesn't like to go to the doctor either, but obviously, he must do so, and I bring him to her willingly or no. But so often, we seem to hesitate or resist our children because we have a particular agenda for them that blinds us to what they actually need in that moment. When we are busy pursuing our agenda rather than just being with our children, friction occurs and drains us of energy. There is so much we would like to do, to busy ourselves with! And they would prefer to just sit there and read the same story a thousand times or watch that ant crawl up the leaf or do the same puzzle over and over again. We feel the subtle pull away from them, ignoring the incredible richness right there in front of us, that they continue to point out to us again and again. There is so much joy in surrendering to that fullness! Just as in meditation practice, the more we can relax into just being there, whether with our own minds or with our children, the more pure delight begins to inform our experience.

I continue to bring my son to story time, and he continues to prefer to play off to the side with a puzzle. Sometimes he will approach the circle and listen in, but for now he is happier outside of it. And I continue to accept that and delight in his individual exploration of the library. Eventually he will join the circle - or maybe he won't. As long as I continue to surrender to who he is and what he needs, it is all perfect.