"When we feel squeezed, there's a tendency for mind to become small. We feel miserable, like a victim, like a pathetic, hopeless case. Yet believe it or not, at that moment of hassle or bewilderment or embarrassment, our minds could become bigger. Instead of taking what's occurred as a statement of personal weakness or someone else's power, instead of feeling we are stupid or someone else is unkind, we could drop all the complaints about ourselves and others. We could be there, feeling off guard, not knowing what to do, just hanging out there with the raw and tender energy of the moment. This is the place where we begin to learn the meaning behind the concepts and the words." - Pema Chodron
So, here I am, feeling off guard a lot lately. Having children will do that to a person. Particularly when said children are not behaving in a way that makes you feel or look very good. Toddlers are not invested in making their parents comfortable or relaxed - they are made to explore, adventure, test boundaries, test their bodies, test the WORLD. I have been facing my edge again and again lately, as the boys rampage through a play date or down the store aisle - being faced with the choice of reacting habitually (which can mean in my case, overreacting and freaking out) or to rest with my discomfort, my embarrassment, my bewilderment, my feeling stupid or like a bad mama. Very rich stuff.
When I can touch the latter and stay with it, I can usually react in a way that helps my children and the situation. When I can't stay with those uncomfortable feelings, then I tend to shout or apologize unnecessarily to those around me or simply flee the whole situation with them. Now, sometimes, fleeing with them is truly the sanest thing to do. But even then, why can't I rest with what has just occurred? Why do I instead engage in discursiveness with my little ones, lecturing them or myself aloud, when they really can't understand? Why do I continue to water these little judging seeds, again and again? I can feel myself retracing the groove of suffering, and yet, I somehow cannot refrain at times from digging it deeper.
It's been a bit since I've written here, because I have been very busy with the littles and with the early summer jam making and the daily chaos of living. And I have been contemplating this habitual judging I do, that we all do, and how it hurts us. It's tricky. Judging ourselves, judging others - it's so habitual, that it can be hard to notice. Being around other parents can be raw. It is hard not to compare ourselves, especially if we are newer parents - are they doing it better? Doing it worse? I wouldn't do that - oh, I wish I had thought of that - oh, I wish I could do that! Which leads to - I wish my children were like that - I wish my children weren't like that! Insidious and harmful.
This parenting thing - well, there is no real "getting it right". When we notice that we are judging ourselves, our children, or other parents, we can try and pause. What is the judgment about, really? For me, it is really about fear, fear that I am not really good. It is about doubting my basic sanity. Being basically good doesn't mean you don't mess up. But it does mean not identifying with the mess - but instead moving through it, cleaning it up and coming back to your fundamental nature of awake compassion. Easier said than done. But we can do it, coming back again and again to fresh start, to the present moment that is full of possibilities and space. Then our innate joy can peek out its head. We can laugh at ourselves, at the situation. We can touch into some compassion for ourselves, for our children - for the other parents or children we are judging.
One thing I have definitely learned in parenting is that almost anything I judge another parent or child for doing, I will find myself or my own children doing at a future time, unexpectedly or even by design! I have found the path of meditation to be similar - anything I have judged as wrong in a fellow practitioner - well, I have later discovered that I am guilty of the same thing, as my insight grows clearer! These moments of finding ourselves out, catching ourselves, can be poignant and very fruitful. They tenderize our hearts, helping us to open to others, leading us perhaps to lend the harried mother in the grocery store a helping hand rather than shooting her a dirty look. They can lead us to sit down and give ourselves a break, rather than pushing ourselves through an overly difficult morning with our children while making ourselves wrong for getting mad. We can have some kindness towards each other and this whole messy business of being human. And the kindness can lead us to joy.
When I lived in NYC, I used to like to take the Staten Island Ferry out when I got really stressed and claustrophobic. I would get on the ferry and ride it out into the water, watching Manhattan recede bit by bit, the harbor stretching out between us. It created physical space for me, allowed me some breathing room and perspective. When we find ourselves judging, just being willing to notice and touch our hearts by connecting to our breath can do the same thing. It can create some much needed space, some clear water between our goodness and the shore of our discursive thoughts. We can do this throughout our days. And when all else fails - get outdoors if you can. No matter what the weather. I took my two littles into a pouring rainstorm last week because we were all going a bit mad indoors together. The rain brought us laughter and ventilated our irritation. I was able to stop judging my little ones for their exuberant energy indoors. I was able to stop judging myself for somehow being a "bad" mama, not being able to get my toddlers to "behave". I was able to laugh at the very idea of that.
Wishing you all joy this week and always. Wishing you great love on this parenting path as you feel off guard, and approach your edge, again and again.
Showing posts with label being present. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being present. Show all posts
Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
everybody's in trouble
"Everybody's in trouble. Everybody, every minute, is tortured, suffering a lot. We shouldn't just ignore them and save ourselves alone. That would be a tremendous crime. In fact, we can't just save ourselves, because our neighbors are moaning and groaning all over the place... We can't just try and go to sleep. The rest of the world is going to wake us up with their pain." -Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche
This is a useful quote to contemplate when you are feeling stuck. Stuck in your own stuff, your own obstacles, unable to access a wider view. When we can raise our gaze from our own claustrophobic ruminations, it can be amazing what we see, heart breaking, shaking. It can definitely ventilate our own little situation. This quote came to my mind today when reading a terrible and terribly important article in the New York Times over the debacle of "care" in New York state's institutions for disabled children. I won't link to it, as it is a very triggering piece, containing descriptions of abuse and worse. But it is there if you would like to read it, on their front page. I read it this morning, and wept aloud, as my two little boys played at my feet.
There is so much suffering in the world. How do we not turn away? How do we not turn away when we can't even stay with our own suffering, or that of our children? How do we turn towards it, and stay with it? Because if we can do that, we can maybe, possibly, help someone else. Help our children. Help our family. Our neighbors, our friends, our enemies. Help those who we secretly might believe can't ever be helped. This is our task.
We can learn by helping our children. We can learn by staying with their suffering, holding them when they cry, acknowledge their hurts, large and small, instead of covering them up with the quick "you're ok, you're ok" as we shush and shush. What's that about? That "you're ok?" Is that what we want to hear when we are crying? Someone telling us that we are really alright, that it isn't a big deal?
I had a friend who very tragically lost her husband at a young age, in a very sudden, abrupt way. People tried to make her feel better. They tried to cheer her up, to distract her, to tell her it would be ok. But she wouldn't do it. She wasn't ok. She wasn't going to be ok for awhile. And even then, it would be a different sort of ok, not the kind people mean when they say it. She needed to grieve. She needed to really feel her hurt, her deep, wrenching pain, and to cry. Some friends could not abide it. Some friends dropped her, feeling she was indulging in it. I would go and visit and just sit with her while she cried and cried and cried. I didn't say very much. There wasn't much to say. I just sat, and tried to stay open, until the tears stopped. It wasn't easy. It was scary. Her grief reminded me that everything is impermanent. That none of us can escape pain.
We can breathe with our children, being present with them, noticing when we want to shush them or brush over their hurts, so that we can "get on" with our day. We can instead acknowledge that what is happening, right now, is our day. We can open to our own discomfort with their tears. Acknowledge our own fear, anxiety and old hurts that can be opened when witnessing their pain. We can practice tonglen, or maitri.
This willingness to stay with suffering takes bravery. And we can take this brave heart out into the larger world, and by doing so, our children will in turn trust their own bravery. Everybody is suffering. Everybody, everybody. We can't ignore their pain. As Chogyam Trungpa writes, their pain will wake us up. Once we are able to find the courage to peek out from our own stuckness, our own unwillingness to open, and begin to breathe in some fresh air and relief, we can somehow find a way to bring that same relief to others, in any way we can. It might be a very small way. That's ok. In fact, that is stupendous. Just finding the bravery to hold our children when we would prefer to stifle their tears - that is enormous. Or the bravery to smile at our neighbor. That is huge. Who knows where that step will lead? We are watering the seeds of bravery, compassion, opening. A smile can lead to total transformation.
These little, small seeds we water can grow into mighty trees. Trees that extend the shade of compassion and liberation to many, many beings. Let us practice not turning away. Let us work to stay, just stay, and open, to everybody. To their pain. That can be enough. To just sit there, open, and let their pain in.
This is a useful quote to contemplate when you are feeling stuck. Stuck in your own stuff, your own obstacles, unable to access a wider view. When we can raise our gaze from our own claustrophobic ruminations, it can be amazing what we see, heart breaking, shaking. It can definitely ventilate our own little situation. This quote came to my mind today when reading a terrible and terribly important article in the New York Times over the debacle of "care" in New York state's institutions for disabled children. I won't link to it, as it is a very triggering piece, containing descriptions of abuse and worse. But it is there if you would like to read it, on their front page. I read it this morning, and wept aloud, as my two little boys played at my feet.
There is so much suffering in the world. How do we not turn away? How do we not turn away when we can't even stay with our own suffering, or that of our children? How do we turn towards it, and stay with it? Because if we can do that, we can maybe, possibly, help someone else. Help our children. Help our family. Our neighbors, our friends, our enemies. Help those who we secretly might believe can't ever be helped. This is our task.
We can learn by helping our children. We can learn by staying with their suffering, holding them when they cry, acknowledge their hurts, large and small, instead of covering them up with the quick "you're ok, you're ok" as we shush and shush. What's that about? That "you're ok?" Is that what we want to hear when we are crying? Someone telling us that we are really alright, that it isn't a big deal?
I had a friend who very tragically lost her husband at a young age, in a very sudden, abrupt way. People tried to make her feel better. They tried to cheer her up, to distract her, to tell her it would be ok. But she wouldn't do it. She wasn't ok. She wasn't going to be ok for awhile. And even then, it would be a different sort of ok, not the kind people mean when they say it. She needed to grieve. She needed to really feel her hurt, her deep, wrenching pain, and to cry. Some friends could not abide it. Some friends dropped her, feeling she was indulging in it. I would go and visit and just sit with her while she cried and cried and cried. I didn't say very much. There wasn't much to say. I just sat, and tried to stay open, until the tears stopped. It wasn't easy. It was scary. Her grief reminded me that everything is impermanent. That none of us can escape pain.
We can breathe with our children, being present with them, noticing when we want to shush them or brush over their hurts, so that we can "get on" with our day. We can instead acknowledge that what is happening, right now, is our day. We can open to our own discomfort with their tears. Acknowledge our own fear, anxiety and old hurts that can be opened when witnessing their pain. We can practice tonglen, or maitri.
This willingness to stay with suffering takes bravery. And we can take this brave heart out into the larger world, and by doing so, our children will in turn trust their own bravery. Everybody is suffering. Everybody, everybody. We can't ignore their pain. As Chogyam Trungpa writes, their pain will wake us up. Once we are able to find the courage to peek out from our own stuckness, our own unwillingness to open, and begin to breathe in some fresh air and relief, we can somehow find a way to bring that same relief to others, in any way we can. It might be a very small way. That's ok. In fact, that is stupendous. Just finding the bravery to hold our children when we would prefer to stifle their tears - that is enormous. Or the bravery to smile at our neighbor. That is huge. Who knows where that step will lead? We are watering the seeds of bravery, compassion, opening. A smile can lead to total transformation.
These little, small seeds we water can grow into mighty trees. Trees that extend the shade of compassion and liberation to many, many beings. Let us practice not turning away. Let us work to stay, just stay, and open, to everybody. To their pain. That can be enough. To just sit there, open, and let their pain in.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
if you can practice when distracted, you are well trained
This is another very powerful lojong slogan. It has been coming to mind often lately, as I have been, well, distracted. There have been a multitude of stresses and phenomena that have been pulling at my mind - trying to take it away from the present moment, often successfully.
I have said this many times before here, but it is all in the noticing. As soon as we notice we are distracted, as soon as we notice our mind has been pulled into the past or strayed into the future, we are back. We can only notice in the present moment. We notice, and we are right here, right now, once again. And then we notice if we are judging ourselves for having been lost in the fantasy of past or future. And we are back once again, and gentle once more.
We went to my parents' house for my youngest son's first birthday. We really went up to see my mother, who is slowly dying from multi-symptomatic Parkinson's disease. She has gotten much worse, and we hadn't been in awhile, so it was necessary to go as soon as we could, which coincided with my little love's turning one.
It was a long, hard car ride. My littlest screamed for the last two hours. We were exhausted when we arrived, but felt rejuvenated when we noticed (in the berry bush by my parents' back door), seven (yes, seven!) red cardinals. Their feathers were so vivid against the bare branches covered in snow. It brought us immediately into the now, and perked up our drooping spirits.
I have written before about the chaos in my mother's house due to her illness and the karma of the situation, and it is only getting worse as she gets sicker. So, it was hard. Then, our first night there, I became very ill with a stomach bug. The next day was my son's birthday, but we were unable to celebrate it as I spent the entire day in bed. My husband was left to care for our two little ones, my mother and my father. I was better the next day, but then he was struck with the bug. Then my father became ill, both our boys, and my mother, who ended up having to go to the ER to be rehydrated by IV. It was just a crazy, crazy visit. I had to really generate a lot of energy in order to care for everyone while still sick myself and arrange for more professional care for my mother - new aides to come at night (as we were too sick to feed her and get her to bed), calling doctors, getting the ok to bring her to the ER, arranging for aftercare. Calling social workers, health care agencies and siblings. Dealing with the family neurosis, heightened in these stressful circumstances. Working with my own guilt for getting everyone sick, especially my mother. Feeling disappointed and sad that my little one's first birthday was getting lost and forgotten in all of this life stuff happening. And feeling angry that my mom is dying. Talk about distraction.
Phenomena kept arising, and I kept being presented with the choice to really abide with it and let go of my desires or fight it, push it away, deflect it or try like hell to change it. Every time I chose the latter, the suffering level in the house increased tenfold. When I was able to let go and just be with the constantly changing reality, things were workable. They weren't easy, but they were workable and I could create some sanity. There was some breathing room.
When I resisted things as they are, I felt absolutely crazy and miserable. And what helped me keep coming back to the present moment and working with the circumstances with some level of equanimity and clarity were those beautiful cardinals. My parents' house is surrounded by bushes and bird feeders, which my father fills daily. The house has many windows as well. And there were so many moments each day when I was truly on the verge of losing my mind entirely when I would look out a window and there would be a flaming red cardinal looking back at me from his branch. Each time, it called me back to the now.
The great teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has a beautiful practice at his retreat centers. There is a large meditation gong, really huge, that can be heard, when rung, throughout the grounds and buildings. Throughout the day, every day, this gong is rung once, at various random times. Everyone who hears this gong stops for a moment, no matter what they are doing, and just reconnects to their breath and body. To the present moment. And then they proceed on. We don't need a giant gong to do this in our own lives. We can use whatever we have in our immediate environments to bring us back, no matter what is going on. Perhaps we live on a busy street and car horns often sound. What a wonderful mindfulness bell! Or perhaps crows haunt the parking lot of your workplace - when you notice one of their raucous cries - come back. Your baby crying. Your neighbor's telephone ringing. Your teen's Wii game. The glow of a neon sign. The flicker of a room light. Let these ordinary things bring you back. They are beautiful reminders, always available to us.
Having a well trained mind doesn't mean we don't get crazy or carried away. But it does mean we come back.
When reading about this slogan, I found a teaching by Judy Lief, who presented the following daily practice:
In your practice and during your daily activities, pay particular attention to the points at which you lose your mindfulness. In terms of bodhichitta practice, pay particular attention to the points at which you lose your openness or kindness. Notice the process of losing it and coming back.
This seemed useful for my daily life with children. This is why working with the raw, vivid, messy material of our daily life is so powerful. This is the richest mud for the lotus blossom of awakened heart to blossom in. Wishing you gentleness and good luck with your practice today and always.
I have said this many times before here, but it is all in the noticing. As soon as we notice we are distracted, as soon as we notice our mind has been pulled into the past or strayed into the future, we are back. We can only notice in the present moment. We notice, and we are right here, right now, once again. And then we notice if we are judging ourselves for having been lost in the fantasy of past or future. And we are back once again, and gentle once more.
We went to my parents' house for my youngest son's first birthday. We really went up to see my mother, who is slowly dying from multi-symptomatic Parkinson's disease. She has gotten much worse, and we hadn't been in awhile, so it was necessary to go as soon as we could, which coincided with my little love's turning one.
It was a long, hard car ride. My littlest screamed for the last two hours. We were exhausted when we arrived, but felt rejuvenated when we noticed (in the berry bush by my parents' back door), seven (yes, seven!) red cardinals. Their feathers were so vivid against the bare branches covered in snow. It brought us immediately into the now, and perked up our drooping spirits.
I have written before about the chaos in my mother's house due to her illness and the karma of the situation, and it is only getting worse as she gets sicker. So, it was hard. Then, our first night there, I became very ill with a stomach bug. The next day was my son's birthday, but we were unable to celebrate it as I spent the entire day in bed. My husband was left to care for our two little ones, my mother and my father. I was better the next day, but then he was struck with the bug. Then my father became ill, both our boys, and my mother, who ended up having to go to the ER to be rehydrated by IV. It was just a crazy, crazy visit. I had to really generate a lot of energy in order to care for everyone while still sick myself and arrange for more professional care for my mother - new aides to come at night (as we were too sick to feed her and get her to bed), calling doctors, getting the ok to bring her to the ER, arranging for aftercare. Calling social workers, health care agencies and siblings. Dealing with the family neurosis, heightened in these stressful circumstances. Working with my own guilt for getting everyone sick, especially my mother. Feeling disappointed and sad that my little one's first birthday was getting lost and forgotten in all of this life stuff happening. And feeling angry that my mom is dying. Talk about distraction.
Phenomena kept arising, and I kept being presented with the choice to really abide with it and let go of my desires or fight it, push it away, deflect it or try like hell to change it. Every time I chose the latter, the suffering level in the house increased tenfold. When I was able to let go and just be with the constantly changing reality, things were workable. They weren't easy, but they were workable and I could create some sanity. There was some breathing room.
When I resisted things as they are, I felt absolutely crazy and miserable. And what helped me keep coming back to the present moment and working with the circumstances with some level of equanimity and clarity were those beautiful cardinals. My parents' house is surrounded by bushes and bird feeders, which my father fills daily. The house has many windows as well. And there were so many moments each day when I was truly on the verge of losing my mind entirely when I would look out a window and there would be a flaming red cardinal looking back at me from his branch. Each time, it called me back to the now.
The great teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has a beautiful practice at his retreat centers. There is a large meditation gong, really huge, that can be heard, when rung, throughout the grounds and buildings. Throughout the day, every day, this gong is rung once, at various random times. Everyone who hears this gong stops for a moment, no matter what they are doing, and just reconnects to their breath and body. To the present moment. And then they proceed on. We don't need a giant gong to do this in our own lives. We can use whatever we have in our immediate environments to bring us back, no matter what is going on. Perhaps we live on a busy street and car horns often sound. What a wonderful mindfulness bell! Or perhaps crows haunt the parking lot of your workplace - when you notice one of their raucous cries - come back. Your baby crying. Your neighbor's telephone ringing. Your teen's Wii game. The glow of a neon sign. The flicker of a room light. Let these ordinary things bring you back. They are beautiful reminders, always available to us.
Having a well trained mind doesn't mean we don't get crazy or carried away. But it does mean we come back.
When reading about this slogan, I found a teaching by Judy Lief, who presented the following daily practice:
In your practice and during your daily activities, pay particular attention to the points at which you lose your mindfulness. In terms of bodhichitta practice, pay particular attention to the points at which you lose your openness or kindness. Notice the process of losing it and coming back.
This seemed useful for my daily life with children. This is why working with the raw, vivid, messy material of our daily life is so powerful. This is the richest mud for the lotus blossom of awakened heart to blossom in. Wishing you gentleness and good luck with your practice today and always.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
love everything and never doubt
Consume this hesitation of not knowing.
Never doubt,
Only walk forward.
Love everything,
For that is why you are here.
~Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche
Why do we find it so difficult to love? How can we raise our children to love themselves, other beings, and the world? I think this is my most important task as a parent. And in nurturing this love in my children, it will be nurtured in me as well.
Again, doubt is an obstacle to this love. We don't love ourselves fully. We don't trust the world, not really. Definitely not other beings. Maybe not even our children. They disappoint us. They show their unique humanness. They have needs. It makes us uncomfortable. It drains us. It challenges us, sometimes too much. They don't look the way we thought they would, don't act the way we think they should, have different tastes, different ideas than our own. How to accept them? How to accept the messiness of other beings? Especially of those beings who we have actively invited into our lives?
Or maybe we just doubt that we are able love in such a way. Maybe we don't trust our own capacity to open to others and the world. We don't think we are that good. Or that our hearts can be that big.
We need to start with ourselves. With accepting our own messiness, our own needs, our own wayward desires. It's ok. This being human business is chaotic. But it is also beautiful, magical and incredible. The muscle to work is appreciation. Appreciation of things as they are. How do we cultivate that? By pausing, opening and relaxing. We have to allow ourselves to pause in all of our busyness, all of our feeling hassledness, all of our irritability and just notice. Notice what is arising in your mind. Just notice it - don't do anything with it. Let it fade away naturally. Take in the space where you are. Notice what is around you. Maybe a sunbeam is shining in the window. Maybe the dust bunny on the floor resembles an elephant. Maybe you can hear the far off sound of a bus horn and it just brings you right here, right now, almost breaking your heart in its vividness. And that opening to the now, is also allowing your heart to open. It can't stay closed. If you still feel shut down, closed off, just notice that too. Don't judge it. That will pass as well. We can just notice our breath, going in and out, in and out. How wonderful that is. That we are here, breathing. It is a small miracle really, this human form.
I was noticing lately that I have been comparing my youngest son to my eldest. Saying aloud sometimes, "Gee, R never did that at your age." or "Wow, I never had to watch R like I do you." And I realized that in that comparing, I wasn't really allowing my youngest to fully express himself. Part of me was rejecting him, however subtly, because he was different from my eldest. I was projecting certain expectations onto him from my prior experience, rather than just being with him, relating to him openly and cleanly.
So I am working on being mindful of my comparisons. I am working on loving him just as he is, who he is, in all his unique basic goodness. We sometimes think if we follow the path of mindfulness we become almost zombie-like - clean slates without personality. But really, being present and fully accepting ourselves and others means creating a space where all our unique quirkiness can really shine out - our own unique ways of expressing our sanity and brilliance.
This is what I am working on. Loving everything. Moving beyond doubt. Moving beyond means noticing when I do doubt. And breathing through it. I was going to write a post today on mindfulness practices to do with young children, but this arose instead. Love.
Never doubt,
Only walk forward.
Love everything,
For that is why you are here.
~Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche
Why do we find it so difficult to love? How can we raise our children to love themselves, other beings, and the world? I think this is my most important task as a parent. And in nurturing this love in my children, it will be nurtured in me as well.
Again, doubt is an obstacle to this love. We don't love ourselves fully. We don't trust the world, not really. Definitely not other beings. Maybe not even our children. They disappoint us. They show their unique humanness. They have needs. It makes us uncomfortable. It drains us. It challenges us, sometimes too much. They don't look the way we thought they would, don't act the way we think they should, have different tastes, different ideas than our own. How to accept them? How to accept the messiness of other beings? Especially of those beings who we have actively invited into our lives?
Or maybe we just doubt that we are able love in such a way. Maybe we don't trust our own capacity to open to others and the world. We don't think we are that good. Or that our hearts can be that big.
We need to start with ourselves. With accepting our own messiness, our own needs, our own wayward desires. It's ok. This being human business is chaotic. But it is also beautiful, magical and incredible. The muscle to work is appreciation. Appreciation of things as they are. How do we cultivate that? By pausing, opening and relaxing. We have to allow ourselves to pause in all of our busyness, all of our feeling hassledness, all of our irritability and just notice. Notice what is arising in your mind. Just notice it - don't do anything with it. Let it fade away naturally. Take in the space where you are. Notice what is around you. Maybe a sunbeam is shining in the window. Maybe the dust bunny on the floor resembles an elephant. Maybe you can hear the far off sound of a bus horn and it just brings you right here, right now, almost breaking your heart in its vividness. And that opening to the now, is also allowing your heart to open. It can't stay closed. If you still feel shut down, closed off, just notice that too. Don't judge it. That will pass as well. We can just notice our breath, going in and out, in and out. How wonderful that is. That we are here, breathing. It is a small miracle really, this human form.
I was noticing lately that I have been comparing my youngest son to my eldest. Saying aloud sometimes, "Gee, R never did that at your age." or "Wow, I never had to watch R like I do you." And I realized that in that comparing, I wasn't really allowing my youngest to fully express himself. Part of me was rejecting him, however subtly, because he was different from my eldest. I was projecting certain expectations onto him from my prior experience, rather than just being with him, relating to him openly and cleanly.
So I am working on being mindful of my comparisons. I am working on loving him just as he is, who he is, in all his unique basic goodness. We sometimes think if we follow the path of mindfulness we become almost zombie-like - clean slates without personality. But really, being present and fully accepting ourselves and others means creating a space where all our unique quirkiness can really shine out - our own unique ways of expressing our sanity and brilliance.
This is what I am working on. Loving everything. Moving beyond doubt. Moving beyond means noticing when I do doubt. And breathing through it. I was going to write a post today on mindfulness practices to do with young children, but this arose instead. Love.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
pay attention
I have been on blogging light setting all week due to some very cranky babes. I had the good fortune this weekend of a whole day of practice and teachings, thanks to my lovely in-laws who came up from the city to babysit while my husband and I did this short retreat. So, I have some contemplations to share in the coming days. In the meantime, while things percolate a bit, here is a link to a nice short piece on the gift of our attention. This gift of our attention is so simple, yet so potent for us and for our children. Why do we find it so hard to do sometimes?
Sunday, December 19, 2010
the gift of presence
Just a nice link to a little article on giving our children what they most desire - ourselves, present and authentic. Authentic because we are really just right here, right now with them. I would only add that by practicing mindfulness with our families, we are more able to be fully available to them. The more we can notice when we are not truly present with our children, and then bring ourselves back, the more this gift will be part of our daily lives with our families.
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