I love to read about Buddhism but when I pray I'm calling on God. I'm thinking of God. I created a sanctuary space not long ago for sacred words and images, quotes and books and music. A place to do some yoga, sit for a minute, reflect or journal. I don't have to decide if the water in an ocean is better than the water in a lake before dipping my toes into both. So, my toes travel a lot through spiritual and religious traditions.
Anyhow, my favorite reading of late is from Sharon Salzberg's Loving Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness. There's a paragraph that reads like this on page 24-25:
"Once, when someone described to the Dalai Lama how much fear they were experiencing in their meditation practice, he said, "When you're afraid, just put your head in the lap of the Buddha." The lap of the Buddha epitomizes the safety of a true friendship. The culmination of metta is to become such a friend to oneself and all of life."
As my daughter says, "I don't like it Mama. I love it!"
Friday, March 23, 2007
This and That
Lunch with My Daughter
Though I've been a stay-at-home mother for three and a half years now, I can honestly say that yesterday is the first day my daughter and I went out to lunch. We've eaten together, been together at lunch in public and at home. But yesterday, after an appointment and before pre-school, we had an hour. We went to lunch.
She sat across the table from me. She did not climb over or under the table. She drank from her own cup and had her own meal. She talked. She colored. I talked. I day dreamed. I paid. I didn't cut her food. She didn't spill her drink. I didn't pull her coat up and off of the rug. She didn't ask me to carry her in or out or sit on my lap. We sat there at a booth where we ate lunch together. It was bittersweet. She's growing up. It's wonderful. She's growing up. It's sad. I miss my baby. I love my girl.
Black is a "boy's color" according to my daughter. "I like a boy's color," she confesses while painting with black. I'm not sure if I tried, "Why do you think it's a boy's color?" before saying, "There are no colors belonging to either gender."
My friends all laughed because my daughter practically bathes in the color pink. I wanted all green and yellow clothes at the baby shower. Hey, we were open to adopting a boy or a girl and there are SOME babies who are boys and in orphanages in China and besides, why did a girl always have to wear pink. Two weeks of "How old is he?" and I was practically french braiding her bald spots. Inexplicable even to me.
No green. I'm a liar. I had decided it was important to celebrate all our cultural traditions. But still, no corn beef and cabbage in this house on St. Patrick's Day. Even worse, I didn't wear green. I did get nostalgic about the Shamrock shakes, think about the Irish names on both sides of my family but there was no green even in the grass around here last week. My babysitter called me on it having seen the transformation of our home for Chinese New Year. Oh yeah, other cultural traditions? Well, tomorrow we're going to a festival where we'll learn about and celebrate the Kaz culture. I'm excited.
One of Kai's friends, who is very curious about adoption and why families are different sizes asked me on Weds. why there are so many kids in the world. Where there are people there are kids. I couldn't get under what he was really asking. Maybe there wasn't another question that day. Maybe the answer was o.k. It felt like words got said but we missed the real conversation. An image came on a t.v. or something. Why can't public spaces be t.v. free? I don't care what people do in their homes and mini-vans but I despise seeing t.v.'s in the mall. I feel old fashioned but I'm thinking, "Stop blasting me with images," - it feels an intrusion.
Though I've been a stay-at-home mother for three and a half years now, I can honestly say that yesterday is the first day my daughter and I went out to lunch. We've eaten together, been together at lunch in public and at home. But yesterday, after an appointment and before pre-school, we had an hour. We went to lunch.
She sat across the table from me. She did not climb over or under the table. She drank from her own cup and had her own meal. She talked. She colored. I talked. I day dreamed. I paid. I didn't cut her food. She didn't spill her drink. I didn't pull her coat up and off of the rug. She didn't ask me to carry her in or out or sit on my lap. We sat there at a booth where we ate lunch together. It was bittersweet. She's growing up. It's wonderful. She's growing up. It's sad. I miss my baby. I love my girl.
Black is a "boy's color" according to my daughter. "I like a boy's color," she confesses while painting with black. I'm not sure if I tried, "Why do you think it's a boy's color?" before saying, "There are no colors belonging to either gender."
My friends all laughed because my daughter practically bathes in the color pink. I wanted all green and yellow clothes at the baby shower. Hey, we were open to adopting a boy or a girl and there are SOME babies who are boys and in orphanages in China and besides, why did a girl always have to wear pink. Two weeks of "How old is he?" and I was practically french braiding her bald spots. Inexplicable even to me.
No green. I'm a liar. I had decided it was important to celebrate all our cultural traditions. But still, no corn beef and cabbage in this house on St. Patrick's Day. Even worse, I didn't wear green. I did get nostalgic about the Shamrock shakes, think about the Irish names on both sides of my family but there was no green even in the grass around here last week. My babysitter called me on it having seen the transformation of our home for Chinese New Year. Oh yeah, other cultural traditions? Well, tomorrow we're going to a festival where we'll learn about and celebrate the Kaz culture. I'm excited.
One of Kai's friends, who is very curious about adoption and why families are different sizes asked me on Weds. why there are so many kids in the world. Where there are people there are kids. I couldn't get under what he was really asking. Maybe there wasn't another question that day. Maybe the answer was o.k. It felt like words got said but we missed the real conversation. An image came on a t.v. or something. Why can't public spaces be t.v. free? I don't care what people do in their homes and mini-vans but I despise seeing t.v.'s in the mall. I feel old fashioned but I'm thinking, "Stop blasting me with images," - it feels an intrusion.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
I'm Sick of THE SECRET
O.k., so I bought the book. I bought the book because someone in my writing group has been transformed by this book and video. She is so motivated, passionate and action-oriented. She is feeling positive and alive and driven. I'm so happy for her and impressed.
Since I have never been accused of being an optimistic, since I did find the Oprah shows on The Secret interesting, since I am trying to be more open minded at 40 - well, I gave it a shot.
Here's my truth. I am a person who WANTS to be complicated, who embraces the full range of emotions. I am not going to shut out every non-manifesting positive thought in the hopes of attaining more stuff in my life. It's not that I think perky and happy people are less socially conscious, though I admit that is a fear, as once one suffers it does seem to make them a touch more sympathetic to the suffering of others. But, with more energy, focus and drive, who wouldn't be even more of a helper to the world? Oprah may spend a lot of money on fine sheets but she certainly uses her wealth to make change as well. It seems possible for some to be living an abundant life AND socially aware.
Not me. I am not comfortable saying some thoughts and emotions are acceptable and some aren't, that while there are people who are magnets to crisis - they "attracted" it and that a failure to succeed is a failure to manifest with the imagination. I do not think starving babies have a failure of imagination or that their parents are not well acquainted with the secret.
However, I'm happy that some people find a dose of optimism and I admit that a focus on gratitude is necessary and life-changing. However, I spent my childhood denying and having to deny neglect, abuse and trying to focus on what we did have. It did not make people in my life more optimistic but more oblivious. So, for me, it is a radical political act to be honest and truthful about the good, bad and the ugly. And for me, some of my most painful experiences have informed my sharing from the heart, my volunteer work based not on feeling bad for others in a patronizing way but feeling bad with others and knowing how bad it feels to not have what one needs.
When I am in pain or am struggling I do need validation and not a perky pep talk. As soon as I allow the truth of what I feel in and can voice it, it begins a natural and organic transformation. Deny it and it stays underground and gets bigger and bigger until an ugly mood seems to be swimming in the blood coursing through my body. Nope. My secret is to be more accepting, to allow more and then to let go. And to try to be more grateful for what is already glorious and perfect which of course is everything!
Since I have never been accused of being an optimistic, since I did find the Oprah shows on The Secret interesting, since I am trying to be more open minded at 40 - well, I gave it a shot.
Here's my truth. I am a person who WANTS to be complicated, who embraces the full range of emotions. I am not going to shut out every non-manifesting positive thought in the hopes of attaining more stuff in my life. It's not that I think perky and happy people are less socially conscious, though I admit that is a fear, as once one suffers it does seem to make them a touch more sympathetic to the suffering of others. But, with more energy, focus and drive, who wouldn't be even more of a helper to the world? Oprah may spend a lot of money on fine sheets but she certainly uses her wealth to make change as well. It seems possible for some to be living an abundant life AND socially aware.
Not me. I am not comfortable saying some thoughts and emotions are acceptable and some aren't, that while there are people who are magnets to crisis - they "attracted" it and that a failure to succeed is a failure to manifest with the imagination. I do not think starving babies have a failure of imagination or that their parents are not well acquainted with the secret.
However, I'm happy that some people find a dose of optimism and I admit that a focus on gratitude is necessary and life-changing. However, I spent my childhood denying and having to deny neglect, abuse and trying to focus on what we did have. It did not make people in my life more optimistic but more oblivious. So, for me, it is a radical political act to be honest and truthful about the good, bad and the ugly. And for me, some of my most painful experiences have informed my sharing from the heart, my volunteer work based not on feeling bad for others in a patronizing way but feeling bad with others and knowing how bad it feels to not have what one needs.
When I am in pain or am struggling I do need validation and not a perky pep talk. As soon as I allow the truth of what I feel in and can voice it, it begins a natural and organic transformation. Deny it and it stays underground and gets bigger and bigger until an ugly mood seems to be swimming in the blood coursing through my body. Nope. My secret is to be more accepting, to allow more and then to let go. And to try to be more grateful for what is already glorious and perfect which of course is everything!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Sick is No Fun
If you sipped coffee, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner and all that you took in stayed on the inside of your body you had a better day than I. Let me just take a moment to thank my belly for all of the days it works so well. I have taken this for granted and a stomach flu brought me to a hunching walk and barely able to move from the couch.
I have prided myself on being the girl who drinks pickle juice, goes on rides that make teenagers think twice and who can, well, pack away a meal. But, today I was that one who feels oogy and woozy and flu-ish and ICK. My husband was home because he had the flu. Not a stomach flu but the flu where you have shivers so hard it looks like an aerobic activity.
Our daughter LOVES "Ohana time" with the family and thought of it as a fun day at home. None of us dressed today. We did take turns feeding and entertaining our child but we never made it out of the house or into clothes. I'd complain more but a tear friend ended up in the hospital with a much more vicious strain of this stomach bug and I so feel for her. She's home now but it was a LONG night for her. At least my husband and I could take turns napping, taking temperatures and being the sick one and and the caregiver.
Conversation went from talking about my dreams of Al Gore who was so sad about the environment and losing the election, discussing poor staffing at hospitals where my friend didn't even get a private bathroom while being sick as a dog so had to be in the hallway to then discussing which American Idol contestant looks like a Backyardigan.
I really knew I was sick when my daughter wanted to sew a craft and I said sure and showed her how. I don't really sew. I'm not known for my domestic side which makes my being a stay-at-home feminist kind of funny. I am not a person you would have thought would be home. I did not know I would be home. I had no idea how exhausting it was to pay attention. Apparently, sorry former co-workers, I used to work hard but not pay much attention to others. I am sure I listened adequately but the kind of paying attention and being 'on" that a parent has to do is something I had no idea about. But, since sitting was the most I could manage today, and since I was weak, when my daughter asked me to help her thread a needle I did. She was so proud to have sewed all by herself. "I'm a big girl now" is what she says several times a day while still asking for me to feed her a bottle so she can be a baby.
Yesterday she told me that she didn't want to share my lap, that it was hers, and that she didn't like how I had held my friend's baby the day before. We talked. I couldn't promise that I'd never hold another baby but could reassure her that no other child sitting in my lap would be her, be my daughter or take HER place. Kids are so honest. I'm so glad she tells me how she feels. I can't believe four-year olds have so many feelings.
Anyhow, our girl was so kind to her sickly and paler than usual parental figures today. She only jumped on my belly a few times and needed the "love shouldn't hurt" talk a few times. She was so understanding when I couldn't play play-doh because it smelled too strong.
I am a mother through adoption so I wonder how the heck single parents do it, how women deal with pregnancy while parenting one or more do it, how on earth couples manage when both have chronic health issues do any kind of parenting and managing.
Feeling more like a human on this end of the day but am SO SO SO SO SO grateful and am hoping that when I sip water tomorrow, I sip and I swallow as opposed to sipping and waiting, sipping and waiting. Hopes and gratitudes get simple, clear and small when I don't feel well. So often I take the gift of decent health for granted. While I'd rather be more grateful WHILE healthy, I'll take the gratitude. Thank you stomach for all those countless days where I didn't once even think than you!
I have prided myself on being the girl who drinks pickle juice, goes on rides that make teenagers think twice and who can, well, pack away a meal. But, today I was that one who feels oogy and woozy and flu-ish and ICK. My husband was home because he had the flu. Not a stomach flu but the flu where you have shivers so hard it looks like an aerobic activity.
Our daughter LOVES "Ohana time" with the family and thought of it as a fun day at home. None of us dressed today. We did take turns feeding and entertaining our child but we never made it out of the house or into clothes. I'd complain more but a tear friend ended up in the hospital with a much more vicious strain of this stomach bug and I so feel for her. She's home now but it was a LONG night for her. At least my husband and I could take turns napping, taking temperatures and being the sick one and and the caregiver.
Conversation went from talking about my dreams of Al Gore who was so sad about the environment and losing the election, discussing poor staffing at hospitals where my friend didn't even get a private bathroom while being sick as a dog so had to be in the hallway to then discussing which American Idol contestant looks like a Backyardigan.
I really knew I was sick when my daughter wanted to sew a craft and I said sure and showed her how. I don't really sew. I'm not known for my domestic side which makes my being a stay-at-home feminist kind of funny. I am not a person you would have thought would be home. I did not know I would be home. I had no idea how exhausting it was to pay attention. Apparently, sorry former co-workers, I used to work hard but not pay much attention to others. I am sure I listened adequately but the kind of paying attention and being 'on" that a parent has to do is something I had no idea about. But, since sitting was the most I could manage today, and since I was weak, when my daughter asked me to help her thread a needle I did. She was so proud to have sewed all by herself. "I'm a big girl now" is what she says several times a day while still asking for me to feed her a bottle so she can be a baby.
Yesterday she told me that she didn't want to share my lap, that it was hers, and that she didn't like how I had held my friend's baby the day before. We talked. I couldn't promise that I'd never hold another baby but could reassure her that no other child sitting in my lap would be her, be my daughter or take HER place. Kids are so honest. I'm so glad she tells me how she feels. I can't believe four-year olds have so many feelings.
Anyhow, our girl was so kind to her sickly and paler than usual parental figures today. She only jumped on my belly a few times and needed the "love shouldn't hurt" talk a few times. She was so understanding when I couldn't play play-doh because it smelled too strong.
I am a mother through adoption so I wonder how the heck single parents do it, how women deal with pregnancy while parenting one or more do it, how on earth couples manage when both have chronic health issues do any kind of parenting and managing.
Feeling more like a human on this end of the day but am SO SO SO SO SO grateful and am hoping that when I sip water tomorrow, I sip and I swallow as opposed to sipping and waiting, sipping and waiting. Hopes and gratitudes get simple, clear and small when I don't feel well. So often I take the gift of decent health for granted. While I'd rather be more grateful WHILE healthy, I'll take the gratitude. Thank you stomach for all those countless days where I didn't once even think than you!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)