Like Sands Through the Hourglass

Today is my 59th birthday. It's not a milestone number, but in reality I'm entering my 60th year of life. So I have a birthday wish, and since I didn't wish it while blowing out birthday candles I can say it here. 

Dear Life,

For my birthday, I would like to ask for 30 more years of healthy living. There is so much to see and do: people to serve, books to read, a child to raise, a husband to retire with, art to make. And by healthy living, I mean in a condition where I can do activities of daily living, can read and hear (with aids if needed), some hiking and travel, without moderate to severe pain, and with any chronic medical issues managed and controlled. I know this is very specific, but I figure if I am asking you for this, it would help to be as clear as possible. 

With deep gratitude,

Aenigma

One Book, Many Books

 "And then, when she's finished and the book ventures out into the world, the readers take their turn, and here another kind of comingling occurs. Because the reader is not a passive receptacle for a book's content. Not at all. You are our collaborators, our conspirators, breathing new life into us. And because every reader is unique, each of you makes each of us mean differently, regardless of what's written on our pages. Thus, one book, when read by different readers, becomes different books, becomes an ever-changing array of books that flows through human consciousness like a wave. Pro captu lectoris habent sua fata libelli. According to the capabilities of the reader, books have their own destinies."

                --Ruth Ozeki, The Book of Form and Emptiness

 

The Alphabet of Right Now

I want to write, but my thoughts wander off like toddlers. So I'm borrowing a technique from a friend.

A - Air conditioning: so very grateful for it, despite that it's not strong enough to cool the upstairs.

B - Birthday: mine is coming up, and for the first time in my life I feel disinterest in acknowledging or celebrating in any way.

C - Covid: no longer has my child in its grip, and Hub and I managed to evade it.

D - Dinner: will I cook tonight? Yesterday it was 102, just too hot.

E - Elusive: my motivation to create.

F - Fruit: enjoying this season's cherries, strawberries, blackberries.

G - Gender: an ever-present topic in the household, discussions driven by my child.

H- Household: it needs attention, particularly the cobwebs.

I - Ice Cream: what I had for dinner yesterday.

J - Joints: a little creaky today.

K - Klondike bar: mint chocolate chip, "making squares cool since 1922."

L - Lonely & Letters: feeling it around the edges of my life, writing snail mail to friends.

M - Monterey: new OS upgrade on my Mac, which has nifty features (or so it claims).

N - Nighttime: so enjoying how late it descends this time of year.

O - Observing: a practice I enjoy; right now out my window I observe a crow preening its wings as it sits at the top of a tree.

P - Purging: wanting to clear out bookshelves and closets.

Q - Quilt: trying to decide to let go of one used by my mother in childhood, to which I have no attachment and am tired of storing it in the closet.

R - Reading: voraciously, read 11 books in the last two weeks.

S - Sound: noticing the cries of crows, the tap of the keys, my husband talking in a meeting, my tinnitus ever-present.

T - Temperature: intensely hot weather, bleaching life of energy.

U - Ukraine: still at war, struggling.

V - Voluminous: how I'm feeling lately.

W - Water: lovely, cold, lifegiving; being sure to water trees and potted plants in the heat.

X - Xenolith: I had to look this up; a rock fragment within a rock; X is a difficult letter.

Y - Yes: what to I want to say "yes" to?

Z - Zazen: doing it regularly, and it's hard as ever.

The Meaning of the Tag Lines

Here's an explanation about the taglines -- they are instructions to myself.

In July 2019 I made a commitment to myself to actually do my meditation practice daily. Up to that point, I waffled and paid lip service. I lowered the bar on daily meditation and decided that deliberately pausing for at least one minute counted. But I had to do it every day, and not fool myself. To give myself a visual reminder of this commitment, I had three small silver rings made with one of those statements on each. 

On the inside of each ring is a Buddhist word related to it -- a "secret message" to myself.

• Do your practice - shikantaza, which is the Japanese translation for the Chinese term zazen, which means "just sitting."

• Attention is love - samadhi, a Sanskrit word that means non-distracted awareness. My teacher often says, "What you pay attention to grows."

• Listen to silence - bodhi svaha, the last words of the Heart Sutra, meaning awakening call (I read it's like amen. Of note is that bodhi is a feminine noun.) Meditation is silent awareness. That itself is enlightenment!

I used Insight Timer to meditate, which I find motivating because I can see the dailiness of it, and it reinforces my discipline. And for two years, I did keep my commitment to daily sitting. Then I decided Insight Timer was a crutch and I "should" just be able to sit without it. That experiment failed, and after a few months I decided that whatever supported my practice was acceptable! I am back to daily sitting. A colleague calls it "the holy pause."

Prayer Doesn't Work; Praying Does

Denise Levertov writes: 

“With what radiant joy he turns to you, and raises you to your feet, and strokes your disheveled hair, and holds you, holds you, holds you close and tenderly—before he vanishes.” 

The homie Garry says, “God is the intake of breath and we are the exhaling of it. So… we need to take every breath personally.” Prayer is as sustaining as a breath and not a plea to God to keep us safe from dangers and temptations or begging for favors. For example: “God answers knee-mails.” Prayer doesn’t work; praying does. Not sure how else we breathe in the God of unfathomable compassion if not by our own spiritual practice and silent solitude. This allows us to land on God’s oceanic shore and it organizes things for us.

The Whole Language: The Power of Extravagant Tenderness
by Gregory Boyle

Confession

I have a confession. I was not enthusiastic about going camping. We began doing it when G was four, and I've loved it. I grew up camping, and many of my favorite memories are of those trips. Once we arrive and settle in, it's lovely. But there is a lot of prep beforehand, especially with food. H likes to seal food well so it stays sanitary in the cooler, and we try to bring all that we need from the beginning. This year, H and I have new dietary considerations which required us to reconfigure the menu. I felt so much resistance to doing all this. And yet it was going to be camping with friends, one of the first times in years, something H has longed for. And camping is H's relaxation. It's where he rests and becomes refreshed. It's really critical for his health. G loves going. But when G came down sick, a part of me was relieved. I don't feel very friendly toward myself about that. 

This begs the perennial question: why do I resist and avoid actions that support my well-being? I feel better when I walk daily, eat healthy, go camping, talk with friends, make art -- but I do not do them! About the only thing I consistently do that I know is good for me is read books. Sometimes I even use reading as a form of escape or hiding. I did that for years. Reading is as vital to me as breathing.

Returning to work in the profession I abandoned 18 years ago has been rejuvenating. I love doing it. And I don't resist it. Is it because I am paid for it? In part, yes. There is something gratifying about providing service that others value and recognize. But it's also because it makes me happy to do this work. It uses my gifts. It allows me to engage intimately with people. Even more so, I love doing this work because I know I am good at it, and I am equipped to do it. What I didn't grok 18 years ago at the start of the career is something I understand now in my being: I am enough. Knowing this gives confidence, clarity, an affirmation of what is called appropriate entitlement. And finally, I am able to do to consistently because I know other people depend on me to show up.

Doing this work with others brings me to a place or state similar to when I make art: wholly engaged, vibrant, in flow, aligned with the universe. I also engage this state when writing, though somewhat less so, because writing requires fumbling around a bit more. Reading brings me to this state as well, but not with the same presence. Reading is a form of consumption and creation, but the work is entirely internal. Hmm. I feel I am on the verge of understanding something for myself, but need to percolate a bit more.

A Fresh Start

I've been blogging in one form or another since 2002 -- good lord, that's 20 years. Alas, my profession requires I separate personal from professional, so I have made this blog somewhat anonymous. However, it's unlikely that anyone will really read this. Mostly I need a place to talk to myself -- and sometimes to talk to my child indirectly -- just to have someplace to put thoughts. My child is a teenager, and teens don't like to be lectured or have problems solved. But I need to put that energy somewhere, as writing helps me sort myself. Hence the blog title.

We've had a very anticlimactic beginning of summer break. On the last day of school, having avoided it for two years (one being in-person), G catches Covid. Ugh. And we were to go on a 10-day camping trip two days later. That's off the table now. Much sadness all around. Having spent the past week monitoring and leaving food outside their bedroom door, I'm feeling hopeful that G is healing. Still testing positive, but less coughing. Hopefully in a couple days we can end isolation and let G hang out in the rest of the house with a mask. H and I have been masked indoors all week, and hang in out separate rooms, and sleep apart. Just to be extra careful.

I was also supposed to fly to a retreat June 22 for a few days. That's been scotched as well. I don't want to bring any germies to the sangha. So I've been kind of resistant the past few days, pouty and sullen. It's easy to get caught up in fearful thoughts, to tell a story of lack and loss and loneliness. 

However, in this moment, here is what is true: I am sitting on an Adirondack chair on my backyard patio, tapping away on my laptop. The trees sway in the wind, having a vigorous debate as cool dusk settles in. My pet rabbit is munching grass (a carbon neutral lawnmower), and the pair of crows who supervise the yard drink from the birdbath. I hear H puttering in the kitchen. I hear G occasionally laugh from their bedroom, watching something funny on Tiktok; they've been handling isolation pretty well. I Zoomed with two friends today, which boosted my mood. So there is actually abundance and grace and company.