Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days’ worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.

Isn’t it a wonderful image? That enlightenment isn’t in words and doing or trying too hard. Perhaps it is in not doing as much, living simply and sometimes taking the time to simply sit comfortably with both legs stretched out.

Even though I love writing about being mindful, my husband reminded me yesterday, that if I was mindful why did I have to do all the extra work I did in spite of having a bad cold and a voice like Mogambo in Mr. India. He was right. I talk about making space to be, and I do it diligently to the best of my ability. I also like getting things done! and accomplishment is one of my favorite things – even if it is sometimes just finishing the grocery shopping or making the dinner. Perhaps that is why I believe in the discipline of a practice: otherwise how would people like me, doers essentially, learn to relax? Even relaxation needs setting aside of time!

And every now and then, we stop trying so hard. We realize we can drop all the stuff we carry and let the world take care of itself. and we can pause to have that hot tea and read poetry and take our time in the shower. We can listen to the night rain and not have to apologize. It helps if we have somebody to remind us that it is okay to do this. This morning, it was Abhi for me. Maybe I can be that for you.

With love, S.

Last evening on a dark cold winter night, on the way to meeting a friend for dinner I realized I had a flat tire. I stopped by the gas station and the kind gentleman who worked there did what he could: he filled up my flat so I could get back home. I would have to wait and see if it held up. My lovely friend Sarah followed me all the way to make sure I got home safe, and then took me out to dinner. And this morning, after calling AAA and getting a spare tire on, I’m waiting at the car service to figure out if I need new tires.

Days like this, when we come face to face with the change, the unpredictability and uncertainty of life in whichever way, our practice comes alive. There is this incredible opportunity to respond rather than react when things don’t go the way we planned. How adaptable are we? And how present? My own mindfulness practice seems to be if I can be in the gas station and be right there and think no more than getting home. When I’m at dinner, to not be anywhere but with my friend- not with the car mechanic or the plans for next day and all that needs to get done. And this morning, to not be anywhere else but here, at the car service waiting.

It’s not like we won’t have thoughts that wish things to be otherwise. Of course it would have been more convenient if I didn’t have a flat at the end of a long day and we didn’t have to change the place we ate last night and so on. But we understand that this is the way things are, right now. They can’t be any other way. And thoughts are simply what they are – thoughts – fleeting. There will be another one before this one even ends…

The more I practice, the more I realize that mindfulness is ordinary. It is being with the washing of dishes, with the brushing of teeth, with the waiting at the car mechanic. It is being in the body when you lift up your arms in a sun salutation or when you see the blue jays outside jumping around from one branch to the other or when you sit with your daughter on the steps, saying two and three. It is the simplest of all practices, it is simply being here.

With love, S.

Or like the mornings when we come down and I put on the Christmas tree lights, and feel her joy in seeing the tree light up, pointing to the snowflakes and the angel on top. Or the moment when the discovery of the teaspoon amidst the array of blocks brings out an exclamation: ‘OOOO’ that makes me smile. Or in the mornings when I’m lying in bed and I can hear her up, playing with Abhi and suddenly, she comes running into the bedroom in a pitter patter of small feet, and says Mama! And as I swing her into bed with me, I feel her utter uncomplicated delight. In these incredible moments, there isn’t a she and there isn’t an I, only a We.

I’m equally aware of the moments when there is a she and there is an I. And the I needs space. I need some time out. I’m tired from the demands of caring for a baby, changing the diapers, running after her to get her to eat, or to not put that paint brush into her mouth. When I’m with a friend and can’t finish my fruit salad with pudding, or when I’m cajoling her to not eat tissue paper and she doesn’t listen and I feel a twinge of irritation. Or sometimes when it takes half hour to get her dressed for the cold because she thinks its a game, and all I really want to do is sit and finish a warm cup of tea by myself and put my legs up, without somebody needing me. The moments when we are out of eggs and bread and milk and we have to do grocery shopping and just thinking of the effort it involves makes me sigh. It’s the moments when she is sick and I have tended to her for what feels like many ages that I desperately want to curl up in bed under the sheets. I’m so tired. These moments, I feel the agony of separation and disconnection from my gudiya and it hurts more than the actual physical fatigue.

This morning reading the lines of Wu Men brings it alive:

‘Moon and clouds are the same
mountain and valley are diffeent
All are blessed; all are blessed.
Is this one or is this two?’

These words make me smile. I don’t think Wu Men was thinking of motherhood when he wrote this, but he has hit that deep place in my heart that knows the truth. Sometimes there is one, and sometimes there is two. That is simply the way it is. This heart moves through it seamlessly. It is the mind that finds a difference.

May we welcome all that comes on this journey.

With Love, S.

2011 was a year of change, not just for me, but for many of us, and through the world. Change involves endings and beginnings, and while endings can be painful to come to terms with, beginnings on the other hand hold such possibilities! Such anticipation and such freedom that comes from not knowing. I hope the new year brings peace, now more than ever, for every one of us, joy beyond anything we have known, comfort of loving friends and family, the support of compassion and the embrace of a Friend – the loving heart. I hope this is the year we surrender our fears and do something we never have before – take a leap of faith. I hope we never question our love for ourselves, and do the things we love. I hope we remember and live our intentions each day. And I hope, when someone mentions the gracefulness of the night sky, we can climb up on the roof and dance and say, Like This, the way Rumi did in ‘Like This’, centuries ago.

May we walk in beauty.

With Love, S.

Buddha is known to have said, ‘I teach one thing and one thing only: suffering and the end of suffering’. I used to always think to myself – but that is two things! Until I realized what he meant. When you know suffering, you also know the end of suffering and vice versa. By being with the pain that life throws at us inevitably, through circumstance or through our mind, we also learn to be with the other side – the joy, the space of the absence of suffering. We learn to be with the love and connection without turning away. We learn to soak in our own goodness and that of others without adding ‘Buts’ to it. We learn to simply flow. When things are hard, it is difficult. But then when things are good, it is great! We can be with both. We can enjoy the spaciousness of right conditions and the absence of sickness or mental turmoil. We can appreciate the peace it brings and the lack of worry, without getting attached to it.

There was a moment last week when I was on my new ipad and during a not-so-random browsing, I saw a job opening. My mind immediately jumped into action, urging me – Now! Do it Now! But because of my intention to be on vacation, I stopped. There is a song on Anjali’s CD from our music class, that goes ‘I stopped, I looked, I listened. Buzzzzzz….It was only the bee buzzing’. My mind was doing its buzzing. I didn’t react to it. Everything could wait a couple more days.

I’m proud of that moment. This small string of moments marks our practice. It is a constant practice but it paves way for living the way we choose to. We have a choice. That to me is freedom.

I have always been a mover. I love yoga, and dance and walks. Moving is essential to my spirit, it is the reminder of the freedom that is so important to me. But I had forgotten to move! No wonder I was in a rut in my practice. My meditation had become a place of escape, and thankfully I was honest enough with myself to acknowledge it. But I didn’t know what to do until I saw the movie.

So, I started doing yoga everyday. The first few days I had the motivation, the movie was still fresh. And then came the familiar resistance – the exhaustion at the end of the day and the effort it needs to do one more thing. But I persisted, I had nothing to lose. I couldn’t possibly get more tired! And that is when I really got to see the incredible power of yoga.

Maybe it is the breathing, the moving, or taking the time for a personal break. I’m starting to find that I’m energized by the practice – a sense of lightness and love for myself starts to make its way. I kept up the yoga through Anjali’s sickness, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the practice. It became my anchor, a sure way of letting go of the negative thoughts, and letting in the gratefulness. Sometimes, like this evening when Anjali was fussing plenty, just the thought that after I put her to bed, I’ll get ‘my time’, even if it is just 20 minutes, lets me get through the day with more equanimity than I would otherwise have.

Mostly though I have kept it up because of support, the support of family and friends. I think of my fellow yogis, friends, kindred bloggers, and women I know who are on this journey like me, of living from the heart. I think of them supporting me as I do them. I’m not alone, none of us are. That is the beauty of life.

As always beloved Rumi has the last word. ‘It’s another beginning, my friend, this waking in a morning with no haze, and help coming without your asking! A glass submerged is turning inside the wine. With grief waved away, sweet gratefulness arrives’.

Maybe we be washed over by this sweet gratefulness that finds us just when we need it,

With Love, S.

It feels like the perfect reminder right now!

With Love, S.

Thanks for all the lovely notes, comments, wishes for Anjali’s recovery. This morning there was a dramatic reduction in her swelling, so she is definitely responding to the medicine. It will take a few days for all of the swelling to go down, and for up to a couple of weeks or more for the rashes to disappear. But meanwhile, she is walking again and excited and very much herself. She says ‘No way’ to any food or drink offered to her so I have to be extremely patient, and resourceful and creative in getting her to eat and drink. She is continuing to give her Teddy kisses, and this morning, we snuggled in bed for a bit, and got a good solid extra hour of sleep.

I can’t help thinking that babies definitely make life much more happening! I haven’t had this much drama in my life as much as in the past year. I haven’t learnt as much either. My birthday was great, with a dear friend stopping by for dinner with yummy food. What I like most about being 32 is that, I have more courage and strength than I ever thought I did. One of the reasons we delayed having a child is that I couldn’t imagine how I would possibly be able to handle my kid being sick. And now I’m doing it, mostly because we have no choice.

In the past few days, I have had thoughts of loneliness, connection, isolation, company, uplifting joy at seeing Anjali get better as well as agony at seeing her rashes and how much in discomfort she is at times. I try my best to be with them, but sometimes it is really hard. The moments that have been most memorable though are, simply holding her in my arms, for a long while, listening to music. Being the active toddler that she is, we haven’t done this since we stopped nursing months ago. It feels nice, to be so connected to some body’s body and to be able to offer solace without actually doing something. I feel grateful for these moments.

Rumi says, ‘this moment, this love, comes to rest in me. Many beings in one being’.’ May Love come to rest in us, through all that we go through as human beings, Love that is uplifting, transforming, life-changing, a choice that we consciously choose during those inevitably difficult moments.

With metta, and a big thank you to all of you, S.

I thought of the last couple of lines this morning, as I looked at Anjali’s splotchy swollen face. She was sweet outside, sweet in. This past week has been so rough for her, and for us. We have been to the emergency room twice, because all of a sudden she couldn’t walk. The first time the diagnosis was toxic synovitis, which is inflammation of the hip, due to a viral type infection. She got better over the weekend. But then she took a turn for the worse yesterday with rashes all over her legs, feet and face, and again unable to walk. We went to ER again, and this time the diagnosis was HSP Vasculitis which is inflammation of the blood vessels that causes the rashes and the joints to swell up. My poor child. I can only imagine her pain. And in the middle of all of this, she has the capacity to stay present – with the pain by crying, but also with the times when there isn’t pain, by playing with Teddy. Teddy, given to her at the hospital, is her new best friend. She has kissed Teddy, and showed me his nose, eyes. She showed my the sky photos on the ceiling of the ER room, and the crows this morning at home. She has the incredible capacity to start over again and again, that has no end. And my challenge right now, is to cultivate this same beginner’s mind, with her on this journey.

So, on my thirty-second birthday, I ask for patience, presence, gratitude and support as we get through this. My friends and family continue to call and email, which has been a life-saver since Abhi is in Dubai right now. My yoga is holding me together as I remember my own needs in all of this. And somehow incredibly, I’m starting to remember to find the moments of space and connection in the midst of turmoil.

May we all have compassion and peace on our journeys. Please hold us in your prayers that Anjali recover completely and soon.

With Love,
Shuba

These lines are from a poem by Stonehouse, a zen monk who lived in the 12th century in China. I love these lines so much. I know exactly what he means in the first three lines. I love solitude, I love the time when I’m by myself and everything is fine. I know my place in this world, and feel deeply rooted to where I am – strong and centered and at peace with things are they are.

And then I open my eyes. I enter this world, of playing the many different roles –a mom, a wife, a friend, a colleague, a teacher, a daughter, a sister, and more. Sometimes I play them gracefully and lightly, but a lot of the time, I see a myriad of emotions come up: impatience, irritation, frustration, judgment, imperfection, reactivity, as much as love, amazement, wonder, freedom, space and gratitude. I push away the first set of emotions and grasp tightly to the second set. But whose judgment am I using? Why is one wrong and the other right? As a human being, will I not experience anger, frustration and jealousy? Can I make room for them so that compassion may arise?

Then perhaps I may have a chance to see deeper that there is something beautiful in everything. Not just in love and peace, but in anger and impatience as well, and for me, this week, in loneliness. When we sit and feel the pain, there is such an aching beauty in it, how loneliness feels utterly desolate and yet is simply passing by, and in the very next moment, it is possible to feel connection. This surprises me to no extent – our capacity for joy and peace and space amidst utter chaos.

Many times, I find myself asking: I have so much! So much to be grateful for. Why the struggle? Why this loneliness? And the answer always comes later: so that I may know that suffering passes. Everything passes. And nothing brings more peace than sitting with one’s own pain.

Poet Hafiz says: Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly. Let it cut more deep. Let if ferment and season you as few human or even divine ingredients can. Something missing in my heart tonight has made my eyes so soft my voice so tender, my need of God absolutely clear…

In loneliness, we seek true companionship – the one that can only be found inside. There are times when I’m aware that I have all the love in this world and still felt lonely – and allowing myself to feel it lets me find the friend inside, the one who knows like nobody else does, what I really need in loneliness.

Waking up and realizing it as a gift only comes by only if we are sleep in the first place. Gratitude for kindness becomes oh so clear after a dark night of judgment. And connection is never more profound as when we have sat with our loneliness. Doing so is when I come to know what Stonehouse means in his last line, when he says that I open my eyes because I love mountains.

With Love, S.