How much we take for granted…

Here is part of a piece I wrote based on Joni Cole’s prompt at the ‘prompt and pinot workshop’, finally getting a chance to post…

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Sometimes it amazes me how much we tend to sleep through and take for granted. I come down in the morning ready with a critical eye of what needs to be cleaned up from last night, and how much paint from ‘blue blue’ yesterday – our painting session with eighteen-month old Anji (who I convince myself is a budding Picasso) is on the hardwood floor. But every now and then, I stop. I look around at my home – and it hits me. This realization that we created this home, this space, Abhi and I, we started this family. We came here from a land far away, went through the immigrant experience and all else that life threw at us this past ten years. And all of this adds to the beauty of now, this moment, this sweet hand tugging at my pants asking for ‘dudu’ and ‘cracker’.

Some days are crappy, and I forget. I get enmeshed in my own suffering and my own story, and I play my own drama over and over in my head. I go through all my grievances – but really I just want to be heard. I want to be heard for my humanness – simple humanness that also seems astonishing sometimes. The sheer experience of being human and always trying to control that which we can’t, and trying to keep sane with the changes that happen everyday, many of them small but that still leave their mark on the bodies so that at night when we finally sleep, there is a collective sigh of finally letting go.

When I’m in my suffering Zone, everything is terrible. But then something small happens – something almost like magic. That moment when my mind says, ‘nothing ever works!’ I hear a deeper voice – in all honesty – like a Mom saying, ‘honey that is simply not true’. That voice that reminds me of the smile this morning, or that unexpected sun streaming through the window, a surprise after the dour weather prediction. Or that unexpected compliment from partner or friend, or the moment when I pick up Anji from daycare and her face lights up. And in that small moment of reminder, something shifts. I get out of the drama, out of my own head and the movie ends. I come to the real life – and then it hits me again – how much we take for granted. How much is right in this moment.

With Love, S.

sweet slumber…

What is the time of the day when your defenses are down? when you can be utterly vulnerable and open, and let go of all that you hold on to? when you trust in some body or something to hold you when you do let go? For me, that time of the day is bed time. sweet slumber. Its the time when I can drop my worries and rest in peace.

I wasn’t a worrier, but somehow I have become one. Motherhood, wifehood, job changes and so on. Familiar story. Now I worry a lot – about my daughter Anjali and her eating, my husband and how tired he looks sometimes, myself and my changing identity (s). I worry about others I love, how they are doing and how I am letting them down by not being as available as I used to. I judge my worrying too which makes it worse. At various times of the day, my practice makes me notice my leaning forward trying hard to control things that I can’t possibly. My noticing helps me relax – when I am non-juding. I practice compassion and softening. But then I’m not a bodhisatva. I fail a lot.

It is at night, that I truly let go. Just before climbing into bed with my sweet hubby, I pause by Anjali’s door. Somehow there is magic at that threshold. I smell the whiff of her scent in her bedroom – that scent of diapers and diaper cream and baby lotion and another scent that is uniquely hers – a milky sweetness. I hear her breathing in peace, occasionally shuffling around in her bed. she always lies face down, and I can imagine her sweet face burrowed into the soft comforter underneath her. As I stand there silently, my entire body reaches a peace. everything is okay. everything is alright. It is time for bed. Tomorrow is a new day, who knows what it will bring!

with Love, S.

Vday woes…

This valentines day is one for the books. For the past couple of days I have been running a fever, headache and cold, all classic symptoms of the flu. Except I thought I was over my quota! I had one just two weeks ago – that time it was laryngitis and I had to cancel class and it happened to be Abhi’s birthday. Sickness is pretty much my nemesis. It may be because I didn’t get sick very often growing up, so even at 30 plus, I don’t get it that it passes.

I tried sitting with it, but all I could feel was a haze enveloping me. What’s funny is that, I realized I had a fever only while I was practicing Joseph Goldstein’s 9 minute meditation on sunday evening, when I was feeling the heat and the cold in my body. I realized after getting up that I was never warm!

So yesterday, Abhi stayed home and made me hot soupy lentils for lunch, and in the evening he did the groceries and entered the door with half a dozen red roses. Normally I would be over the moon – I LOVE flowers. But I could just summon a Thank you, and wanted to crawl into bed again. I’m even scared of going to the Doc – what if they put me in the hospital? I hate hospitals, the only time I’m brave in hospitals is when it involves Anjali. When it comes to me, I’m just a plain sissy. Though at Abhi’s insistence, I’m seeing a Doc this afternoon – but not looking forward to it!

So, here we are on Valentines day, sick. But there is a silver lining. There always is. Anjali is doing great. and I got to sleep for hours cuddling with my hubby, taken care of in every possible way. I just lie in bed and call out for things and they appear miraculously. My feet get massaged at night when I’ve been cold. I’ve been held a lot. The red roses seem almost unnecessary in this light of care. Maybe, being sick is not such a bad thing after all.

first heartbreak and first break!

Yesterday I got my first reject in the mail: for a piece I wrote on mind fog. Its an essay I spent a great deal of time and love on, and that is very close to my heart. I sent it to a buddhist magazine that I like reading, and the Editor wrote a nice note that they couldn’t accept it.

Interestingly, when you don’t hear back, there is still hope. But when you do hear back and it is a reject, in that moment, the heart breaks just a little bit. I tried not to dwell on it, but I did reread the piece, and thought to myself, perhaps this doesn’t fit the magazine. Though I say I tried not to dwell, dwell I did, moping around the house with Anjali in tow, feeling sorry for myself.

And then I happened to read the chapter on doubt from the lovely book ‘writing down the bones’, which I had borrowed from the lovely Joni Cole at the writers center (Joni’s workshop had been the inspiration for my mind fog piece). The chapter hit home, and the tears came. Of course, we doubt everything when something doesn’t work out!

But here is the amazing thing: I just dropped off Anjali at daycare and her teacher congratulated me on my article getting published. YES! My first piece in print, in the local magazine Kid Stuff. Divine intervention? A little bit of luck? Great timing? Perhaps all of it. I came into the house and did a happy dance. If you get a chance to see this magazine in the local shops (it is free), be sure to read my piece. It looks beautiful and reads beautiful, even if it is me saying so…

With Love, S.

It is possible to start over…

The single most important reason I write this blog is probably to remind myself of the possibility of peace. It doesn’t matter how rough a day is, or how bad a situation, or how disconnected I feel from myself, peace is always possible.

Last night I was irritated with Abhi, mostly because I was exhausted and scared because Anjali has a cold and I was taken flash back to the last time she had cold and it became something else. I noticed, I practiced compassion though I couldn’t stop the hum in my head. I felt grateful to get a chance break of meeting a dear friend. And before I went to bed, I looked at the card next to my bedside table: show me a day when the world isn’t new. and I remembered it this morning when I woke up : this day is different. This moment is different. Anjali still has a cold, but I’m not trapped in my fear. I’m present right now when it is simply a cold.

I happened to come across the phrase from the Kur’an recently: ‘There is no reality but God, there is only God’. This phrase struck me in its beauty – what a beautiful intention to remind oneself of at least five times a day!

I don’t have a specific answer for what is God, but I know the God in my heart, and the vastness and kindness this God is capable of. I agree with Walt Whitman when he says:

‘I hear and behold God in every object, yet I understand God not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.’

This connection with my self is what brings me back to this moment. This acknowledgment of everything I feel – the judging, the rewarding, the anguish and doubt, and the hope and joy, and gratitude for all the love in my life. And this unconditional love that I give my daughter, I learn to give myself. And I remember, over five times a day that it is possible to start now, over, again. This is why I write.

with Love, S.

Enlightening cold…

I read this poem this morning by a japanese zen master Ryokan, with a smile:

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.

My flat tire lesson…

The last few days have been incredibly peaceful. Nobody has been sick, and things have been more or less smooth. And everyday I pinch myself at our good fortune. And yet it is days like today that I really come alive.

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.

Is this one or is this two?

I have often wanted to write about this dance of separation and union that unfolds in the deep love between a mother and a child. How there are these profound moments of connection I feel with Anjali when I’m watching her play outside, walking in the fresh air, listening to the sound of the crows in our neighborhood and pausing whenever a car goes by. When she is pointing to the trees and the leaves and wanting to sit up on the cold bench with me – not minding the cold for an iota of a second. There is no separation between us – we feel, we take in, we see. I see my own surroundings as if for the very first time, and it never fails to delight me every single time.

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.

Endings and Beginnings…

My final post of 2011. On New Year’s eve, it feels apt to reflect on this past year and set new intentions for the coming year. 2011 has been an unforgettable year – a year of letting go and beginning anew. A year of the magic of seeing our daughter go from a 3 month old to becoming a toddler, running around with spoon in her hand, eating naan, and saying naan and sleeping through the night (for which I’m the most grateful! ). She makes me want to be present, want to be more loving, more patient and more of who I really am, deep within.

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.

Freedom to be…

Writing in this space after about a week…feels good this morning. So much has happened in the last month – Anjali being sick, Abhi being away, worrying about job prospects, spilling milk on my computer so it stopped working (that was three weeks ago), losing my data and then being able to recover it…It has been such a month of sheer unpredictability that last week felt like a marvelous blessing. Abhi took the week off and was home and Anjali is recovering well. And I set the intention to give myself a vacation, a break from all the mental chatter that stems from worry and leads to nothing. I had wished we could have gone somewhere for the Christmas break, but it turns out that being home has been the best break I could ever have wished for. Ah, the beauty of normalcy!

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.