My beloved Meditation teacher and friend at the Center for Mindful Living here in DC, Karolynn Coleman, who has studied Buddhist psychology for 30 years and trekked all over the Buddhist world, often shares these several beautiful verses at the end of our 30-minute meditations. She combines the words to an old Irish blessing, “The Long Time Sun,” with several verses of John O’Donohue’s gorgeous poem “Beannacht,” which means “blessing.”
Here’s a thought: give yourself a gift.
I just gave myself a birthday gift of a daylong retreat, “Cultivating an Inclusive Heart,” with Sharon Salzberg and Sylvia Boorstein. It seemed mildly radical to take a whole day to myself at the very start of December, the busy month, the month of giving and giving and giving and giving.
Due to my health challenges, I’m a little protective, even apprehensive, about overcommitting. Would I manage the whole day okay? Or would I be so tired I would have to come home? (And why, by the way, was I trying to sabotage my desire to go to this retreat?)
Among the many beautiful and practical teachings of the venerable Thich Nhat Hahn, an all-time favorite of mine is Hugging Meditation.
When I first learned about this, I was a mother with 3 little boys, running her own business, cooking, and caring for her family. It was, let’s face it, hectic! I loved listening to cassette tapes of Thich Nhat Hahn, and one of the segments was on Hugging Meditation. He said something along the lines of, when you hug your child don’t do it half-heartedly, thinking about what you’re going to cook for dinner or worrying over the call you have to make in an hour. Be fully present to your child and do it with your whole heart.
Most of my close relatives, including two of my three children and myself, were born in November or December. The holidays used to come at us like a tsunami, starting with my father-in-law on November 7 and ending with New Year’s Eve, right after my son Ian’s birthday on December 28. It was a marathon, a test of endurance, one festive feast (8 all together) after another, a muscular demonstration of our love for one another. Whew!
The more aware and observant we become; the more we sense our feelings in our bodies, rather than our minds; the more curious we become about what’s actually happening, as opposed to reacting automatically according to our default patterns and fears — the more at ease we become. The more room we create. The more time we have to listen before we respond. We can look to see, what’s good here? What’s a way in which I can be helpful?
When we look to see what’s really going on, we learn so much!
My friend Maria quoted from this poem in meditation class some months ago. Every so often I listen to a recording and to the sweet, wry, hopeful words of the poet, and I remind myself that it’s fine to just… let go.
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