hello, may and hello, you.
{a list} {pieces of a whole}
1. A quote from Zen meditation teacher, Charlotte Joko Beck:
Joy has more to do with curiosity. Think of babies, crawling about, encountering all kinds of marvels: one can see the curiosity and wonder on their faces. They're not crawling about in order to absorb information, they’re not trying to be better babies who can crawl more efficiently; in fact, they’re not crawling for any reason. They are simply crawling for sheer enjoyment and curiosity. We need to regain the capacity to feel curiosity about everything in our life… through our efforts at self-protection, we’ve lost most of our curiosity about life. We need to approach our state of mind with curiosity and open wonder. That open, curious listening to life is joy — no matter what the mood of our life is.
2. The image of a baby crawling for the sheer joy of crawling stays with me. The thought of a baby doing anything other is absurd. We never ask our babies to be better babies.
So what if I didn’t try to be a better me? Which isn’t to say I won’t try at all; which isn’t to say I don’t want to get better at some things; which isn’t to say there’s no room for growth (of course there is). But it is to say that I’d like to be less angsty about the work I do. In a yin yoga class, I say to my students that, as we practice yoga—meditation—art—life, there is a strong commitment to maintaining focus and also there is a genuine ease in the focusing. Ease. This is what I mean. Commitment, dedication, showing up... yesyesyes... but sans angst, sans striving, sans grasping. I will work hard (I do work hard) but/and... I allow for ease.
It doesn’t always have to be so hard.
3. I have weighty conversations. These are conversations with people close in, conversations about loss and aging and boundaries and disappointments, conversations ripe with questions and uncertainty. There are bits of laughter tucked in and moments when shoulders release, slivers of lightness. Hugs are given and received; kisses are blown across the Zoom-sphere air. I sit with it all. I sit with them all. The sitting, the listening, the being present are important.
4. Another quote, this one from poet John O’Donohue:
Attention is love in action.
These words are a companion and I toss them over and over in my mind, like a stone in my pocket. I make a wallpaper for my phone with these words. Now, when I tap the screen, this gentle mantra, this kernel of wisdom, touches my eyes (and heart) before I glance at the time or temperature, before I swipe to send a text, before I open Notion to make a grocery list.
Sometimes attention (love) is easy, sometimes not. But we stay with it because we must. In the attention (in the act of loving) we bear witness to Everything. Ideally, we bear witness without the need to judge or fix, without the need to strive for more or better. We bear witness for the sheer joy of witnessing.
Look at you, beautiful wisp of steam rising from my tea. Hello, iris with your ruffly petals that simultaneously curl inward and outward, upward and downward. I hear you, dear toad, your throaty croaks reaching my ears through this pane of glass. I see you, friend, in your pain, in this challenge, in your fear, with all the questions. I give my attention to this, to you, and more. Attention, love in action.
5. I buy tulips and bake cookies for the new next-door neighbors. I read poems to my students, to myself. I make dinner and fold laundry. I walk the pup. I pull a few weeds. I pause to focus on the in-breath and the out-breath. I drizzle honey on my toast; I sketch my honey-drizzled toast. I listen to music and I listen to silence. I make lists (this is one), and read a long novel very slowly. I guide a group of beautiful women as they write creative, thoughtful lists, and I sit in another cozy circle of women writing our way into truths and uncertainties. I eat a bowl of chocolate ice cream. I make a long but quick daytrip. I take a class and am excited by learning something new, though remind myself I might have enough information for now, that now it’s time to move in my own way. I listen. I tiptoe. I make my way, not exactly crawling as babies do, but moving with their modeled curiosity and wonder. Not to be a better me, but for the sheer joy of just being me.
