Transgression

I don't remember when I first learned The Lord's Prayer. My family did not attend church, was not in any way religious... but was very much in support of my learning about various religions and faiths. So I would attend services with my friends—outings which invariably exposed me to new language, new rituals, and new ideas.

It was always interesting to experience an entire mass of people speaking in unison or singing traditional songs. I would marvel at how they all knew these things by heart. Songs and prayers and chants and responses. They just knew what to do.

And The Lord's Prayer was one of those things. I think I learned it, in part, so that I could participate. Not feel so left out. So silent and alone and lost in the hum and buzz of united voices.

My favorite part of the prayer, the one that has stuck with me through what has continued to be a predominantly non-church-oriented spiritual journey, is this:

And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.

I prefer the "trespass" version to the "sin" version for a variety of reasons. It took me a long time to figure out what this part of the prayer even meant. (When I was younger, I had a pretty literal interpretation, which was - ultimately - confusing. I could only think of lawns.)

My understanding of the concept of trespass, or transgression - both with regard to oneself and others - has evolved quite a bit over time. The trespasses of elementary-aged school children, no matter how bullied or bullying they may be - are very different than those of adults. Particularly once you get married and start to have children.

My capacity to fail has increased as I've gotten older; or rather, those failures have the potential to be much greater and have much wider ramifications than those of my 8 year-old self.

And so I am keenly aware of my trespasses. And increasingly aware of what that capacity to fail means to me in relation to understanding my humanness and my somewhat bumpy journey toward enlightenment, or divinity, or whatever you want to call it. That journey which is so solidly anchored in this process and act of forgiveness. Forgiveness of self and others.

Recently, I have joked with friends about how parenting is really this grand opportunity to keep learning about and addressing one's flaws. It's the ultimate lesson in personal evolution and awareness of failure. You can't help but fail as a parent - and in that truth is an inherent and inescapable lesson... one linked to humility (the good kind), resilience, and compassion.

Being aware of my capacity to trespass - being open and awake to my failures, as difficult as it has been - has stretched the boundaries and pliancy of my capacity to forgive. To be patient. To be flexible. To be more trusting. To be more loving and ready to love.

And it's still a journey. I continue to fail. I continue to strive to do better. But forgiveness seems to be the key, and in that balance seems to be the most valuable lesson.

May you notice and forgive your trespasses against others. May you respond with love through all transgressions.

Parenting

There's nothing like becoming a parent to smack you out of your status quo mindset bordering on reverie and force a state of attention as everything you knew becomes something else and your worldview must, of necessity, shift.

Or at least, that's how it has felt to me. Some days, it's a great thing to be reckoned with in this manner. It's wonderful and humbling and challenging to peel away layers I thought set in stone and find I am capable of becoming a new person. Capable of initiating and mastering intense levels of adaptation and reinvention.

Of course, some days it feels raw and naked and painful too. Like undergoing interrogation with a halogen bulb millimeters from your skin, searching every inch of your inner and outer being for telltale spots of decay.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the balance between self as individual and self as parent. Of course, in the process of separating and naming them, I am displaying my attachments and therein lies part of the difficulty. But that's where I am...

I find the things I want to do or don't want to do as an individual sometimes conflict with the things I feel I ought to do or ought not to do as a parent. What is best for my daughter sometimes requires a certain level of transformation or letting go in terms of who I am or what I choose to do.

And I have realized lately this is the conundrum of all parents. It's one of the core cruxes of choosing to build a family and enter a lifestyle different from whatever was prior. Everyone hits this wall (perhaps repeatedly), and everyone makes some form of decision somewhere along the spectrum of change nothing to change everything.

Change nothing and you create as situation wherein your child becomes the parent, or has to raise-love-nuture him/herself, or misses out on the shaky but formidable lessons inherent in "responsibility," "obligation," "duty," and "sacrifice."

Change everything and you create a situation wherein the parent is a martyr... refusing moments of joy or self-focus in lieu of a mountain of shoulds. The child senses regret, remorse, or - perhaps worst - resentment and lives with a sense of guilt in the wake of their caregiver's inner and outer dissonance.

Oddly enough, all of this musing comes in the wake of noticing my recent reluctance to "be better" about making friends with other parents so my daughter can have playdates and get-togethers with kids her age. It also comes on the heels of a decision about this year's birthday and whether or not to throw any kind of party, who to invite, what to do, and when to do it. And, at the forefront this week, what kind of treat to bring in to preschool. Cookies? Cupcakes? Ice Cream Cone Cupcakes?

I am an introvert by nature, and this new level of engagement with a world that is both my own and not my own feels foreign and overwhelming at times. I struggle to find an anchor of authenticity in the role of mother I am forever in the process of defining. Meanwhile, I step forward and try on new aspects of self in an effort to engage in right action connected to the life of myself, my daughter, and my family.

What is truthful? What is compassionate? What is comfortable? What is acceptable? What is needed? What is loving? What is good parenting? What is enough, good enough, or not enough?

It's stupid and important at the same time - this sense of seeking in the unfamiliar territory of mommyhood - simultaneously frivolous and ripe with opportunity. Not just for my own evolution, but also for the work that becomes the backbone of my daughter's life... the choices that help to shape her childhood, young adulthood, and potential eventual mothering.

Buddha said, "He is able who thinks he is able." Buddha didn't talk about mothers very often, but maybe he should have. This quote could just as easily speak to a mountain of mothers poised on the edge of expectation and guilt and all manner of striving:

She is able who thinks she is able.

And then, Buddha might have added something about patience and forgiveness and throw in a reminder about compassion and how it starts with oneself. Maybe something about how cultivation of compassion is anchored in the core of the self... and then spreads outward like dancing seeds of milkweed onto an open ocean of waiting earth.

Maybe. Hard to say and thankfully there are some modern female Buddhists who fill in that area quite wonderfully and help the rough or lost or naked days feel much, much better.

So... I'm off to make cupcakes. I think they'll have sprinkles. And chocolate frosting. That's something my daughter and I wholeheartedly agree on.

May you find balance within the many roles of your life. May you always remember you are able.

Details

Life is in the details keeps dancing around my head today. And when I used my trusty Google search to find out who said it... I came up short.

Instead... I found a beautiful quote that is even more eloquent on the matter (and may actually be where the shorter version came from):

"A mountain is composed of tiny grains of earth. The ocean is made up of tiny drops of water. Even so, life is but an endless series of little details, actions, speeches, and thoughts. And the consequences whether good or bad of even the least of them are far-reaching."

It's attributed to Sivananda (Google search...), a Hindu swami and spiritual leader. Oddly enough (or perhaps not so oddly), it ties in not only to the post I intended to write today, but also to a blog post shared on Facebook by a friend of mine discussing morality as separate from religion. (Perhaps for another time!)

The reason I've been thinking about details is twofold. The first connects to something our instructor emphasized last week at the introductory meditation course I am taking. The second has to do with parenting a toddler.

For the former: Our teacher was talking about how one aspect of Zen relates to paying more attention to the little details of life. Straightening your cushion and mat for the next person who may come to the space. Making sure the faucet is completely turned off in the bathroom so as not to waste water. Placing your shoelaces inside your shoes when you put them on the shelf near the door. Listening - really listening - when another person is speaking.

This sort of list is rather infinite. And her suggestion that we pay attention (really pay attention) to the details in our life this week was an opportunity for daily reflection and an increased awareness of the many details I take for granted or allow to become a sort of impressionistic blur in the background of what I deem most pressing.

She said there is an idea in Zen Buddhism to leave it as you found it. In other words... your footprint in any given place - on any given spot - should be a rather small one. Difficult to discern and created with a sort of careful neutrality that is neither overly sentimental nor crassly indifferent.

It reminded me of camping and Smokey the Bear. The concept of leaving no trace when you enter some lovely spot of nature so that the next person who comes through can discover it just as you did. Unspoiled... authentic... perfect in its simplicity.

Now that I think of it, Smokey was really more for forest fires... so perhaps the "no trace" idea was connected to some other remnant of 70s educational programming. But whatever the source, it's an idea I've sought to embrace in my adult life. (Not always easy, of course, nor practical... but certainly something to aspire to.)

I make my bed every morning. For a while it was because my mother told me to... because not to do so resulted in negative consequences and disliked ramifications. But now, at age 36, I make it because I want to. I like having a nice, unspoiled surface to enter into at night. I love the little thrill of peeling back the covers... slipping my feet and legs in... and melting into the bed that has been waiting for me - in a state of wonderful readiness - all day. It's delicious.

Let's skip back to the second reason I am thinking about details today: my daughter. My daughter does not yet make her own bed. She likes to keep her room in a state of chaos... a sort of scattershot bedlam that leaks out into the other living spaces of our tiny apartment.

Now - don't get me wrong - I love our tiny apartment. We are enjoying our smaller space and are eager to embrace the possibilities of further simplification as we commit to life on a more realistic and manageable scale. BUT... the clutter connected to the playful wanderings of a three year old can sometimes be astounding.

And so... I have been wrestling, of late, with an interconnected tangle of lessons and opportunities that now present themselves. How much do I clean up without her? What should be expected of her? Where is the line between my expectation of clean and the agreed upon definition of clean we all must share as a family? How does motherhood and childhood intersect with simplicity and responsibility to leave us all following a path of right action that is equal parts respectful and unattached?

That last one's the real kicker. I started reading a book today that ties in quite strongly with this aspect of my contemplation of detail. It's called Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood, and I already love it. I want to write the author and give it to every parent I know.

Anyway... I am still seeking the balance between being too attached to a particular expectation of how the many details of my life (our lives) should look... while remaining mindful of their importance and committing to careful consideration of how I can move through each day with a greater awareness of the details by which I am surrounded.

I might add to those earlier quotes in this way. Life is the details... the details you miss, the ones you forget, the ones that change everything, and the ones that are downright miraculous. To be truly present is to experience and attend to as many as you can without holding on so tightly you miss the next one.

May you notice a little detail today that used to be invisible to you. May you embrace your life - in its variegated, infinitesimal form - as it unfolds beneath all that is.

Gratitude

I tend to do my blogging while my daughter is napping. It's a period of quiet in my day, it's a more meditative time in general, and I tend to look forward to it quite a bit.


I had a sense of what I wanted to say today... was sort of "writing" segments in my head all morning as I chewed on the concept of gratitude. And then I put Ari down. It's been 90 minutes, and she is still not asleep. Instead, we are doing quiet time during which she can play, lie down, color, sing, etc. - while Mommy gets some work done and has her own quiet time.

The important element of this setup connects to my emotional state during the last 90 minutes. My emotional state, in fact, as Ari has just come out of her room and announced she needs to use the bathroom.

Earlier, I had been crying. Sad, but true. I was angry, sad, disappointed, feeling suffocated. All those things that go along with the difficult times of motherhood/parenthood where your ego and attachment and darknesses get the better of you.

I was so sad to lose my time... all the things I had planned to do during the 2 hours I normally have to myself in the afternoons. It was a matter of being attached to some very specific expectations (and the tailspin following the thwarting of said expectations). And - the real lesson and opportunity for practice - my actions and perspective in response.

So... it is still possible to feel gratitude and to write about gratitude today - despite being earlier derailed by my inability to maintain peace of mind and go with the flow. I am very grateful for my daughter. She is equal parts the greatest gift of my life and the greatest challenge at times, and her presence has required me to grow in ways I never anticipated.

Cultivating gratitude seems to be present in many major religions and spiritual paths. Some talk about it in other terms, some connect it to a larger purpose or a theistic framework, but many of them emphasize the necessity and impact of being able to feel and give thanks for the blessings or joys of your life.

Constructivist theory and narrative therapy tie into these concepts, which aligns with the Buddhist approach of maintaining peace of mind and cultivating a grateful heart, because it is in our perception of events that our emotional state lies.

In other words... the meaning we make of events, people, places, things, our history, our desires, the day-to-day ups and downs we all experience ultimately become how we characterize our lives. The way you write your story... or tell your story to others... or think of it in your head... is linked to how you view yourself and your life.

Tragedy? Comedy? Love story? Full of conflict? Satirical? A story of peace? Boundless joy?

How many of us can describe our days as truly joyful? I started paying special attention a while back to the way I answer the question, "How are you?" I had noticed I tended to narrate a sort of bleak, down, or at least somewhat dull and ambiguous tale in my responses. I was communicating to others my loneliness, unhappiness, restlessness, etc. through a sort of passive aggressive form of storytelling in which I was constructing a tale of a woman who is never quite free... never quite elated or at peace.

Which is not really true. I mean, it can be true, if I let it be so. But that is but one story... and one that most often I tend to feel is not actually accurate. It's sort of like an old costume I put on because it's familiar and comfortable and I know where to find it.

So. Gratitude. Gratitude is connected to the narrative we create for our living. It is linked to our perception and our meaning-making... in every moment. Long-term, short-term, any-term. Little pains, big pains... all kinds of suffering. We make meaning of those pains, and we can choose to see anything from an angle that affords the possibility for gratitude.

Today my daughter is not sleeping. My opportunity for practice happened to be the work of calming myself down, noticing the expectations I held for my afternoon and the emotional disruption I experienced when those expectations (to which I was very attached) were not met.

Instead of investing in a narrative fraught with poor me messages, it's instead a chance to construct meaning from my inability to stay calm and let go. It's an opportunity to think about how I am using my time, how my daughter and I communicate, how our days are structured.

It's also possible to see it as a time of great change and excitement. She is growing up! She's nearing a time when a daily nap will no longer be the norm. This brings new challenges, but also new opportunities and freedoms. And the bottom line is - I still marvel in her as a person. I relish who she is as a human being. A missed nap should not eclipse those feelings of gratitude and wonder.

The picture above is not the one I intended to take. I was planning to sneak in while the bunny was sleeping and take pictures of her sweet little napping face. But we wrote a different story today; one that requires a different image.

May you experience a sense of gratitude for the positive things in your life. May even the seemingly negative concerns provide an opportunity to re-write your story and find more peace.