I was planning to write a post today about holiday gift-giving and how we're all under so much pressure to buy presents that we forget what it's like to be generous. Except on Saturday I started to feel pain around my right eye. I thought it was probably from grinding my teeth (I have TMJ) but by Sunday afternoon the pain had increased and redness appeared underneath my bottom eyelid.
Living with pain can sometimes feel like half living. A part of you is always tied up with the pain, strategizing how to beat it or bracing against it. Imagine not having to micromanage your pain, or have it be surrounded by stiffness. Imagine being able to rest in your body as it is now.
I am hating most everything in my life and I’m finding it almost impossible not to make that, or me, bad. I didn’t realize I was making it bad and pushing it away until I sat down to write – at which point I heard my therapist’s voice and my meditation teachers’ teachings echo through my head with their ever-helpful and ever-loathsome message: try to just be with the feelings. Fuuuuuuuckkkkkkthaaaaaatttttt it’s so god awful hard. Why must theyyyyy be riiiiiiiightttttt? (This is my keyboard trying to represent my mind on whine.)
I sat down to write a post about my grandmother, and as I started to look for photos to use, I got sidetracked by other photos. Then, I attempted to organize the pictures so that I could come back to them at a later point and ended up scrapping the whole show for a different – but not entirely removed from my grandmother’s influence – post about things my family makes.
Sitting meditation is practice for living meditatively. When I train my mind to concentrate -- gently focusing on the breath, recognizing when I drift off, and inviting my attention to come back -- while sitting in silence, I'm developing the capacity to do that in the rest of my life.
It’s almost impossible to find content for my children that isn’t focused on the female body. Everywhere I look – whether it be in classic children’s literature, movies, toy store shelves, or catalogues from major retailers – girls and women are presented as objects.
This post’s posting is attempted through a mobile platform on my phone -- a first for me. I normally work off a laptop, for which I may be holding a burial service. Upon reaching for it to write this post, I dropped it approximately six feet onto a tile floor. Cracking noises emanated from a ring of smoke. I love you, laptop, and I am infinitely sorry for the mindless grab.
In this photo, my dog, Margaux, (pictured with my son), is the warrior. In this photo, my son, the ninja, is also the warrior. Beyond the frame of this photo, my husband, my daughter, my other dog, Claude, are, and I am, the warrior. In life, we are all the warrior.