We interrupt this practice period
03/16/2010

Last Thursday, my mom, sister, niece, and three nephews came from Yuma, Arizona, to spend a long weekend with us.  We celebrated my youngest sister's 42nd birthday, cheered my brother's first place finish in the Master's Divison of the Rincon Classic surf competition, and reveled in the happy chaos of extended family. 

My formal practice intentions pretty much flew out the window.  I wasn't silent, missed our Sunday sangha check-in, and barely got my butt to touch the cushion.  There were always needs to attend to: feeding, dressing, and keeping ahead of four six-year-olds; getting everyone to and from the surf contest at various times of the day and then to the awards ceremony Sunday night; organizing my sister's birthday dinner; trying to keep up with work-related phone calls and emails.  There were a few times I did manage to sit down, light my sage bundle, and read my intentions aloud.  But most of the time my brain was too scrambled (four six-year-olds will do that to a person) and our schedule was too full to accommodate three 30-minute meditation periods. 

In other ways, however, it was an intense practice period.  I may have spent more time in the present last weekend than I'm able through an entire month of focused practice.  Kid therapy, I call it.  If you're willing to abandon your grown-up agenda and follow, you can again experience life with the freshness of a child.  The beach!  The waves!  The tidepools!  Rocks, sea anemones, dolphins!  Uncle Bobby surfing!  Dogs.  Sandwiches and soft drinks.  Warm sun and breath-takingly cold water.  All amazing.  All heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

And challenging.  Accommodating the needs, wishes and personal idiosyncracies of a dozen family members can try one's patience.  Long days spent responding to others without sufficient down time to center oneself often left me with more day than fortitude.  Yet I'd be so over-stimulated--just like a kid again--that I didn't sleep soundly when I finally fell into bed.  Wasn't this a perfect practice period?

I was able to keep one intention: my weekly peace vigil on a corner in downtown Santa Barbara.  My niece Laila and nephew Cason accompanied me, holding signs that read "Books, not bombs!  Education for Afghanistan!" and another that listed the benefits of education, particularly for girls: birthrates drop; infant mortality rates drop; quality of life improves; and permission to make jihad is refused.   The kids collected money to send to Greg Mortenson's Central Asia Institute, raising $40.  They also got a lesson in public apathy.  Despite their signs and eager faces, most passers-by averted their eyes and kept walking.  After 15 minutes of this Cason looked up at me and said sorrowfully, "So many people just don't care!" 

I nodded.  There's a lot to care about and most people prefer not to know--and especially not to feel--if it's going to be uncomfortable.  And that, too, is what practice is about.  Being with what is--all of it.  The good, the painful, and the indifference.

And so it is.