Meditation

(From A Heart To Heart Column published in the Eugene Register Guard on May 29, 2010)

It's morning, and I sit in bed with pillows stuffed behind my back. Trying to meditate, I breathe in, I breathe out as I silently repeat my mantra.

Lissa, my kitten, scratches at the door. Tabby Tito gives a groaning meow. Lacey, our saint of a dog, restlessly scratches herself. I breathe in, I breathe out.

The refrigerator motor kicks on; a car door slams. I breathe in, I breathe out.

What's for breakfast? Remind the daughter about her eye appointment. Have writing time. Hopping out of bed, I let Lacey out into the garden; let Blackberry our macho cat, in; and give Lissa and Tito caresses.

I am making oatmeal when I look through the kitchen window and see our car windows camouflaged in ice. I grab a spatula and run outside. As I scrape the ice, I think: Is this what life is all about? I want to be present; I try to enjoy the sliding of the spatula on the smooth glassy surface, but I feel cold and annoyed.

Entering the warmth of the kitchen, I hear the daughter moving around n her attic bedroom. She is 18, and I will be sad when she leaves our nest at the end of the summer. Her favorite rock music, the wafts of her guitar-playing drifting downstairs, watching a sentimental movie together, her biting sense of humor...each can be a trigger for my tears.

The daughter opens the kitchen door and I zero in on her beautiful face. How we got from birth to 18 in a flash I will never know. But I try to memorize her smile, her bluest eyes, her auburn hair, her every movement. At five-foot-eight, she towers over her mother.

She has only a few minutes to eat breakfast, a few minutes to sit across from me. Then she is out the door, starting the car and driving down the street to her life.

If I were at an ashram these would be my lessons: to remember the joys, to experience the grief, and to count the everyday achievements of our family's success. When I notice the plum tree blossoms, when I let my daily irritations slide, I am captured by my life's peaceful meditation.

My daughter's growing up has been my growing up. Now, I want to move beyond my home and motherhood. I want to take the lessons from my 12th Avenue Ashram and apply them to the outer world. Will I become a more compassionate person if I am patient and conscious of my irritations? Can I scrape the ice off my illusions so I can see clearly into who I am, into the potential of each person I meet?

It's early morning and I sit in bed, breathing in and breathing out. I realize my true mantra has been and will be the cats crying, the dog barking, the cars honking, the child growing and the mother changing.