Remembering the Buddhists
The Buddhists go about life in a quiet, peaceful way. They are enchanting.
I have a good friend who is a Buddhist monk. I think we are still friends, though I haven't seen him since I left Seattle. I met with him before I left in August of 1999 and he placed the last of many red protection blessing bracelets around on my left wrist. (This was lost in my car wreck the following Spring.)
We used to take long walks because it is hard for me to sit still for long periods. On one walk we saw an Eagle, always there were the trees, the small birds, the squirrels.
I told him I wanted to be a good Buddhist, but I just couldn't bow to the statues, as beautiful as they are, my Baptist upbringing just couldn't let go of that piece of indoctrination. He told me, "then bow to the trees, bow in your mind, just bow, just remember you aren't always in charge."
That works for me still.
Christmas is a season I love. It's also a season that tries me to the core. I want to provide a Rockwellian experience for Annalise even though our life has hardly been Rockewellian. I'm still drawn to tradition, the old ornaments, the book we always read, the prayer we say, the ritual of our lives. I couldn't give her a duo of parents, but I could give her all of me, some structure, some stories to tell her own kids, some rituals to pass down.
Our outdoor lights burned out last night. They dangle all wiry, no light, no soft blue glow, just lifeless cords. Part of my attempt to make Christmas, Christmas is these damn lights. I felt like a complete failure when I plugged them in and nothing happened. It felt personal.
Our tree, little thing that it is, is brightly lit. There is an ornament on every branch. Some branches have more than one. Each one has a little story to it and we wanted to hang all of them. There are ornaments I made when I had no money and wanted something to hang on a little tree, there are ornaments Annalise made in nursery school and preschool and on up through the years. There are many from my Grandma and Grandpa's collection. They don't need them any more, and here they are on our little tree, angels and little wooden dolls and handmade, beaded tree trimmers. The Buddhists would understand bowing to this tree.
I'm glad I'm not always in charge, I'm glad when the lights burn out and I remember that electricity, like life and death, is just not in my domain.
I'm glad to focus on the moment, in the moments that I can, and to focus on the lights and the ritual when I can't.
I have a good friend who is a Buddhist monk. I think we are still friends, though I haven't seen him since I left Seattle. I met with him before I left in August of 1999 and he placed the last of many red protection blessing bracelets around on my left wrist. (This was lost in my car wreck the following Spring.)
We used to take long walks because it is hard for me to sit still for long periods. On one walk we saw an Eagle, always there were the trees, the small birds, the squirrels.
I told him I wanted to be a good Buddhist, but I just couldn't bow to the statues, as beautiful as they are, my Baptist upbringing just couldn't let go of that piece of indoctrination. He told me, "then bow to the trees, bow in your mind, just bow, just remember you aren't always in charge."
That works for me still.
Christmas is a season I love. It's also a season that tries me to the core. I want to provide a Rockwellian experience for Annalise even though our life has hardly been Rockewellian. I'm still drawn to tradition, the old ornaments, the book we always read, the prayer we say, the ritual of our lives. I couldn't give her a duo of parents, but I could give her all of me, some structure, some stories to tell her own kids, some rituals to pass down.
Our outdoor lights burned out last night. They dangle all wiry, no light, no soft blue glow, just lifeless cords. Part of my attempt to make Christmas, Christmas is these damn lights. I felt like a complete failure when I plugged them in and nothing happened. It felt personal.
Our tree, little thing that it is, is brightly lit. There is an ornament on every branch. Some branches have more than one. Each one has a little story to it and we wanted to hang all of them. There are ornaments I made when I had no money and wanted something to hang on a little tree, there are ornaments Annalise made in nursery school and preschool and on up through the years. There are many from my Grandma and Grandpa's collection. They don't need them any more, and here they are on our little tree, angels and little wooden dolls and handmade, beaded tree trimmers. The Buddhists would understand bowing to this tree.
I'm glad I'm not always in charge, I'm glad when the lights burn out and I remember that electricity, like life and death, is just not in my domain.
I'm glad to focus on the moment, in the moments that I can, and to focus on the lights and the ritual when I can't.
Labels: life
2 Comments:
Thanks, Stacy! This is a good reminder. My life is especially chaotic right now, but then again, so is everyone's during the holidays, whether they're packing up their life and moving or not.
Since I don't have a Buddhist monk friend, I'll take your words of wisdom instead. It seems like you always know the right thing to say to calm me.
This entry just made me get all teary-eyed. Especially the part about plugging in the lights and them not coming on and it feeling personal. I can certainly relate to that.
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