We’ve been with our grandchild. Being with a young child is a practice of meditation. I watch the movement and openness in hands and feet and feel a response in me. Fluidity.
We read and climb. We tuck, hide, peek, bounce, jump, glide and slide as we make trains both large and small. We pick apples from their tree and eat them and leave some for the squirrels. I’m entranced with what comes forth as we make songs on his suggestions, his mind rounding on all that surrounds.
I’m home now absorbing and integrating. Mingyur Rinpoche offers an online course on meditation through Tergar.org. One son and I are enjoying the course on “Joy of Living”. I’m currently with sound meditation.
As long as you know you are hearing the sound, that is meditation.
Awareness is always pure and pleasant.
And there is Meister Eckhart: For the person who has learned to let go and let be, nothing can ever get in the way again.
Of course this is a practice, and yet pausing to listen and receive, I find myself pulsing with the universe, the heartbeat, the gong, the bell, the dance, the song.
Today we walked half-way across the Golden Gate Bridge on a beautiful day. We went up to Hawk Hill. Grandchild found a stick and a hole. Add two rocks and a home for a bird in her nest appeared. Life works like that.
What was said to the rose that made it open was said to me here in my chest.
I haven’t stayed connected with my high school class but thanks to social media, I am now connected. This morning I learned that another from my class of 1967 has passed away. She had dementia the last few years. I try to align the information with the exuberant cheerleader I remember. She’s not the only one I know my age who has gotten dementia and passed away.
It’s an odd entry into this new day where gratitude is the only song I need. I hear the garbage trucks as my garbage sorted into three cans, trash, recycling and compost, is carted away.
Trust that bonds are never broken, simply carried away – like the moon pulling the tides.