Lopsided crescent moon
framed in cobalt clouds.
It’s been raining for days,
the storm of life relentless.
A temporary clearing,
a smile, a sliver of hope.
An invitation to notice
this smile in others
when everything else
feels tragic.
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Lopsided crescent moon framed in cobalt clouds. It’s been raining for days, the storm of life relentless. A temporary clearing, a smile, a sliver of hope. An invitation to notice this smile in others when everything else feels tragic.
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 With Christmas just around the corner, a question I’m often asked is, “Are you ready for the holidays?". Listening to others’ plans, I hear the following questions beneath this question. “Are the Christmas lights and stockings up? Is the tree dressed in its finest, proud of the presents below it? Will there be gingerbread baking in the oven, along with a perfectly planned holiday meal? Does the family look happy in the Christmas card photos? If not, should you take another picture?” Though I appreciate the genuine warmth and curiosity behind this question, I can’t help but wonder. How long did you stand in line at the mall, how much did you spend online to get the last version of the latest (fill in the blank) so he or she can unwrap happiness? The tree sure looks pretty, but did you ever stop to appreciate its natural beauty out in the wild? Does it bother you that it’s dying, that it cannot live off artificial lights, that it might miss the exchange of carbon dioxide for oxygen? Will you taste and enjoy the food you are about to prepare? Or is it all for show? What if someone isn’t smiling in the picture, the lighting is off, or you look older than you should? Is it still ok to send the cards out? Reflecting on generosity, the question for me isn’t how much, but why. It’s not how much money I spend, the time it takes to cook, bake, or make something, but why I am giving it. What is my intention? Can the one receiving the gift feel my care? How well do I know them? What do I want them to know about me? Tomorrow may never come. One day you and I will both die. This is for certain. It is only a matter of when. We don’t need a terminal diagnosis to wake up to this truth. I want to know how it is for you. I want you to know how it is for me. This presence is the greatest present I could ever give or receive. (This post may impact you negatively. Please know that I am not against holiday traditions, but questioning their authenticity. The invitation is to look beneath the surface of appearances and connect from the heart. May you and yours celebrate Christmas joyfully. May you be happy, warm, and safe. May you experience a deep and profound sense of peace.) When I got married almost nineteen years ago in July, I still had some romantic fairytale pixie dust mixed with classic chick flick movie moments clouding my vision. My Braveheart husband would take care of everything. This notion, coupled with my Tenderheart optimism, would conquer any insurmountable problem. Was I naïve!
Marriage is not a Mary Poppins musical. It takes work, patience, clarity, curiosity, forgiveness. Not just love (unless your definition of love is expanding to include more virtues:). The following reflections are by no means a perfect prescription for marital bliss. They are pearls I’ve picked up from personal experience, needing a good polish every time I forget. Are you still holding on to the good ol’ days when your partner was a perfect gentleman, lady, or person? Have they suddenly turned into someone you barely recognize? Ah, dear one. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but things change. People change. It doesn’t mean he/she/they stopped loving you. Like you, they are a beautiful being growing in the direction of what nourishes them most. The challenging part is that you both may be growing in different directions. Once you can see this clearly, with curiosity and without judgment, it’s possible to make space for who you both are in this new chapter of your lives. Certain life events (the birth of a child, the death of a parent or other loved one, major illness, career change, big geographic move, etc.) can blast any deep subconscious discontent out from the landmine of living. Suddenly, you’re so tired of the struggle, and there’s no place left to hide. Arms up and out in surrender, what can help you pick up the broken pieces, make a mosaic of healing out of suffering? Begin by defining who you are, what matters most to you. Engage with people and practices that support your growth. But be careful! Who you are isn’t better or worse than your partner. He/she/they are growing, too. Get curious about what feeds them. Be patient with their response. This doesn’t mean you become a doormat or a punching bag in the relationship. It’s called a relationship for a reason, implying healthy connection, not disabling connection or hanging on by a thread. You will find the balance between shouting vs. whispering to be heard, between taking the backseat or insisting on being the driver. Make time for this new dance you are choreographing together. It’s easy (and tempting) to fill the calendar with work, social engagements, the children’s activities, caring for aging parents, and time for self-care. Sometimes you both will fall into bed after a long and tedious day with nighttime silence as a welcome reprieve. Eyelids drooping, the lips can barely formulate a Good night honey or I love you. Please don’t make yourselves the last priority! You are the sun and moon of your family planet. You will each take turns shining warmth on a joyous day or being that third eye in dark times to calm restless tides. The poet Mark Nepo said, “To listen is to continually give up all expectation and to give our attention, completely and freshly, to what is before us, not really knowing what we will hear or what that will mean. In the practice of our days, to listen is to lean in, softly, with a willingness to be changed by what we hear.” When I listen to my partner by leaning in softly with a willingness to be changed by what I hear, I am no longer the Wise or Gentle One. He is no longer the Logical or Tough One. We are simply one man, one woman, Braveheart and Tenderheart, trying our best to live in sync with Earth’s eternal heart. Chances are we'll be the combination Chances come and carry me Chances are waiting to be taken, and I can see Chances are the fascinations Chances won't escape from me Chances are only what we make them and all I need Let’s take a chance. You be you and I’ll be me. Let’s listen to each other. Let’s grow. Let’s dance. Let’s be the sun and moon for our family. Thank you for taking a chance on me.  You are given one life, one body. Regardless of your belief in an afterlife or reincarnation, how will you take care of it here and now? As a family physician, it breaks my heart to witness the evolution of dis-ease in patients, family members, and friends. I understand that suffering is part of life, but wonder what would happen if workplaces stopped rewarding energizer bunnies and penalizing sloths. What if familial demands were balanced with time for self-care? How much of your pain is inevitable, and what part of your suffering is optional? We often treat our bodies like rental cars. The keys to our ignition, our power is borrowed. After relatively short trips, the upholstery is stained, the floor is trashed, and the gas gauge is dangerously close to running on empty because there was no time to refill. When we return to our own car, we might take slightly better care of it. Though we take it in for scheduled maintenances to the dealership, we’re still puzzled by random warning lights of low tire pressure, oil leaks, or airbag defects. Diverse cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds affect concepts and possibilities of self-care. Self-care is further strained and limited by work and familial demands. One of my favorite things to do at work is gently remind patients about self-care. “What will replenish your fuel tank?” I ask. “Where could you schedule some time for self-maintenance? What would that look like?” Think of at least one thing you can do for your wellbeing: going to bed thirty minutes earlier, taking that creative class you missed in college, adding some practical, enjoyable exercise to your schedule, connecting with someone who adds meaning to your life regularly. Jack Kornfield said, “If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete.” As you hold other people’s stories inside your heart, please make some space for your own story. During the week of Thanksgiving, give thanks for your body, for all it has carried for you, all it has done for you. Though it’s not exactly the way you want it to be, maybe it is doing the best that it can. Maybe you are doing the best that you can. This body is a mosque, synagogue, temple, chapel - your connection to The Divine. Please care for it as you would care for The Divine. You are given one life, one body. How will you take care of it? Note: This post is meant to be a gentle inquiry. If you find that judgements arise after reading this, please stop for a moment. Close your eyes and think of someone who loves you, who genuinely wishes for your wellbeing. Take in their care and concern for you on the inbreath, and release any judgement on the outbreath. You can also place one hand on your heart and the other on any part of your body that is hurting, sensing the stream of their love flowing through you. This Thanksgiving, may you celebrate the joy of being alive.  To live without anxiety about imperfection, we must be able to rest in natural presence. We need to take shelter in something larger than our own fixed ideas of a flawed or faultless self, something that reminds us of our true nature again and again. For some folks this comes in various forms meditation. For others it happens through the arts: music, poetry, painting, dance, etc. For some, it's born in the arms of unconditional love from a spiritual or earthly being. For me, it happened today on a hike at Foothill Park. The Great Mother whispered the words of David Whyte's poem to me: Lost Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you, If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here. No two trees are the same to Raven. No two branches are the same to Wren. If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows Where you are. You must let it find you.  It's been a few months since I was last here. Despite the usual to do list today, I felt the intuitive call to hike at Foothill Park. Over the centuries, Mother Nature has witnessed my soul evolution from primordial soup to primate, from damaged goods to a divine flow of energy that is never in the exact same physical or emotional state twice. Whether I am an insensitive physician or an eloquent poet, a compassionate mother or a selfish daughter, a wise teacher or an ignorant student, she has always loved me unconditionally, no matter who I thought I was at any given moment in time. I have made this place around you, If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here. What more can a woman ask for? May we all rest periodically in natural presence. May we all find peace.  (All Images K. Patel)  I woke up this morning with a sudden restlessness. After twenty minutes of meditation, the urge to move was so great that I had to stand and walk into the office. I felt a strong desire to empty my closet and drawers of things I no longer needed. Taking a few deep breaths, I let the restlessness settle as I felt my body ground back into earth and this moment.
First things first. Have breakfast, Kaveri. Take your daughter to school. Come home and get on the elliptical. Then practice some yoga. OK, now you are ready. I carefully chose a few things from my closet and drawers I had been meaning to drop off at Goodwill or give away. A strange peace settled over me like a leaf resting on a bed of water yielding to its currents without distress. What was this contentment all about? My daughter asked me to read Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin a few months ago. I kept putting it off for more ‘important’ things, but finally borrowed her Kindle a few days ago and finished the book today. It’s a story about a girl named Minly who embarks on an adventure to change her family’s fortune. She begins the journey with one idea of good fortune, and ends the journey forever changed by the colorful characters she meets along the way, as well as her notion of good fortune. The story is actually several stories tied together by an invisible thread of kindness, weaving the tales into a warm quilt of love and what really matters. I’ve often wondered what separates people who are truly happy from those who are discontent. Though there are many factors, I believe a big factor is a sense of enoughness, both internally and externally. I am enough. I have enough. My family, my colleagues, my friends are enough. This doesn’t mean we can’t aspire for more, but I think it all depends on how you define more. Is it more money, physical objects, popularity? Or is it more heart? When I’m gone, I know I can’t take my material possessions, my identity, my loved ones, even these words with me. But I do believe the love I have felt in relationships, the beauty, blessings, and benevolence bestowed upon me in this lifetime, will all somehow be stitched into my soul. In my next life (if there is one:), I will have the choice to listen to a child very much like my own daughter or not. Mama, read this book! The Universe offers multiple opportunities to drink. Are we satisfied, or will we continue to drink salt water, perpetually thirsty for more?  What would our lives be like if we wore a crown of petals instead of a crown of thorns? What would it feel like to believe that we matter, that our contributions to the workforce, home life, and our relationships make a difference each day, that the world is not the same without us? These contemplations may initially sound egotistical. How can you focus on yourself this way when ethnic conflict, drought, starvation, and disease plague many parts of the world? We are biologically hard wired with a negativity bias, to notice what’s wrong, what’s missing. In order to balance this see-saw perspective, we need to accentuate the positive, and I believe this process begins within. My father was recently discharged from the hospital after an episode of congestive heart failure. On his first evening back home, we were trying to check his pre-meal blood sugar. In order to do this, we needed to understand the process of setting up a glucometer with the appropriate test strip, attaching a needle to a lancet, pricking his finger, and applying a drop of blood to the test strip without oversaturating it. Though the process sounds simple, it was complicated by Papa’s frustration and my impatience. To make matters worse, I carried both our negative attitudes into the rest of the evening sorting his medications and later washing my daughter’s hair with resentment. Before sleeping, I typed a few things I was grateful for that day and emailed my list to two friends. After reading their gratitude emails, I mindfully noticed a pang of jealousy in my belly. Their lives appeared carefree without the burden of caring for a sick parent. Though I was not the only one caring for Papa (I had my mother and husband’s support), I felt like I was bearing the whole load alone. My attention was narrowly focused on everything that felt ‘wrong’. The negativity bias was compounded by self-judgment about my whole performance. I should have been more kind and patient with Papa. Too tired to bring full mindful and compassionate attention to all that was moving through me, I went to bed with the intention of revisiting the evening’s events the next day. Mindfulness When we are caught in the flight/fight/freeze response, our stress hormones, blood pressure, and heart rate accelerate. This type of response was useful during our cave dwelling days when our survival depended on hypervigilance. Today, this type of reaction blocks the panoramic perspective mindfulness offers. According to mindfulness teacher and author Diana Winston, mindfulness is “paying attention in the present moment with kindness and a willingness to be with what is.” Reflecting on the previous evening, I knew that I was feeling angry, resentful, and fearful. I believed that Papa would always be ill, and I would have to sacrifice much of my free time in order to care for him. This free time was precious to me because I depended on it to refuel my compassion tank to care for patients, family, friends, and myself with reverence and tenderness. Once I recognized and invited these thoughts and feelings to be just as they were, I could turn towards them with compassionate presence. Compassionate Presence If you’ve ever shared a good cry with a friend or loved one, felt your breath soothing tense muscles and heartache during meditation, or experienced the deep peace cradled in the arms of Mother Nature, you’ll understand the power and value of compassionate presence. Perhaps you’ve also experienced compassionate presence in other magical and mysterious ways. Once I was able to recognize what I was thinking and feeling, I brought one hand to my belly and the other to my heart in a gesture of self-compassion. I forgave my troubled mind and tense body for their habitual reaction to all I perceived as unpleasant. I tried to connect with everyone in the world caring for aging parents, breathing in our shared suffering and releasing it into the boundless space of compassionate presence. Tonglen practice reminded me I was not the first to experience this frustration. Nor would I be the last. Accentuating the Positive In addition to mindfulness and compassion, gratitude helps to balance see-saw perspectives weighed down by worry. Write down three things you are grateful for each day. You may choose to keep a gratitude journal or even share with a gratitude buddy by email or phone. When you notice something beautiful, pause and let the beauty permeate every living cell, every square inch of your being. Engage your five senses as best as you can to see, hear, taste, smell, and touch the experience for 10 breaths. Our sense of time and space is often contracted when we are rushing around in this media driven world. Sensing and savoring our experience creates more space and changes our relationship with time. Because of our negativity bias, we often criticize ourselves and others for perceived imperfections. We’ll completely overlook a personal quality or trait that brings joy to the world because we are obsessed with the ten thousand things we are doing poorly or not doing at all. When I reflected on the positive aspects of my encounter with Papa, I recounted the acts of generosity – helping him check his blood sugar and arranging his medication for him so he wouldn’t have to do these tasks alone. What would our lives be like if we wore a crown of petals instead of a crown of thorns? What would it feel like to believe that we matter, that our contributions to the workforce, home life, and our relationships make a difference each day, that the world is not the same without us? May we be gentler with ourselves with each passing day. May this gentleness grow a crown of petals to soften the crown of thorns. |
AuthorKaveri Patel, a woman who is always searching for the wisdom in waves. Archives
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