December 31, 2005, Finley in the bathtub. Looks like someone else we know?
Finley, just past two-years-old, January 2006.
Finley in November 2005, a brand new two-year-old, holding his new Bob the Builder character, "Roley", a gift from Aunt Erica.
Todd and Finley, November 2005.A little feeling of bitter sweetness hovered over us this weekend. Too busy, too obligated, too scattered to get what we really wanted out of our three days together. Doesn't three days sound like a long time? Enough to have some relaxation and some fun, despite a list of chores to do? What is that Buddhist principal? Mindfulness? I was lacking that for sure! Sunday evenings have been hard for me as an adult. I dread them since I tend to get melancholy. I guess its because I feel like my list of to dos is never done and then, here we are again, at the end of a weekend. That infernal, eternal list still remaining with hardly a dent in it.
I look back at these pictures of Finley, only a little older than Evelyn is now and I can hardly remember it all. And that's when it really hits me; the pining away for something else while I miss out on what is so precious and fleeting in front of me...
I just read about an old Jewish folktale about "picking up feathers". Like many tales that have been around a while, it has many versions. The gist of it is that there is a man or woman who has done something wrong to someone, usually gossip or slander. They feel badly so they go to their rabbi to see what it is that they need to do for forgiveness. The rabbi forgives them but requests that they bring him a feather pillow. When they do so the rabbi orders them to cut it open and scatter the feathers in the wind. After they do this, they ask what needs to be done now. The rabbi says, "Now, go and gather every feather and put it back into the pillow." Of course, this is impossible and the guilty person sees how their deeds have done untold damage in ways they cannot even imagine or contain.
I was moved by this story. It isn't just a story about slanderous words, but also about all those wasted moments that we can never reclaim. All those worries and frets that eat away at the quality of our life and detract from the joy we feel in our loved ones' presence. I think of how much time I have wasted, gathering feathers.
I have been working with a life coach, professional organizer which has been truly transformational. A gratitude journal is part of my homework these days. After forgetting that I was supposed to be writing in it for the first week, I finally remembered on Friday and got it out. (At least I knew where it was! That is progress, right?) Part of each day's entry includes a place to list what you're grateful for. To be listed just in a free association mode, as many as you can think of in a few minutes' time.
I worked one summer at our church's campgrounds in the San Juans at a little bookstore on the grounds. Each day I woke early and prayed. I mean full on meditation, on my knees, mindful and present kind of prayer. I was truly happy that summer. I filled myself with well wishes and hopes for other people. Asked to be an instrument of peace and God's love and compassion for each life I encountered. Focused on the needs of others, thanked God profusely and faithfully for all the gifts and blessings in my life. It all flowed, usually with tears of joy and happiness at being so filled with light. I think I glowed that summer, not only from my out of doors tan, but from that lack of misdirected ego and self pity that has accompanied me on so many occasions since that "summer of love."
I think about this now as I poise my pen each day over my gratitude journal. I feel like the tin woodsman; rusty, slow of speech and desperate to let my arm down from carrying that heavy weight of an ax. That ax, which is my heart so out of practice in the ways of joy. Inarticulate in the ways of innocence and unpreoccupied attention to what is best and loveliest and pure. Of course, my theology has "evolved" since then. My views of church and politics and culture are that of a 40-year-old and not a 19-year-old. I am doing hard inner work in this journal now. Waking up my dulled senses and exercising my letting go muscles. How hard it is for me to let go of judgment, negative ego and pessimism! This is hard work but good work that makes me feel more alive and connected with what I truly value. I want to feel that lightness again. That easiness and unencumbered cheerfulness, even if crossed with anxiety at times. What I would do for just a taste of that!
