Day 219

At my parents' house the television is turned on first thing in the morning, the channel most often set to a war movie or hunting show. I find this unsettling. At times I have interpreted it as a personal affront. In reality, everyone here is just trying to get their needs met. Their needs are probably very similar to my own. They simply have different strategies for meeting them.

I can choose to see the television as an opportunity to practice maintaining my tranquility and peace of mind in spite of my surroundings and circumstances. I read something about this once written by the Dalai Lama. He talked about how he maintains his own peace of mind in spite of the way his people have been treated by the Chinese government. He acknowledged that if he had a "regular" life there would likely be other, more mundane aspects of his life that would be unsettling. He said, "If I had a job, I would probably get fired."

So I ask myself, "What would the Dalai Lama do?" No doubt he would breath and allow compassion to settle on the situation. I'm not the Dalai Lama, but I'm trying.

Day 218

I heard someone say recently that we are each essentially that which we inherited from our parents combined with all that we have tried to do to differentiate ourselves from them.

Being with my family is like looking in the mirror. Sometimes the angle and view is flattering; other times, not so much.

Day 217

I woke up this morning to the television, the volume turned up on a set that was switched on in another room. It felt like an assault and I immediately resisted. Considering my options I laid there and listened.

Soon I heard thunder crackling in the distance, a treat I seldom experience at home. There are few things more comforting than laying in bed, safe from an approaching storm. Soon I could hear large drops of rain pelting against the roof. It was like a show being put on for my benefit.

Being away from home makes it much more difficult to control my circumstances. Perhaps control is just an illusion anyway. Maybe the best we can do is to choose how we will respond.

Day 216

One of the things that I enjoy most about my life these days is the pace: pedestrian and peaceful. The quiet in our home is seldom interrupted until I have had ample opportunity to ease into the day. Most anything I need can be retrieved by riding my bicycle to my neighborhood store, no traffic jams or freeways. A night out usually involves dinner, conversation and people watching at the co-op. It is a good life but not very stimulating.

If you want stimulation visit an airport. Yesterday as I was waiting for my connecting flight the myriad sights and sounds strained my senses and seized my brain. I saw a soldier in maternity fatigues waiting for a friend to return from Iraq, a young woman sprinting through the airport on two artificial, mechanical legs and a teacher greeted by a former student thousands of miles from their home and the school where they shared a classroom. I was thrilled by their stories. And I was distracted...

It is difficult to remain aware and present in the midst of such distraction. It is hard to stay mindful when your mind is so full.

Day 215

I watched a movie a few days ago, A Single Man with Colin Firth. It reminded me of a simple truth, that most of our lives are spent navigating the tightrope between fear and faith. Mostly I lean toward fear, but occasionally I am blessed with an understanding that, as the single man said, "everything is exactly the way it is meant to be." This understanding momentarily brings peace.

The question A Single Man left me with was this: Is it our choice? Can we choice faith over fear?

This is the question I ask myself as I leave today for a trip to visit my family. Travel for me is always a little fear provoking. Despite the statistics regarding flight safety, I never truly feel safe at 35,000 feet. Travel also brings with it the potential for unexpected and unfamiliar events and circumstances (what some people call adventure).

Can I choose faith over fear in the face of these events and circumstances? We'll see...

Day 214

Bill and I have always shared a love of food. When we were first together I so enjoyed cooking for him. It was a way to make manifest my feelings for him. I would usually make healthy, tasty salads topped off by beautiful, decadent desserts as a way to say, "I love you." He appreciated being fed and I was fed by his appreciation. Food became a ritual in our relationship.

Then several years into the relationship Bill got sick - it was a digestive disorder that caused him to lose a big part of his intestine. The food we enjoyed together before now caused him discomfort. I didn't know how to feed him without making him sick. He was relegated to a bland, white diet that stole some of the vibrancy from our relationship.

Recently I came to see that his diet was making me sick. I need to eat food that is alive, closer to the earth, the very food that he cannot tolerate. I think that it is time to focus on feeding myself and let Bill do the same. It's hard because it means letting go of a little piece of our history; a little piece of our relationship.

Illness has a way of sneaking in like a robber and taking from us things that we never knew to be precious until they were gone. It also teaches us to let go, to relinquish our hold on that which was never really ours to keep.

Day 213

I was out for a nice Sunday morning bike ride when I characteristically began to contemplate the meaning behind my incessant braking. I have trouble letting go on the downhill slide. Instead I ride the brakes. This is not unlike my approach to life in general.

The problem as I see it is my struggle to gauge my own physical safety. How fast is too fast? What if I am not paying attention and a sudden danger presents itself? There were times, particularly when I was younger, when I was lulled into a sense of security and safety only to be confronted with a sudden danger. I learned to be ever vigilant - to ride the brakes and scan the horizon.

Yesterday I had a completely different kind of experience. My son coaxed me into going down the big water slide at the pool. I was apprehensive as I climbed the stairs unable to look down without invoking my fear of heights. I got to the top and mounted the intertube with much trepidation and little grace. I let go of the edge and was immediately hurled into a dark tunnel. My stomach leaped into my throat and I was certain I had made a very bad decision. How would I survive this tunnel of death? Then I suddenly slowed down. I was cradled by the tube, gently rocking from side to side. I surrendered to the waves and took a deep breath to prepare for a big splashy finish. I'm glad there weren't any brakes. Otherwise, I might still be making my way down that slide.