open door

Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still. - From the poem Ash Wednesday by T.S. Eliot

I have a full heart of things to share. But I'm not ready. Closer...closer...not quite there.

Ramona asked if I could please not close her door at night. Please don't close my door, mama. If you close my door, I will cry in my bed. These little things are a clue to me she is growing older. These little movements of fear and control. So, she sleeps with her door open and it's fine.

She sits on my lap while I rock her and I notice how her back is so long. I think about how big she will get.

The door is open. Ramona's door. My door. Things can breeze by us. We are missing things. We are catching things. We care. We do not care.

I've got a bird that sings

You start singing in the night, because you need to hear your own voice. You sing to your baby the songs you know. You change words, you forget words. Then you just keep singing these little songs you think you made up yourself.

Ramona, Ramona where you been so long?

Ramona, Ramona girl, where you been so long?

I been worrying about you, babyBaby, please come home

I've got a bird that whistles

I've got a bird that sings

I've got a bird that whistles

I've got a bird that sings

But if I ain’ got Ramona

Life don’t mean a thing

One night, after singing this silly little song for two years, Ramona interrupts. "Mama, I am home." I start to laugh and she laughs too. She says, "sing Ramona song" and her little mouth opens and she sings to me in a scratchy, squeaky baby voice. I been worrying about you baby, baby please come home.

And we sing together. And the sound of her sweet out of tune voice, it makes me laugh and cry. I'm smiling so hard I can hardly form words. We sing at each other's faces. And it's moments like this, I don't want to change her. Or teach her. I don't want to worry about her. Or plan for her. I just want to sing with her and never, ever doubt her.

into the morning

Today as we were getting ready for school, Ramona decided to eat a plum. She watched me throw it into my lunch bag and requested one for herself. I handed her a plum, wondering what she would do. She bit into it. Not like a baby eats. She bit into it like a person who knows their way around a plum. She ate the whole thing, smiling, laughing through every bite.

When I drop her off at her school in the morning, I open the gate to the yard and she runs in. I call her back for a kiss and a hug. And then she's gone. Into the cool morning air, she runs. I wave at the other kids. Because mine is long gone.

This afternoon, I ate my own plum. It was so sour and cold. I thought of her the whole time.

happy heart

I went on retreat yesterday morning.

The monks from the Drepung Gomang Monastery were visiting and led our half day retreat. There was only a small amount of meditation practice, but we were fortunate to be able to receive teachings on meditation, the life of the Buddha, and The Four Noble Truths.

I needed my attention brought back to Buddhism. Lately I've been feeling terrible. Crazy, and in need of help.

As I sat and listened to the loud horns, the clanging bells, I surrendered. I push away Tibetan Buddhism because of its mysticism. Its talk of ghosts and the ceremony that means nothing to the western me. But as the horn blasted into my ears, the ghost in me was moved away. The cobwebs cleared. And I just listened. And I sat.

There are ghosts all around me. Hungry ones. Ghosts that make it impossible for me to see the world as it really is. Ghosts that take me away from the ones I love. Ghosts that fill my heart with panic.

Yesterday, I was blessed to sit on a cushion in the heat. Fortunate that the path led me to retreat, where I sat in the heat to listen to a Tibetan monk teach the simple and confusing Dharma. Fortunate that the horn and prayers swept my thoughts away and I was left sitting. Sitting and listening.

This morning as I played with my daughter, we looked at each other in the mirror. She said, "whole family, Ramona and mama." Our cheeks pressed together, our smiles bright. And my smile matched hers. It matched in its reach, its happiness real and not manufactured.

suffering, revisited

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. - From the poem One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop

Years ago, a dear friend lost her father. His death was a surprise and it was tragic. She came home to attend his funeral and pick up the pieces with her family.

And she went out to lunch with me. This friend and I were cut from the same cloth. Suffering rolls off of us. We laugh it off. We think it off. Masters of the art of avoidance. We sat in my car and howled at the hilarity of losing. We were in our early twenties. We were smart girls. We were angry, hard nosed little cynics.

I couldn't feel her suffering. I wouldn't. She didn't want me to,I told myself. We sat in my car, hard as little rocks.

I'm still a hard little rock. It makes me easier to love, I tell myself. Things can happen to me, and I will do you a favor by not expecting you to confront my suffering. We are all like this.

Life is suffering. It's the god's honest truth. I'd stare it in the face, with a softened heart, if I could. I would surrender to it, if I weren't so afraid.

so good to see you

The summer is over. Ramona and I had so many weeks together that I forgot what day it was and the only clothes that went into the washing machine were pajamas. Being a teacher is smart.

I didn't blog much, because I didn't have many good stories and what I could eek out, I saved. Not to pretend though, what I saved wasn't great.

This blog turned two a few weeks ago. I celebrated by not posting. And it's ok.

Yesterday was my first day back to work. When I returned home, Ramona hugged me and said, "oh mama, it's so good to see you." I'm not kidding. That's what she said.

I'm not scared anymore. Ramona and I are going to go out in the world with our arms open and our heads up. She's going to start school on Monday and I'm trusting the world to see my baby is a great, good girl.

Because after a first day back to work she tells me how good it is to see me. That. Welcome to the year, people. Hang on, because this one is going to be so great. However it happens there will be a story here and whether I am attached to my life going perfect or not, the truth in my heart is that if there's a story in here, I'm satisfied. This is the redemption part of my story.

what I am is lost

If what I am is what's in me

then I'll stay strong, that's who I'll be

and I will always be the best me that I can be

there's only one me, I'll admit

have a dream, I'll follow it

It's up to me to try......

-will.i.am

Here, watch this.

I watched it about 20 times tonight. Because it's August. And I've been in a slump. I can't write, can't practice, can't clean. But I can watch Sesame Street.

I'm going to get back to this. I swear. Because I keep getting Stronger.