The morning dawns and dishes need to be put away, laundry folded, a dog walked, breakfasts made, lunches packed and a car loaded for work. And so the day begins. When I was a young woman, hellbent on enlightenment, I had a "spiritual practice". I woke before the sun (as I do now), lit a candle on my meditation altar and sat, sometimes for hours, in contemplative silence. I wore this "practice" like a badge of honor, as so many "spiritual" people do. My life grew busier, crowded with children and obligations, still I protected these hours of solitudinous silence with fierce dedication. It wasn't until much later, when I stood from my well worn zafu and took a long look at my life, that I discovered the obvious.
Busy was my invitation and I'd almost missed it with all my striving after liberation. Eyes open, feet on the ground, I go about my day cultivating as much awareness and kindness as I can. I still light a candle when I wake up. Sometimes it's on my altar or the windowsill in my kitchen or beside the stove where I prepare food. I tend to my needs and the needs of those around me. I go to work. I interact with colleagues, families and students. I grumble at the guy who cuts me off on the street and chuckle as I do. Life
is my practice and now words like "spiritual" rub me wrong. They inevitably imply (as all words do) that there is an opposite to spiritual. There isn't. There's only a life tended to or overlooked, regardless life
is this ever unfolding now and the practice is in the living of it.
Grateful for all my busy reminders to BE.
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