Rainbow Within: Days Three Hundred Three - Three Hundred Twelve

This is a tricky business, this business of being a grandmother. My child has delivered a child. Every possible emotion, and a few I never knew were available, has launched. I started crying in the waiting room as I watched another family get the news that their baby had arrived. That was just the precursor. The emotions rise up and I feel them; boy do I ever feel them. You might think that the overwhelming sadness that my daughter's father of blessed memory is not alive to see his granddaughter would cancel out the joy of seeing that sweet little baby in her arms or the gratitude I feel for my husband Joe's enthusiasm about grandpahood.  It doesn't. The colors in a rainbow blur a bit into each other, yet each color remains distinct and brilliant in its own way.

Sadness, joy, love, sweetness, possessiveness, pride: each feeling is distinct and each one rainbows into the next. No clear boundaries here; it's impossible to tell where one feeling stops and the next one starts and I hold them all.

The beauty is in the blur.

Self made rainbow, made in home garden.

Accountancy: Days Two Hundred Fifty-Two - Two Hundred Fifty-Five

"You are the poster child for meditation," my lunch date said to me today. "Yes, I am." I say that without sarcasm and without much modesty either. I acknowledge success. I have been meditating on an almost daily basis since February of this year. That's more than eight months ago. (I quickly did this calculation in my head; hope it's right) My success surprises me. Of all the activities and practices I've tried to master over the last fifty-five years, the ones that require steady and sustained effort on a daily basis, those are the ones that give me the most trouble. I've gotten to be pretty good at lots of things, but really, really good at almost nothing. But I've got this meditation thing down. Not to the point where I've found enlightenment, but I do sit in a chair and give it a go almost every day. I've been told by many people that this this is unusual. Most people cannot stick with it as consistently as I have.

I have a theory as to why: I'm counting and I'm accountable.

Numbers are not my thing. I transpose the entries in my check book; as soon as I'm presented with a numerical statistic, the number flies out of my head. It's inevitable that I either already have or I will mess up on the number of days I've recorded in this blog. Still, there seems to be something about the fact that I've kept track of the number of days and I've kept track in a public way that has allowed me to remain consistent in my meditation practice.

Day 255: done. I'm still counting.

The Hawk Returns: Days One Hundred Forty Three - One Hundred Fifty-Six

I haven't seen the hawk for several weeks. Then, a couple of days ago, I heard a familiar caw caw caw caw caw. I ran outside and just caught a flutter of large wing sift along the tree tops. Yesterday he (or she, not sure) was perched on the peak of my roof. We looked at each other for a moment. "Tell me," I said, but my hawk just stared. No response. No flutter of wings, just a stare down.  We have a relationship now, my hawk and I.  I have no affinity towards birds.  Pet birds, hostages in their cages, their little beaks poking out between the bars, make me nervous.  But this hawk is a magnificent creature and the fact that it chooses to set up shop on my roof makes me wonder about his perspective on my life.    Not that I should assume he has one, but I like to think he thinks about me as much as I think about him. As far as my meditation practice goes, it has gotten a bit spotty in that I no longer meditate daily even though I consider myself to be someone who meditates on a regular basis.  I skip days here and there, but never am away from it for more than three days.  If I miss three days, I start to feel unsettled and uncentered. That implies that I have become a centered person and really that's not the case.  I'm more focused and more centered than I was before I began to meditate, but my desk is still a mess, I watch too much TV, and my reading to-do list grows in geometric proportion to the number of books I finish reading.  Oh, and my golf score is horrendous.  This list of non-accomplishments goes on and on, but for twenty minutes each day, I allow myself to not attach to the critical rampage that goes on in my head.  There's always time enough for that later.