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Hello questioners,
This morning I worked in the garden, in the silence and the birdsong. I wanted to be out early, “so it wouldn’t be too hot.” Ha. Ha. It feels even hotter in the morning, sometimes, when the humidity covers us with its wet blanket. My goal in the garden today is maybe not the most traditional. I was working on pulling up some weeds so that other weeds could grow in. And as I worked, as the cardinals sang, my struggle worked its way into a metaphor for teaching children to meditate.
Summer is so lovely, isn’t it? Having all the children home all day, sharing space and music, cooking and enjoying food together in peace and harmony? Ha. Ha. There are so many moments of delight in the open-ended time, but of course all the together-time leads to some intense squabbles. I’ve found myself wondering a lot lately–how do I teach these kids to be kind, to care about each other, to speak to each other with care?
In the midst of the past school year, our family life felt less and less grounded. We stopped doing our intention-setting over breakfast due to the bustle of getting five kids to school. We haven’t been hiking together or out in the peace of nature as a family. We don’t have an established way of praying together. Anya and I have been reflecting lately about what we can do to bring grounding to our family, to reorient ourselves to a spiritual center. We brainstormed different possibilities and acknowledged how we need to be the ones setting the direction and the tone. We’re the ones working the ground of this home.
This morning, I thought I’d try something that we had talked about–sort of an adaptation of a loving kindness meditation*. After breakfast I moved us to a living space away from the table. We brought our candle and our palo santo. I hoped shifting the space would help us transition into a different mode. I asked them to think about a feeling that they would like to experience today. I gave examples like “Peace” and “Calm” and asked them to offer other feelings they would like to have. “Happiness” and “Love” came up, followed by “feeling like you fit in,” for which I offered “Belonging” as a single word. Lovely. I asked them to choose two words they would like to feel today.
I then asked them to breathe in while saying silently one word, then to breathe out while saying the other. I didn’t ask them to share their words, because lately sharing has made our attempts at intentions feel kind of rote–like they know what they’re supposed to say, and they say it to get it over with. So, I wanted to try focusing them on their own internal landscape, without the pressure to share.
After the first cycle of focusing their energy internally, I asked them to breathe those same words, but to add a name of someone in our family. Breathe your energy into asking the same thing for them that you want for yourself. It’s the Golden Rule, but in meditation. I shared that this is one way we can expand our heart’s capacity, by intending good things for each other. I modeled, “Peace, Catherine–In; Calm, Catherine–Out.”
As we breathed through the second cycle, there was laughter and slumped over bodies and lots of fidgeting, particularly from my ten-year old. I was getting annoyed and snappy–always helpful for teaching meditation. Eventually, though, I got through to her by speaking calmly but urgently, “Madeleine, I can’t make you do this. I can’t ever know what you say or don’t say inside your own head. I can’t make you breathe more slowly or with more intention. But I can know what you do in your actions. When you communicate in ways that hurt people, it will be obvious where you are putting your energy. We have to practice on the inside to learn how to bring peace on the outside.”
Intentions, in my understanding, are just that kind of work–cultivating your own energy, being aware that my energy affects you, and knowing I can shape the energy I receive through how I receive it. It’s not magic; it’s awareness.
This morning in the yard, I was sorting weeds. What makes a “weed” is arbitrary, or at least relative. A weed is something growing of its own accord. A weed is wild. I want to create an environment that doesn’t waste precious water and, at the same time, draws attention to the beauty of our ecosystem. So I’m pulling all kinds of plants that aren’t useful to me, including grass–in the hope that the straggler daisy can take over my yard. The straggler daisy is native here; it’s a groundcover you’ll find all over the wild parks. It stays green through intense drought, and even if it does wither, it comes right back once it rains again. This plant uses what is given wisely, curates its own space, opens its tiny flowers to welcome butterflies.
Picking through the “weeds” in my yard felt like a perfect postlude to my meditation with my girls. If I leave them to find their own grounding, with no guidance, their spirits and actions are going to be choked with qualities that crowd out peace and presence. It's my work to create space for them to grow these qualities that will increase their hearts’ capacity, that will create beauty in our lives and not just gulp down what’s given to them and ask for more. Their goodness is native; it is wild. It will thrive if given soil, sunlight, and water–and seeds from existing flowers, drifting in our atmosphere.
* I first came across this kind of meditation in Thich Nhat Hanh’s introduction to Thomas Merton’s Contemplative Prayer—an interesting little intersection of my spiritual journey. Here, Thich Nhat Hanh’s teaching of loving kindness meditation focused on an opening out of intentions, such as “May I be peaceful, happy, and light in body and spirit.” After speaking this intention for yourself, speak the same intention for someone you love. Then, do the same for someone neutral to you. Lastly, speak the intention for someone who has caused you harm. He provides nine prayers to work through in this way:
May I be peaceful, happy, and light in body and spirit.
May I be free from injury. May I live in safety.
May I be free from disturbance, fear, and anxiety.
May I learn to look at myself with the eyes of understanding and of love.
May I be able to recognize and touch the seeds of joy and happiness in myself.
May I learn to identify and see the sources of anger, craving, and delusion in myself.
May I know how to nourish the seeds of joy in myself every day.
May I be able to live fresh, solid and free.
May I be free from attachment and aversion, but not be indifferent.
Loving Kindness - Meditation Teaching of Thich Nhat Hanh (tnhmeditation.org)
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