I'm writing from our family cottage in the Quebec Laurentians. It's been a strange summer. We had a tornado that brought down over forty trees, including one that hit our roof with enough force to do damage.
Then my husband's cousin Barb, died of brain cancer. We had the privilege of visiting with her just days before she passed away. We brought food, we laughed, hugged and said goodbye. Barb's celebration of life and the time we have spent since then reminiscing with our extended family have been true blessings.
Then suddenly, Suzie, my beloved yoga teacher and friend received a palliative diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Knowing how quickly she was declining, I jumped in the car and drove to her bedside in upstate New York. I am so grateful to have held her hand and tell her how much she meant to me. I told Suzie that her hand has left an imprint on my heart that will never erode. The mourning and joyful remembering of these two precious lives continues.
Everyday before beginning her yoga class, Suzie would share an idea that held meaning for her. She called this "centering". I want to carry on the tradition of centering my attention just briefly, on something that is important to me, every day. Suzie's practice prodded me to consider my prejudice against meditation and mindfulness. I remember thinking, "it's self-indulgent to go inward and not look instead to others. Also, do you have any idea of what a caregiver does all day long? I don't have time for this flaky nonsense!" But a daily practice of just five minutes of centering changed my mind. Here is a sample of Suzie's healing wisdom:
Suzie: "I want to introduce the Sanskit word "Sandhi". Usually it refers to the bridge between two different elements or sounds. For example, in chanting a continuous series of words (such as Shanti, Shanti, Shanti or Peace, Peace, Peace), the words are joined by breath but they are also separate. Sandhi can also mean where the horizon meets the sky, where static objects meet or are connected.....I want you to imagine a time when you felt delight or joy in noticing how two things met or blended. I will explain my own example. When I was six or seven years old, I have a very vivid memory of swinging in the park. Swinging as high as I could, head back, looking up at the world, upside down. There was the beautiful blue of the sky, the horizon coming and going, the pine branches waving in the breeze against the deep blue. This too, is Sandhi."
I began to remember moments of wonder in my life. I began to ponder them while stirring soup or mopping the floor. Then slowly, I began to seek them out in my life now. Yesterday, I sat on our cottage balcony in the early morning. Mist was on the lake but sunlight was just beginning to break through. My mind was full of tasks and restlessness. Suddenly, a sparkling glint caught my eye. I turned to look at the pine needles on a tree in front of the house. A very gentle breeze was coming up and the pine tree swayed so gently, catching the sun on dew drops from the morning mist. Oh, oh, oh, I thought. I didn't know I had this power of peace and contentment inside of me. I just needed to pay attention and pause to look and listen with gratitude.
Then I happened to see this. Does it speak to you as it did to me?
I was wrong when I thought that looking inside myself was self-indulgent and that it represented an abandonment of my caring responsibilities to others. I discovered that there is a powerful well of healing within me and I only need to visit it for minutes a day in order to feel its solace and comfort. I also learned that the more I practice seeking this inner well, the easier it is to locate and tap into. I hope that you too, can find this calm joy in slivers of time as you go about your caring day.
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