...of the rzanimal.
Bleary-eyed I wake to the familiar words:
"let's get up, mama!" my sleepy grey eyes flutter open to catch the gaze of my son Samadhis wide blue ones. "mama, what's for breakfast?"
Whereupon I grab him in a bearhug and pull him down for a few more minutes of snuggly torpor as I struggle up from that weird land of half-remembered dream images(boy, do I have some BIZARRE ones) and wake into the reality of being me, mama, Roseanne, the maker of breakfast.
Soon I'm sitting for Red Tara practice as he munches happily on organic cocoa puffs. It's an interesting counterpoint to meditation, not really recommended for quieting the mind, but it works alright for us. Sometimes he climbs onto my lap when he finishes his cereal and snuggles quietly(well almost always quietly) 'til I'm done. Then he usually wants to ring the bowl.
I think that must be one of the reasons why you don't see as many female lamas and gurus about-it's hard to look really serene and serious with cocoa puffs strewn about your cushion and a curious kid hanging onto you. Of course a really dedicated practitioner would rise up early and get the dharma in before her kid even stirred. I'm definately not there yet. I'm just a beginner. Maybe someday I will get serious about what life is all about. Right now I'm just living it.
Serious like Tenzin Palmo. She is amazing. I just saw her speak at Third Place books. She read from her biography, "A Cave in the Snow" and told of her life. She was one of the first western women to embrace Tibetan buddhism wholeheartedly. She spent thirteen YEARS in a cave in the mountains of Tibet meditating, by herself. She is establishing a nunnery where formerly there has only been monestaries. Building it from the ground up. What a strong, clear, powerful being she is, a truely incredible woman.
Back to my day. Watering the garden comes next, a daily ritual, somewhat tedious, always mesmerizing. I watch the cold water rainbow out in the hot sunshine, spraying down onto all my thirsty veggies, soaking the dry soil again and again to ensure that the water reaches deep down to the roots. I watch, as it bejewels the lush green leaves, dripping and sparkling on the ripening fruit. Beautiful.
Sam harvests tomatoes "are these ripe, mama?" and lays them in a long line along the garden wall, a beautiful pattern of red and orange globes, big and small. Our feet invariable get too hot on the concrete and I hose us down to the sweet high sound of his giggle.
He finds a zucchini and I let him cut it off carefully with a sharp knife. He carries it solomnly in and sets it on the counter. Then I water the flowers out front while he frets about when the sunflowers will be ripe enough to yield seeds for us to munch on. He frets at ME too much and I tell him to talk to THEM about it. So he does. He gave them quite an earful too. I'm sure they will probably ripen a little faster this year.
then I get him ready to go to his fathers house. i wash his face "Blarrgh, mama!" and brush his long blond hair "OUCH, no, no, NO!" read him a story, kiss him goodbye and watch the van drive away.
Invariably I feel sad. his father and I are not friends and it hurts. It just feels so wrong that two people who loved each other and have a child together cannot even speak freely or touch each other in friendship. They say that time heals all wounds and I continue to hope so, but the acid of this particular one seems like it will keep on boiling for a long time.
However, there's a lot to be done and so I get to it, chores and errands and emails...
And here I am, blogging! This is quite enjoyable, thanks, Daniel.
Later I will sculpt. I have a brand new bag of clay and time to myself-that's a treasure to be savored. I have work to do-a clay bust of a primitive hero and I'd better get started before I have to go and pick up Rowan and babysit her for the evening.
Wow, that was a long one, thanks to any of you that actually made it through and read my whole day!