Today has been a bit crazy.
Last night the house bears and I fell asleep in my studio space, West Wing saving the world on Netflix.
Someone, who shall remain nameless, had to pee about 5:00 am. I put them all out, turned out a bunch of lights, checked all the locks, and we all headed to bed.
That lasted about an hour and a half, when a different someone started pacing.
All out again. A cup of hot water with lemon for me. Back to my chair.
Several choruses of, “No, it’s not breakfast time, yet.” Morning meditation conveniently delivered with help from my phone. Birds singing the sun up in the background. Another brief nap.
Sarah off to the dog spa for her summer style update.
Walks. Fast brunch for me. (Which would turn out to have been a good choice on timing!)
A lesson for Luther. His first away from home. Phoebe helped!
The faucet at our kitchen sink staged a sudden walkout. One minute I was happily filling the water dish, for about the 4th time this morning. The next minute, no water.
No warning. No leaking. No funny noises. No quaking construction noises from the big road behind the house.
I did the obvious thing and went to see if there was water elsewhere.
There was.
More perplexing. (And more than a bit frustrating.) Then, the light came on. Or, rather, didn’t.
You see, this faucet was a recent replacement after the one I loved died about six months ago. New-fangled and fancy, more commercial-esque than actual commercial, but reportedly sturdy. Making a choice was more about urgent, at that point, than important. In-stock. Complete with a sensor that turned it on or off with one touch of a forearm, rather than, you know, smearing raw chicken all over the handle.
Appealing to a former surgical nurse.
But today, in the space of about half an hour, the sensor light went out. And the water did not run.
Fast text to the wizard guy who built our deck. Several texts to Bill who is not, at the moment, local.
BTW, my neck is not amused at the moment, and there’s no way I could get under there and try to fix it myself.
While I was cruising Amazon, pondering a replacement, I noticed a twitchy sort of feeling. Mentally, that is. And then, from my objective observer position (Think owl in a tree. You have one, too!) I noticed something else. I was twitchy but coping. Breathing, even. Deeply.
Suddenly, I really felt, for the first time, the wisdom of meditation which has, historically, been something of a challenge for me.
I believe it works. I’ve just had trouble getting it to work in my world.
Noise. Distractions. Too small a house. Really big dogs.
No time or space.
Recently, I’ve been showing up and sitting more often. Daily, even. (Well, mostly.) A way of coping, I suspect, with lots of learning and change.
The faucet doesn’t work yet.
I still have to deal with the air conditioner repair guy AGAIN tomorrow, for like the fourth time in three weeks.
More to learn. Blogs to write… you get the drift.
And then I knew. From the inside, rather than the outside!
Meditation is not about keeping everything calm and quiet so we can sit on the floor (read that “chair”) and breathe.
Meditation is about being able to breathe even when everything is not all calm and quiet.
Which, when you think about it, is pretty awesome. And useful.
You can start right now, with three slow breaths, as deep as you find comfortable. Those three breaths start sending signals to your brain to relax. Reminders that the sky is not actually falling in this exact moment.
At which point, you might just decide to ask the handy-wizard guy for some advice tomorrow and buy a new faucet then. (One, I suspect, without a battery!)
And, maybe, you decide three more breaths would be good. And teaching the strategy of three deep breaths to your grandkids and any other kids you know would be even better.
Then, if this makes sense to you, you might just want to check out Meditation 2.0 The Miracle of Awakening with Craig Hamilton. There’s an online event this weekend. Jean Houston says it will be fabulous. I’m excited!
Until then, keep breathing!
Grandmothers Are In Charge Of Hope
