The only Zen you find on the tops of mountains
is the Zen you bring up there.
Robert M. Pirsig
from: The Little Zen Companion Book
Hello dear blogging community of friends!
I have been thinking of you and missing my blog. Missing to write and to shoot some photos but not making time for that.
I haven’t had time because I have been busy at work, doing things I also love. It’s been hard but it’s been rewarding. It’s not always that one can say that about work, right? And it’s been good because I keep facing challenges, making mistakes, and overcoming the obstacles with success, learning more every day.
I have lately caught myself thinking that 24 hours a day are not enough to live life to its full potential; and I’m thirsty to live more. Even if everything may not always be as happy as I wanted.
However, I had been missing that peaceful space in my head, that feeling of zen that I get when relaxed and humble. I haven’t felt like that often as my adrenaline has been on a high and running at full speed on a daily basis.
That’s what brought me to revisit the above quote about zen, that I had in my notes for a while.
My writing today is a bit rusty, so forgive me if I sound like a cliche. I probably am. Consider that I’m talking to myself aloud in public space, and not afraid of it. So be it.
Life is made of both, the yin and the yang, right?My zen is not always here if I don’t make space for both of it. That sentence is banging in my head. No matter how high the imaginary mountain I climb everyday, I need to bring my peace with me, and feel and see it also when I’m down in the valley of issues and challenges.
Not judging is the key …says my yoga teacher. Just observing. Not judging me nor others. Accepting that the unexpected is expected and doing the best one can to deal with it. How easy is to say this.
And then I sit here in my living room, drink a cup of green tea, close my eyes and observe. I hear my breathing, my heart, I hear the birds singing in a spring morning. I hear the sound of a plane passing far away, I hear the sound of a car breaking hard at the other side of the canal I live.
I open my eyes and observe. A mother arrives with a 10-12 y/o kid. A man opens the door. They don’t talk to each other. She is probably bringing the kid to her father. Divorced parents. The mother leaves and the kid runs frantically after the car. Then the kid returns and starts crying. That got me. Deeply.
I thought of my stepdaughter at that age. I thought of her now at age 17. How hard was to be that 6 y/o kid I met for the first time? How hard is to be the 17 y/o girl becoming a women? We haven’t seen nor talked to each other lately, so I cannot answer that.
Now you’re thinking? Where is she going now? Well, I was trying to meditate when this all happened. So I closed my eyes again. And meditated for some minutes. I focused on not focusing and to think or to do whatever. Then I gave up to focus and focused on nothing. At last.
My husband woke up and my meditation ended. We had a long talk about his daughter struggles and about my work. Busy times, not missing the obvious hurt, challenges, reflections and learnings. Lots of it. For both of us.
My search for balance becomes even more important to recharge and take care of myself and ourselves.
The image of that kid didn’t leave my mind.
That kid who is perhaps afraid. Afraid of not being able to express herself. Afraid of not being able to handle the situation. Afraid of making things even worse. Afraid of making choices.
That kid who is perhaps in conflict between dad and mummy. That kid who after all, made choices, and in doing so, hurt one or the other, and herself. That kid who is not prepared nor matured enough to understand neither.
That kid who is perhaps suffering and is perhaps not noticing that she is making others suffer. That kid that needs help but doesn’t ask for. That kid who just needs love. And who cannot see that both parents love her too.
Perhaps that kid gave me the answers I was looking for and helped me to accept reality for what it is. Sometimes we win. Sometimes we lose. So be it.
I found my zen again. For now.