Magda will facilitate on Monday evening (May 24).
In Old Paths White Clouds Thich Nhat Hanh describes how, soon after the Buddha achieved Enlightenment, he played the flute in such a sublime and transcendent way that it left an audience of musicians in awe. The Buddha explained that he had not practiced the flute in nearly seven years since he had left his home and that his performance did not depend solely on practice: “I now play better than in the past because I have found my true self.”
This story reminds me of how my mindfulness journey has helped me find a more genuine version of myself. I had the opportunity to recognize my transformation last summer during a lengthy visit to Puerto Rico to support my elderly mother. She had been deeply impacted by the island’s natural disasters followed by a strict pandemic quarantine. The Catholic dogma of my upbringing would have never sufficed to help me transcend the desolate conditions I encountered.
From the beginning of the pandemic I was haunted by the thought of my mother suffering and dying alone. I could not separate myself from her suffering. My mother’s suffering was my suffering. The Sanskrit word Madhyama means ‘a sound in its subtle form as it exists in the mind/psyche before its gross manifestation’. That sound inside my mind, which became a roar, proved to be right. Upon my arrival in Puerto Rico I found that my mother had kept her deteriorating condition a secret so as not to burden her family. “You have done so much for all of us. It is time we support you. Secrets will only leave you lonely,” I told her.
As I describe in my Mindfulness Bell article “Reconnecting to My Homeland” (Link), I managed to remain calm and uplifted despite the despair that surrounded me. The lively community of my childhood had turned silent and grief-stricken. My treasured San Juan felt like a graveyard. But my inner oasis was easily accessible. Moreover, I had become much more open to nature’s healing gifts. In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes that in some Native languages the term for plants translates to “those who take care of us”. Yes, Puerto Rico’s magnificent natural environment rose to rescue me.
Curiously, my mindfulness practices acquired a Puerto Rican - or Boricua - flavor. During my sitting meditation I felt the embrace of the tropical, humid air. The kaleidoscopic mix of hills and trees I saw from my window formed the background of a colorful, sonorous motion picture starring parakeets, parrots and coquis. During walking meditation I drank steaming hot Puerto Rican coffee while joyously observing the lush flora. And when I strolled on the ocean shore, the turquoise luminosity combined with the salt-rich air to have a healing effect. The most memorable image, which is depicted in my picture, was when an iguana walked next to me by the ocean.
After experiencing firsthand how vulnerable our elders could be in times of crisis, I worried about those who were dying during the pandemic in nursing homes, away from their loved ones. In Braiding Sweetgrass, Kimmerer describes how tenuous her presence is in a place where no one knows her:
“I’m here too, on the shore at the western edge of the continent, new to how land appears and disappears in this place with the tides and with the fog. No one knows my name here, and I don’t know theirs. Without this exchange of the barest recognition, I feel like I could disappear in the fog along with everything else.”
I am sure that many of our seniors, my mother included, often feel this way. Paradoxically, the ones who should feel like the most established among us end up feeling like aliens. I often wonder if our society does its best to demonstrate the solidarity that its older members deserve. They may not want to burden us, but they need us. Do they feel that we really care, that they are still relevant?
It is true that at the age of 88 my mother has lived a full life. But I am satisfied that, even in her last stage, she has been granted one more chance at life, enriched by meaningful companionship and an understanding that she matters to all of us.
Some questions for us to explore:
1) Describe when your mindfulness practice helped you transcend very difficult circumstances.
2) Can you think of a time during the pandemic in which your mindfulness practices helped you be more effective in a new role you had to play?
3) Describe how your mindfulness practice changes when you visit your childhood home or home town.
4) How can we express more solidarity with our elderly so they feel they matter to us?
5) Describe when someone/something you used to take for granted came to your rescue.