Last week. A young friend with cancer that should have been curable was moved into hospice care. An old family friend was having vision problems that have turned out to be a brain tumor. A sweet young man, the son of former neighbors, died suddenly of leukemia.
It was the kind of week that is sent as a reminder to stop and smell the roses, that each day might be your last, to tell the people that you love just that, you love them. All those trite, cliched ideas. But just like stereotypes that have an essence of truth, there exists inside each platitude the element of veracity. So I have stopped to smell the roses, quite literally, along my path to my train station. And I stop before I sniff to let the bees find their way out of the blossom, an effort to pay homage to that most useful of chestnuts, when probing unseen places use protection. I inhale the rich, ripe scents of subtle and not so subtle roses. I remember a field of lavender in the south of France. I let the umbrella close so the rain falls directly on me. I sense.
It happens that a wandering through Facebook posts of friends has lead me to a YouTube video of Pema Chodron talking about tonglen. It's a practice that I'm not terribly familiar with. There are no accidents and as I watch her brief videos and read a passage on the Shambala website it is clear to me that this is a practice I need to cultivate.
http://www.shambhala.org/teachers/pema/tonglen1.php
http://youtu.be/312oBat6MXs
http://youtu.be/PIyt4G4s2zc
There are so many people in my life who are suffering and I am grateful for the opportunity to be present for them. I am grateful for my awareness. I am grateful to be.
It was the kind of week that is sent as a reminder to stop and smell the roses, that each day might be your last, to tell the people that you love just that, you love them. All those trite, cliched ideas. But just like stereotypes that have an essence of truth, there exists inside each platitude the element of veracity. So I have stopped to smell the roses, quite literally, along my path to my train station. And I stop before I sniff to let the bees find their way out of the blossom, an effort to pay homage to that most useful of chestnuts, when probing unseen places use protection. I inhale the rich, ripe scents of subtle and not so subtle roses. I remember a field of lavender in the south of France. I let the umbrella close so the rain falls directly on me. I sense.
It happens that a wandering through Facebook posts of friends has lead me to a YouTube video of Pema Chodron talking about tonglen. It's a practice that I'm not terribly familiar with. There are no accidents and as I watch her brief videos and read a passage on the Shambala website it is clear to me that this is a practice I need to cultivate.
http://www.shambhala.org/teachers/pema/tonglen1.php
http://youtu.be/312oBat6MXs
http://youtu.be/PIyt4G4s2zc
There are so many people in my life who are suffering and I am grateful for the opportunity to be present for them. I am grateful for my awareness. I am grateful to be.
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