misplaced mama

All summer long I saw the signs. Mid-day family break. You sit zazen. Your kids do artwork with a loving teacher. Fridays@ local Dharma Hall.

I meant to go every Friday, really, I did. But first there was something. Then something else. Then about ten thousand other things.

And then months and months and I decide it’s time. Being at the cusp of either coming or going, living or dying, I decide that sitting for an hour in Practice would take me to the proper turn in this scrambly and windy road.

This morning, excited, I explain to the girls what today’s outing will be. Mama: meditates. You: play. Together we get ready, dressing. Gathering boots and socks and mittens and snacks. Wondering if the kind caretaker changes diapers in case of an exploded poop? Pack disposables instead of clothes, just be to nice.  Thinking of calling the Dharma Hall to make sure advertised meditation with childcare is indeed still on. Forgetting to do that part, I speed into town, ignoring the ticket I received two days prior. Also ignoring the fuel tank on E, I glide on grace. I need to meditate. Punching up hills, flying down: I.will.not.be.late.  Shoulders up to ears. Screaming children wanting to listen to Circe The Beautiful Witch one more time. Tears stream down my face. Could it be true? One hour of sitting is just moments away? I wanted it so much.

{Don’t want it too much}

Bellingham is full of one-way streets and of course I get stuck in that misty mid-day maze and then parking as usual is a puzzle-like bitch to me, six inches in the yellow, five inches away from making it impossible for the person in front of me to get out.  Fifteen minutes after the Time my vociferous bunch enter the red cedar room. French doors between our noise and pure silence. I stumbled a bit, looking for sign that led to a basement that said: Park Kids. Go Heal. Four little eyes open wide on my side of the glass panes, watching a room full of people doing nothing, siting, still. One sticky almond butter hand hand knocks on it. I grab and pull her away. NO, I hiss.  Are they meditating or praying or both, she asks.  Yes, I answer. The other one whines, loudly, I wanna draw now!  SHHHH, I hiss.

What does one do in a hallway of a Zen center, late and wondering? Wait until the baby lets out a loud yelp and get ready to run out the door back to the car. Before you can hide your head completley and escape, enters from the still room: Nancy. Kind, quiet, blue eyes, clear.

Can I help you?

Is today family meditation? My hand is one one girl’s head. The other girl is taking apart a pumpkin-lantern flower. Three seeds she pulls from inside it and places on the Buddha’s lap. Half of the lantern she sticks on the top of his head, like a little cap. So pleased with her offerings, I see her dancing for him out of the corner of my eye.

Oh. No. Well it used to be. But Tim is in charge and he is out of town and… Oh dear, I’m so sorry. We should have taken the signs down. It ended in September, I think. But do you want to sit? I’d be happy to take the kids downstairs and draw with them.

Really?

The look in my eyes was thanks enough, an answer without words. She takes the baby out of my arms. I ask the girls if they’d like to draw with Nancy. They smile, excited of the newness, the sacredness of the space enticed them, the smell of Kyoto incense, familiar to them.

We quietly walk back into the room. She walks down the stairs and I take the last zafu cushion on the right. My bottom settles down, my right is cradled by my left. In: my belly expands. Out: it contracts. I.Am. Alone.

But not for long. The screaming starts. She must have realized I was not with Nancy or the girls. At first I practice unattachment from the screams and cries and the quiet shushes coming from the less than soundproof basement.

Well, I guess that babies are part of this all, screaming babies are on this earth and they might just be heard while 20 people sit.

Is she disturbing everybody?

Do I get up? I’ve only been sitting ten minutes.

No. This is my time. I think she is quieting down.

(screeching loud enough to make your hairs stand on end)

Christ. She never gives up. She’s so loud, that child! I think I just heard someone get up and leave. Oh shit. I am ruining their practice.  They are going to hate me.  Stop!  Let it be!

[blood curdling]

Hail Mary full of grace the lord……wait, stop. am I actually going to pray that to get her to stop screaming. Please, please, I beg you Z, please just calm down, mama is up here, please.  stop. Stop! This is crazy. This isn’t any good. Why am I even here?

[uncontrollable screaming]

Do I attach myself to this practice or to this baby? Do I unattach to both? Mind: Bitch slaps me: GO. Milk: Sprays Down. Heart: Answers: Her.

Slowly I pull one leg from under me trying not to make a soundscrape with my pants on the cushion fabric, but in this type of quiet, you can hear an eye blink.I quickly pull the other leg out.  I use my arms to push up and then scamper across the smooth wood floor with wool socks help. I tip-toe down gray carpeted steps into a warm and bright basement. The big girls happily munching apples and drawing. The little one; red, snotty, soggy, sad, mad. pooped.

She hands me back the baby, at the same time the baby leaps into my arms, sighs, and hold me her head reting againt my shoulder.  We tried, she says. We tried, I said. A few tears escaped my eyes. Embarrassed. I know, she says. I know.

We need to find another person for Fridays to be with the kids.  We really are family friendly.  I am so sorry we forgot to take those signs down.

I should have called. I just don’t think the baby was ready for this yet. It was sudden. She needs a few minutes to adjust.

Soon, she says. Soon.

Right now I guess my practice is nursing, I say. I pop Z on my boob and she is finally done sobbing. She is home.

I stayed downstairs while she went up, back to her cushion.  No need to trample back through their still space. The girls drew with red and green and black sharpies on large board room paper. Sula: an Angel Flower. Mia: The Sun and Moon at the Beach.

The bookshelf was filled with delicious books, books I have been wanting to read for lifetimes, all for the borrowing for a whole month at a time. I flipped through them, soaking them in, enjoying the the silence coming from upstairs, happy to know that above my head, they were all there, still. And I was happy, to be down here, with them. It was not my time. Is not. Will be. One day.

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Upekka-parami:

My I develop mind of perfect equanimity, a mind that is just and impartial towards all beings, without preferences; a mind that cannot be shaken by the pairs of worldly opposites: pleasure and pain, praise and blame.