Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today is our dogs' eleventh birthdays.  We sang happy birthday, gave them birthday bisquits, a sqeaky toy each and put birthday bandanas on their necks.  I memorialized it with a photo.  In their case right speech is not as important as right tone and right tone is nothing compared to a bisquit.  But put it all together and they seemed excited and perky, and when it began to rain on our walk, they took it in stride.  Dogs don't seem to need speech much.  They are attached to our heartstrings and feel everything first.  Which means they see through the words to intention.  It's an admirable quality, and maybe why Tibetans believe that dogs are the highest reincarnation next to humans.  Loyalty, protectiveness, compassion for their humans, they will give up their lives for those they love.

Their devotion is an example to be followed.  And they are the best snuggle buddies in the world.  Today, I will try to live up to my dogs' example.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

The sweetest speech in the world is the news of a baby born.  My friend's granddaughter was born yesterday before dawn, and she's lovely and healthy and the whole family is joyful.  I've already seen three pictures of her, thanks to IPhones, and feel I am sharing in this happiness.  And soon my son and daughter-in-law will have a baby boy.  I'm excited and nervous and waiting, just waiting.  I really don't want to do anything else, so I distract myself but in the back of my mind is anticipation.  Being in the present moment is difficult.

But last night at our writing group, I experienced such joy because everyone's piece was just so terrific and I had this epiphany of how skilled the group had become through hard work and supporting each other.  Their speech was my joy.  We were telling important stories, sending them out into the world to share.  It felt so good.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We had dinner at our younger daughter's and son-in-law's place last night with his parents who are visiting them.  I like them more as I get to know them, though we haven't much in common.  We got along well last night, and watched the blood moon/eclipse together in front of the flat.  But when we went home my husband had really had an awful time.  Nothing bad had happened, he just had a completely different experience than I had.  It was a wake up for me.  He and I are very different people.  Socializing is stressful for him and I enjoy it (excuse the generalizing, sometimes it's the opposite).  His reaction reminds me that my world is subjective, and not "the truth".

I've learned not to argue him out of his own opinion.  I try to respect his viewpoint.  But it is the Mars/Venus dilemma, and I'm afraid he gets discouraged if I don't see the interaction his way.  It makes him feel worse, as if he has no right to his opinion unless I can be persuaded to his "side".  I don't believe in sides, and I'm certainly too old to pretend to agree with my husband of 41 years.  It's like we inhabit parallel universes, as in a Murakami novel.  But it serves to remind me that everyone is subjective and not to assume people are in agreement about what they see and hear.  We all filter reality through our unique prism.  It's really pretty fascinating.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My Buddhist teacher talked today about thorns in the heart and how they keep us from being the person we wish to be.  He said no one is evil:  if you look deeply enough, you see the thorns in the person's heart that have hindered him/her from kindness and compassion.  They are in a cloud of confusion, striking out or mimicing something done to them.  The more you understand the easier it is to forgive.  This includes ourselves.  Those sharp hurts in our hearts are keeping our heart from expanding and embracing others.  If we ease these thorns out by examining them and speaking of them to a witness, then our heart no longer hurts.

Speaking of and acknowledging these thorns is difficult.  And we are often unaware of them, unaware that are actions are resulting from a long ago hurt, a grudge, a wound.  An invisible wound cannot heal, but we can take action to heal ourselves and turn to others to heal us if we make it visible.  And after we've undergone this process, our compassion and ability to see thorns impeding others is enlarged.  But the speaking must happen.  Teachers say a Buddhist practice needs one witness, at least.  Usually, the teacher is that witness.  I also have several friends who are my witnesses.  I'm blessed.  It takes my admission of the thorn to pluck it out.  I must speak of the unspeakable.  And I must have a listener.  I am engaged with others to be able to practice.  We are interdependent.  And we have the opportunity to heal each other by our speech.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Our dogs woke us up early this morning, and since I had something planned with a friend at 10, I cheerfully fed them, made breakfast, walked both dogs and then my husband and I drove to our son's place to feed his girlfriend's cat and check on him.  We even whipped over to the bank to get some money out.  I was back home in plenty of time and waited first inside, then outside, for my friend to pick me up after her Pilates class.  When she was late I called and she had forgotten all about it.  She felt terrible and apologized profusely, and I was gracious.  But I was disappointed.  I could go by myself but a quilt show needs a friend to share reactions and likes and dislikes.  So I'll wait until we can see it together. 

We're both at the age when forgetfulness is rampant.  It could have been me.  But now I have a weekend with no plans, no baby in sight, and I have to scramble around for an outing.  Am I angry?  No, just, as I said, disappointed.  There is no blame.  Which is an improvement over the past, when I'd have judged my friend, or decided she didn't value my friendship enough and feel sorry for myself.  Today it was clean.  I named what I was feeling accurately right off the bat.  And what happened then was the upset went away in a minute or two.  Amazing what practicing no judgment can do!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today is the anniversary of my father's death, and I want to speak of it even if only on this blog, because I value memory and the special place in our hearts for our parents.  He's been gone exactly 30 years today.  So much has happened that he "missed", both good and bad.  He was a powerful presence for my kids, and I regret the youngest doesn't remember him.  She grew up without grandparents, since my mother died 10 months before my dad.  At 40 I was an orphan, and "on my own".  It felt terrifying and liberating.  I grieved heavily for a year, then gradually life took over, as it does, and though I still thought of them frequently, the pain subsided.  The pain was partly feeling they were cheated by dying so young.  The pain was also how badly they cared for themselves and how their deaths were attributable to that lifestyle.  They both smoked from the time they were kids.  They drank too much.  They ate poorly at times, and with too much fat and sugar in their diets.  They did exercise regularly, and had friends and support systems and financial security and travel and all things that make life interesting.  With my mother, the smoking and drinking caused a fatal heart attack.  With my dad, the smoking and working in the textile industry and breathing all that air in factories filled with fibers eventually killed him. 

I've passed the ages they both died, which feels very strange.  I see them both in my kids and in myself.  Their love for me was never in doubt.  We didn't agree on a lot of things, but they had my back regardless.  That is my legacy to my kids.  I'm there for them.  No matter what.  My mother used to say even if my brother and I were in prison she'd love us.  It annoyed me at the time, but I get it now.  Love doesn't judge, it just is.  And I still feel my father's love and appreciate his spirit being with me.  Hi, Dad.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Last night I felt I floundered a bit when I was sewing with our younger son's girlfriend.  She and I have tried several baby gift projects.  The last time it was quilts and this time it's an owl pillow.  I'd lost the pattern so I'd drawn one on parchment paper, and as she worked on cutting and sewing, I realized I'd done a terrible job and also didn't know how much to redo or if I should tell her we should start all over. 

How to be encouraging while constantly adjusting the owl?  I had no instinct for the balance.  I'm a retired teacher, sure, but nobody would ever hire me to teach sewing.  And I'm not so good at following directions or stating the steps to follow.  I felt lost.

I wrote her an email this morning apologizing, and she denied she'd been frustrated.  She said she thought she would pull apart and resew or make a new pattern herself.  She is so completely kind that I'm not sure I believe her about the frustrating part, but I realize that what she described is sewing:  you try it, it doesn't look right, there's too much material or too little, the sides aren't the same, and you redo and redo until you are satisfied with what you're looking at.  I wanted to protect her, but she IS learning a lot by the old standby:  trial and error.

I'm glad I apologized.  I'm sure that was right speech.  I just wish I'd had some right speech flowing last night when I was trying to help!