Mindful Blogging -

To Poach An Egg

March 3rd, 2012 | Posted by Laura Dorfman in Buddhism | Mindfulness | Practice - (2 Comments)

If I think about the mindfulness it takes to poach an egg, all of a sudden it seems stunningly similar to my life.

If I could live my life like the best poached egg I’ve ever made, well, I think I would be present all the time.

There’s only a few seconds you can look away when you poach an egg, otherwise you will lose it.

I can imagine many situations where people would give their right arm to get a few seconds of time back. A few seconds of mindlessness or not being present can make a huge difference in a life, and an egg.

There are people who can cook poached eggs like experts and there are people who live their lives like experts. But most of us flail along and just keep trying. Some of us try harder than others, some of us try longer, but I would think most of us at some point in our lives attempt to make really good eggs.

The chances of an egg being poached perfectly is low. It’s also relative.

It appears, in the end, to really be all about practice.

The Beautiful Dance Of Little Star

November 14th, 2011 | Posted by Laura Dorfman in Buddhism | Death and Dying | Dogs | Impermenance - (0 Comments)

Two weeks ago was my birthday. I felt sad that Little Star wasn’t included in the menagerie of sleeping beings next to me. I wanted so much, for my birthday present, to be the same thing that I’d wanted for the last 10 weeks. It was simply to “just have my dog back”. That physical being that walked next to me for eleven years. Eleven very hard years, which didn’t seem so bad because I had my beautiful family of which she was a grounded, centered, and secure force. She first came as a vision quest, as my spirit guide. She then showed up a year later in real life. It was a dream come true, this beautiful creature that appeared in my mind, came true. I had the honor of being her human.

And then her body grew weak and she left the earth.

It was one of the most beautiful nights of my life and it was supposed to be one of the saddest. It wasn’t. It was peaceful and full of depth like I have never known. An unmeasurable feeling of content and safety that had power to last. This feeling could heal deep wounds and not allow new ones to form. I was only sure of one thing. This night that I had played over and over in my head as something I may not be able to handle turned out to be one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. These are the only words I can use to describe the death of one of the most beautiful spirits I was honored to reside with on this planet. It seemed a short ten years, but the wisdom I feel she has left me, is astounding. I am new.

I had a beautiful meditation the other night. While attempting to confront and welcome sadness, the very subject of that sadness come to me and offered a dance. It was a beautiful scene. A beautiful dance. One I hope to visit many times. One I am complete in. Safe. Comforted by joy. She is so close to me. I feel her every moment at my side. She will not let me be sad for too long, just for short times, and then she dances for me. Her silly, beautiful dance on the beach where I fell in love with her for the first time.

Little Star hasn’t left me and I am so grateful to her. She has been so close to me that mostly I do not mourn. My grief is limited to the time when I want to touch her body so badly that I can’t see straight. Those times are few. Mostly I walk with her right at my side. I can feel her so close to me, that I know I am with her, and I do not grieve. I rejoice in the ability to keep her with me so strongly, and to be able to allow her to stay with me so close.

She is there when I need to make hard decisions, she is there when I’m scared of some creepy dark moment, and was here, just last week, body blocking me to stop me from getting my heart broken.

Most importantly, she is always here when I need to laugh. She is always here when I start to take things too seriously. Just as the dread comes about, so does Star doing some goofy, funny dance on the beach.

Our dogs: the time often seems short but the gift is so rare, so precious, it can last our lifetime.

Those Eight Words

My brother tells this funny story about when he was in college, he and his roommates used to hang out by the Buddhist’s houses because eventually they would start giving away “stuff”. My brother and his friends used to bring home all the material items of the Buddhists who were cleaning out the attachments in their lives. We always had a good laugh about that and when I started to follow my Buddhist path seriously, I too told this story many times. I thought I knew about “attachments” and “stuff” and “happiness”. I thought as long as I was aware of my attachment to my Ipod or my very cool bicycle, I could continue on with that plan. I was studying, I was learning, I was struggling and I was on my path.

And then one of my most precious attachments was threatened. My mind started spinning and did not settle. It was a brand new roller coaster I wasn’t aware existed and a lesson I learned very deeply. I had never been on this particular roller coaster before and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how I felt and I had nothing to attach to. Being so off center I had to grab onto something. It was easy to unattach when I had a strong foundation and when I was centered. It was also easy to unattach when it was my iPod or baseball collection, but the moment I was thrown off center, I went into the unknown and I barely knew what day it was.

At that moment of total confusion, I grabbed ahold of the biggest, loudest voice in my head and attached. I clung on hard and fast and didn’t look back. It was eight words and they ran my life for months. It was a different kind of attachment I wasn’t aware could happen. It’s worse than any connection to any Ipod or big screen TV I could ever have.

“Your best friend has two weeks to live”. Those were the eight words. They are quite powerful and with them I went on a “journey through darkness”. I had all the reactions one would expect. I cried, I ached, I listened to heart crushing songs, I stayed close and I did all I could to make her safe. When two weeks went by, I was exhausted. I had been up all nights watching her sleep, I stayed home every day with her. We started the healing team, but all I could think about were those eight words. Because I had attached so hard on those eight words when two weeks came and went, I got lost. First I got upset with the bearer of those words. I latched on to her in my mind and was angry that she was wrong. How could she say these powerful words and not be absolutely correct. Even though her mistake meant my miracle, I was determined to be attached to her. What a lesson. As she said those words, I prayed that she was wrong, yet when she was, I couldn’t handle it.

I kind of expected my best friend to be here longer than two weeks. It had happened once before when three days turned into ten weeks. Then I called it “The Gift”. I had ten weeks to spend with my soulmate, who was leaving me, and those ten weeks were beautiful. So I thought when this happened again, perhaps I could get another “gift”, but I wasn’t sure I could be lucky twice.

When the two weeks became four and six and then ten, I got more and more off center. I was totally attached to those eight words and I didn’t know what to do next. It was a statement made, a very powerful statement that grabbed me and twisted, and it didn’t stop. I wouldn’t let it stop. I didn’t know where I was because I was living in weeks passed. I had trouble meditating, studying. I had trouble in my mind. That’s usually the place that’s the calmest for me. My body and spirit seem to give me more challenges, so to have my mind in constant turmoil was hard for me.

So all of a sudden my material possessions were the least of my worries about attachments. Attachments on a whole different level are the attachments we develop from ideas, thoughts and even expert statements made from statistics and analysis. They are all just words. Until they actually happen, they are always only words.

This definitely supports “living in the present”. It gives a powerful lesson of, “If you’re worried about something and can do something about it, do it. If you can’t, then don’t worry”. And it gives a huge boost to, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow’s a mystery, today is a gift, that’s why they call it the present”.

It took me months to settle my mind. As I sit here with my beautiful best friend five months after “the words”, I have learned a most important lesson. I have become aware of the way our minds can easily fall into the agony of attachment not just to material things, but to words, ideas and thoughts. I am learning to love the moment, which allows me to be fully present with the precious being that still sits with me. I will continue to try and release into the big sky the concept of what’s to happen, what could happen or where and when something might happen.

I live today with my best friend at my side. Practicing.

Impermanence

I watch her sleep all the time now. I’m watching her now as I type. In fact I’m becoming a better typist. I watch her and not the keyboard, which is what I’m supposed to do when I type, but never having formal typing skills, I usually watch the keyboard. But not anymore, now I watch her sleep.

I love it when she sleeps outside and her ears fly around with the wind. Her right floppy ear flops, little floppy flops, really cute. Her other ear flaps big waves, long stylized waves. It’s possible to be able to describe it so well because I watch her all the time. Only her ears can help one understand the difference between floppy and flapping. It’s a very important thing to know.

I don’t think she minds when I watch her sleep, in fact I think she likes it. I think she feels my eyes and I think it makes her feel better. My thoughts are for her these days, almost exclusively. I want to do this well for her.

Of course I also watch her eat, I watch her walk, I get down right giddy when she trots, and now when she barks, I watch that too, but with different eyes. I watch her bark with eyes that say, please little one don’t ever stop barking. I won’t mind it like I used too, please just don’t stop. Don’t stop eating or sleeping either. Please just don’t stop.

I watch her chest go up and down and I remain at ease. A scared ease, but still an ease. She is still here, still here with me.

She brought me out of a darkness that I never thought I would survive. She taught me compassion. She brought back laughter.

She is my partner, my best friend, but most important she is my teacher and I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. I only know one thing.

I’ve been practicing for this all my life.

Last Christmas

It’s been a challenging and terrifying year. I was familiar with terror as a child. I thought pain was good and it let me know I was alive. I didn’t like it, but I was used to it. I have always been aware that my life could slide by without my knowing it. It was and is the single most important thing I have always been aware of.

A year ago last week I was told by my trusted MD, after an MRI, “One wrong move and you could be a quadriplegic” The words stung like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I was stunned and stayed that way for the two weeks until surgery to relieve that threat. A surgery which was much less dangerous than walking around. The doctor told me “not to slip”, get in “a fender bender”, and definitely, “don’t fall or jerk your neck”. The damage to my disk was extensive and the bone spurs on my spinal cord were large and looming. “One wrong move” was my mantra for the rest of the month. It was December in Chicago and the very next day, we had an ice storm. I stayed in the house, moved slowly, very mindfully. The two weeks until surgery felt like years. I don’t remember Christmas. I also don’t really remember the pain. I remember the pain before I was told. I remember it was months leading up to the tests, but I don’t remember the pain during the wait. That’s one of the perks of terror, you don’t remember pain.

I remember thinking then about not being able to move and spending the rest of my life completely still. It still sends shivers done my now healing spine. I still think of it. I never want to take for granted the blessings I have. Being able is often a choice, being able bodied is something I don’t think we think about until we are threatened with losing it or we do lose it without warning. I was lucky, I received warning, understood the importance and only lived in that particular place for two weeks.

With Christmas coming, I have had many thoughts in my mind regarding this last year. It has changed me in a profound way, a way I’m not even sure of yet. I feel different. I am still in pain. I am still not sure of the outcome. Four month’s after the first surgery, I had another. It makes recovery complicated. More muscle damage, more spurs on the nerves in my shoulder, the one I use a lot. I learned to use the other one.

Life is impermanent. As long as we are aware of it, we have it. I’m new again. I’m so grateful, sometimes I can hardly breathe. I am loved, There is no better feeling than to be calm inside. To be loved and be able to love. I do that so deeply, that often it hurts. I am not moving very well these days and I hope to do better. I am feeling, I am loving.

I used to think pain was good, it let me know I was alive. I think I still think that, but I also think love can do that too. I am very different than I was last Christmas. I love deeper, stronger, and with much more compassion. When I was young and I felt terror, I used to run. Now when I feel terror, I feel the need to love.

Last Christmas there was very little holiday cheer, no cookies for Santa, we were num. That’s the place I’ve always feared.

This Christmas we send the one thing we know for sure, and we send it out to all sentient beings. May you love someone, very deeply, and may you be loved.

First Noble Truth: Life is suffering. First Reminder: Life Is Precious . Still practicing