Hasten slowly

I spent time in my garden on the weekend. I’m creating a new pathway beside my house—a project that requires heavy lifting and dogged perseverance on my part. The work reminded me of a post I wrote in September 2011: Hasten slowly. I decided to share it with you again, because I like the sentiment so much.

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“Hasten slowly and you will soon reach your destination.”   —Milarepa

I came upon that quote in Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance by Julia Cameron. When we busy ourselves doing something that we really believe in but rewards are slow coming, it is easy to get discouraged. Whether it is raising money for a good cause, writing a book, or facing another day with a troublesome co-worker,  sometimes we just need a little push to carry on.

But, how can we hasten . .  . slowly? Isn’t that an oxymoron?

And yet, it seems we do. When I think about it, every valuable part of my life has come to me out of hastening slowly.

• A university degree: scribbling notes and typing assignments during caffeine-driven all-nighters—for four years
• A thriving marriage: career juggling, whirlwind vacations, chasing around after toddlers, paying down the mortgage—for 22 years
• Children: pacing the floor during sleepless nights, car pooling to hockey games, gritting teeth at parent-teacher interviews, wanting everything to be perfect for them—for, well, forever
• Published writing: handwriting first drafts, transcribing messy second drafts, editing, reading aloud, pacing, getting up in the middle of the night to change a word—for days, weeks, years

No matter what the destination, to get there, we need to hasten, and then wait.

To create the perfect garden, we hasten to plant the seeds, remove the weeds, water the seedlings, and slowly a beautiful garden appears. To learn to play “Moonlight Sonata,” we hasten to the piano bench and play, practise, play, and slowly the music smooths out to a beautiful melody. When we learn to speak a language, we hasten to recite the verbs, converse with friends, practise the accent, and slowly we come to think, live, dream in the language.

And if we stop typing, juggling, paying, pacing, gritting, planting, weeding, watering, playing, practising, reciting, conversing—if we stop hastening—then we never reach the destination.

Whatever your destination, hasten to it, and slowly you will arrive.

Buddha Board: Live each moment to the fullest

The past is over.
The future may never be.
The present is all that exists.
Live each moment to the fullest.

Those words came with my Mother’s Day present from my daughter: a Buddha Board.

Based on the age-old Zen “Be Here Now” or “Power of Now” principle, the board’s surface holds the water you paint on it, for a short time, and then it dissipates. The user lives in the present, values it, and then lets it go.

I love that it allows me to be creative. I love that if I make a mistake, I watch it disappear into the ether. I love that when I paint something beautiful, I cherish it even more while it’s there, because I know it won’t last.

I put it on my family room end table beside Ganesh. (We are an ecumenical household.) Perhaps using it, or just the sight of it, will help me to live each moment to the fullest.

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Visit the Buddha Board site at http://www.buddhaboard.com/

Don’t skip the intro. It’s beautiful, and the background sound soothes. I had the site open while writing this post, and the audio makes me want to leave it open all day . . .

What goes around comes around, or let the child pee, for goodness sake

Anyone who has experience with children knows that when a 3-year-old announces the need to pee, it is almost always:

(a) far away from a bathroom, and
(b) several minutes past the point of urgent.

When my son was 3 years old, we went for a walk near our cottage. My son possessed the unpredictable bladder of a typical young boy, and that day his announcement of the need to pee met both of the above criteria. He clutched himself and did the “I gotta pee” dance while my husband and I looked around. No Go-Huts in sight. No cottages of people we knew. Our cottage was too far away—he’d never make it. But there was a lovely stand of trees.

Except.

Before my son could accomplish his much-needed task, the owner of said stand of trees charged out of her house and berated us. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded to know. “Get out of here.”

Okay, I could understand if a grown man or a group of drunken carousers had intruded on her space, but my obviously desperate, and by then crying, 3-year-old? It seemed cruel to deprive my son of what is, really, the most natural act in the world. Did we all not start out peeing in the woods, for goodness sake?

I’m usually forgiving and compassionate. Not this time. I held a pretty good grudge. If you do something to hurt me, I forget it pretty quickly, but if you do something to hurt my kids, forgiveness is going to be a long time coming.

Flash forward several years. I walked along the same stretch of road with my dog. (Can you see where this is going?) At the same copse of trees, my dog began to circle in her “poop walk.” (I could not possibly have planned it.) She plunked a wonderful little steamer right in the spot where the witch on her broom had said my son couldn’t relieve his discomfort.

I was always über-conscientious about pooping and scooping. Not that day. I left that delicious little pile there and bounced away smiling.

Vengeance, oh, sweet smelly vengeance, was mine.

If this woman had not adopted such a rude, dismissive manner all those years earlier, I would not have let the unhappy present on her grove of trees. I wonder. If she had known on that first day that she was making a choice between the pee of a 3-year-old or the poop my Miniature Schnauzer/Shih Tzu, which would she have chosen?

What goes around comes around, and her nastiness came back to visit her.

Now, I’m just left to wonder. What I did was petty, small-minded and vengeful. When will that come full circle back to me?

How “holey” is your life?

Photo courtesy of Trinity United Church

In response to an earlier post about perseverance, a friend of mine shared a story from her childhood.

One of her English teachers corrected mistakes on submitted homework in an unorthodox way. She punched a hole in the paper when she found a spelling or grammar error. Before returning work to her students, she held each paper up in the air in front of the class. Everyone could see by the amount of light shining through holes on the page how well, or poorly, each student had performed. No holes—good work. Holey homework—ouch.

My friend said, “I learned to spell really well.” She wanted to avoid public humiliation.

We were all horrified when she told us this story, and I don’t recommend it as a teaching method, but it made me ponder. Imagine if we could plot our lives on paper, and imagine if we punched a hole in all the places we made choices we regret. Imagine if someone held the paper up for all to see.

How holey would your life be? And how motivated would you be to make better choices?

In the end, it might not be such a bad thing to be able to say:
“I learned to live really well.”

How to respect other (sport) religions

I received this image on one of my social media feeds.

I like what the Salt Project has to say about religious respect. After the hockey events of the past week here in Canada’s capital, I thought that the same principles could apply to our sports religions.

I wrote earlier about the stewpot of hockey rivalry in our area. That was my way of trying to come to peace with residents of my town who support opposing teams. Playoff action creates even more tension. Above all else, people, we need to get along and respect each other. I invite you to adopt the Salt Project’s suggestions:

1. Educate yourself: Find out the history of your own organization and others. If you disagree with an action of someone on an opposing sports team, chances are your research will expose a similar transgression by someone on the team you support.

2. Be amazed or even converted into a better version of yourself: Allow room for awe, no matter the source, or the team. Try appreciating quality plays by either team. I think you will find you feel calmer and happier.

3. Be patient – Don’t form opinions too soon: Let time, or replays, mellow those knee-jerk reactions.

4. Build relationships: Nothing  breaks down barriers like getting to know someone who holds an opposing viewpoint and discovering that they really aren’t so bad. Get to know someone who supports another team and look for something to admire.

5. Keep your sense of humour handy: This is good advice every day, but especially when it comes to sports. Sports are supposed to be fun, for the players and the fans. If animosity ruins the fun, there’s something wrong.

6. Ask questions – Listen: This is part two of Educate Yourself. As you build relationships with other people, suss out the roots of their dedication to their team. Ask them about their past experiences as a fan. Find out what fires their passion. Listen without injecting your own opinions into the mix.

7. Say “I don’t understand – yet”: If you feel strongly about your team, you likely won’t change your allegiances after a few conversations. That’s OK. Some day you might. Leave room for that possibility.

8. Experience how others worship: Step into the milieu of the fans of the opposition. Try on one of their jerseys. Maybe a little of the mojo will seep into you.

9. Honour Convictions – Don’t try to remake people into your own image: The people with whom you build relationships aren’t likely to change your mind after a few conversations, right? You’re not going to change theirs either. Honour their convictions and accept.

10. Eat together, play together, and hold each other’s babies: A game of pick-up road hockey followed by a pizza feast, perhaps? Let your kids play together. Build relationships through food and fun.

11. Embrace mystery: Anything can happen in sports. Open yourself to the mysterious possibilities and embrace whatever comes.

12. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you: Ah, the Golden Rule. Always good to keep in mind.

Above all else, we need to get along and respect each other.

Dandelions, snails and milkweed are wonder-full

I just came in from digging dandelions out of my front lawn. You might think this would be a curse-word inducing experience, but not so. I dug those dandelions out of my front lawn reverently.

Some kids helped to give me a new perspective on these determined plants.

One morning last year I took my Sunday school class outside for a “Wonder Walk.” As we explored our grassy areas and the NCC property nearby, I encouraged the children to consider the two sides of wonder. I asked them to celebrate the things in the world that they thought were wonder-full, and I encouraged them to wonder about things they didn’t know.

The children found wonder in some big, easily noticeable things like motorcycles, our Ottawa city bike paths, and trees. But their search for wonder also prompted them to stop and examine their surroundings closely. They celebrated many things that would normally have passed unnoticed, like a bee in the wildflower garden and a snail still in the shell. We peeled open a milkweed pod and touch the silky white seeds. We invited the monarch butterflies to find the milkweed cluster.

The children also wondered about many things we take for granted. The hydro tower, for example. How exactly does hydro work? I celebrate the light that comes on in my house when I flick a switch, but I can only describe in broad terms how the power gets there. Water is involved, I know that much.

Dandelions peppered the grass beneath our feet that day. We bent close and marvelled at the intricate yellow flowers. We respected the dandelions ability to persist. We appreciated dandelions as food.

Yes, the kids and I agreed, dandelions are wonder-full.

They don’t bother me, and I dig them out of my lawn out of respect for my neighbours, who don’t enjoy them quite as much. But my new perspective makes the job a little easier. Each one I dig up gets a little nod of respect, because I know I’ll never win the battle. No matter how thorough I might be, there will always be one dandelion more.

And that is pretty darned wonder-full.