Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray)

1. Tiny altars everywhere. The one above is on the dining room table, my primary work space while Eric works from home. If there’s a space where I spend a lot of time, I start to build an altar without even realizing that’s what I’m doing. First it was the plant because that particular spot is the only place it gets enough light. Then I found the Buddha in one of the last boxes I emptied from my CSU office. It was the one that sat in about the same spot in relation to my computer screen when I was still working there. Then some dear friends dropped off a gift that included the rock, paw print on one side and “A forever friend, always in our hearts” on the other. And finally, another friend sent a card, and the picture on it looked so much like our Sam, that I added it too. In my “old” office at home, where the dog crates are, there’s also a little altar on top of the empty one with Sam’s ashes, paw print, and his collar.

2. Strawberry and ice cream season, which is good because I’m currently eating my way through my feelings — my sweet delicious feelings.

3. Practice. If I had to get up every morning not having a routine, a plan, a constant, I’d be so much more lost.

4. Peony season. They are abundant this year, as is the grief they represent (all of them were planted in memory of someone I’ve lost; I’m going to add a pure white one for Sam).

5. My tiny family, which is sadly a bit tinier this week.

6. I’m still here. As hard as things get, I haven’t given up.

Bonus joy: the love and care of good friends, seeing Chloe’ and Chelsey and Jon even though I couldn’t hug them, hanging out with Mikalina, Wild Writing, money to pay our bills and buy groceries, technology that allows me to keep in touch with people I love, resting in a dark room, Ringo (he likes Eric more than me and I lost my shadow, but there’s still a dog here), Sam’s presence which is still here or at least it feels like it in those moments I forget he’s gone, the new rubber broom we got to get dog hair out of the carpet (so satisfying!), good TV (I highly recommend “Work in Progress”) good podcasts (new episode of DYNAR this week), reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.

1. Truth: Real change takes time and effort. Pictures showed up in my Facebook memories from our garden eight years ago, as we were just starting, putting in the front burm and three raised beds, starting to plant. I went out this morning and took pictures of those same spots, to document the progress. Seeing the pictures side by side made me realize, again, that things take the time they take, and that is sometimes a very long time. It can go so slow it seems like you aren’t making any progress, but if you keep moving forward, even if it’s just baby steps, even if you take breaks to rest, even if you get lost for a bit, if you don’t give up you will eventually get somewhere. It might be different than what you planned or expected, but it might be even better.

2. Truth: Life is suffering. It’s uncomfortable and difficult, change is constant and impermanence is the outcome. Things won’t go how you planned and you won’t get what you want. You will get sick, injured, and eventually die, as will everyone you’ve ever known or loved. The foundation of Buddhism is four noble truths, the first of which is exactly this: life is suffering. Yoga offers a similar understanding: “One of yoga’s central teachings is that everything changes. This material world of prakṛti is impermanent and always changing (pariṇāmavāda) and we suffer when we remain attached to the way things were,” (Dr. Jarvis Chen). Most of us can consider our own experience as the proof: this is hard.

3. Truth: Cultivating the ability to stay with it is a worthy effort. To stay with it, keep at it, not give up, even when it gets hard. I was thinking about this in the context of racism this morning. As I work to be anti-racist, there was a time when I thought there would be an end to the internal personal process, that I would eventually root out all the racism in me, that I would reach the bottom of it, the end. Now I realize that as a white person during this moment in history in this culture, I will probably always be racist on some level. It’s like the bindweed in my garden — I continue to pull it out, day after day, season after season, but I most likely will never be entirely rid of it. It’s just too prolific and hardy. And yet, I will keep trying. My hope is the same with anti-racism, that if I continue to put in the effort, I will see more clearly, my actions will continue to be more skillful and effective, and I will cause less suffering, do less damage.

One wish: May we cultivate our ability to stay, to make the effort for as long as it takes even if it takes forever and even when it’s hard, doing as Andrew Boyd said, growing “strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.”