The ways of the Buddha according to a 12-year old

It is not a frequent occurrence in my daily life when my tween stops talking.  Usually, I say to myself, "what is going to happen next?"  But the other night a very strange thing happened.  He stopped talking to keep calm, to keep his composure, and to change a unhealthy cycle of anger and rage.

All I can say is the insight into a productive and mature response blindsided me and was cause for celebration (albeit a silent one).  When asked where this new technique came from, the young man replied, "the way of the Buddha."  "I learned that Buddha remained calm in difficult situations and I wanted to use that when I did not want to come inside and stop playing."  Now I am no scholar or expert in the history and techniques of Buddha or Buddhism, but I will take this as the gospel truth.

I had only one question for the wise sage of 12 years old who was sitting next to me, "it took you this long to use the technique after months of rage, anger, and confrontation?"  Clearly, that was not asked, it was not the time, nor the place, for a mother's critique.  When Siddhartha was 12 years old, he did not have a mother who "asks too many questions", because like this child, he lost a mother when he was an infant as well.

When I looked at him, starring straight ahead, silent, focused, in command of himself, I am seeing a young man.  When I hear his very deep voice speaking to me, I hear a young man, and when I feel his hand rub my arm just before he doses off to sleep, I feel a young man.  I am in awe that every 24 hours he is still with me and by my side, but he is increasing his stride into a young man.  The interesting parallel is that Siddhartha was reminded of a childhood memory where he attained a concentrated and focused state that was blissful and refreshing.

Later on that evening, after notes were passed to each other about a bowl of ice cream, the silenced thawed and the child-man went to sleep having mastered his own emotional landscape.  He sowed the seeds of enlightenment--may they be cared for, watered, and fed so they can grow with such beauty as the child-man.

स्मृति
mindfulness awaits  . . .

Paris in Summertime

Sometimes you have to live a fantasy to enjoy what is real.  Spending seven days in Paris, alone, was my version of "Eat, Pray, Love".

Upon arrival I made my way to the 12th for a special tasting lunch prepared by Miss Lunch.  Nine of us gathered in her loft and enjoyed the 5 course menu.  Miss Lunch prepares a "Lunch in the Loft" and I highly recommend this unique experience in Paris, especially if you are a foodie.

Marche Aligre

The first course was a white gazpacho that was comprised of white grapes, almonds, and pine nuts. We enjoyed this cold soup surrounded by beautiful contemporary art with a glass of Prosecco.  The second course was a trout gelee that had finely diced cucumber, tomato coulis, and caviar.  The home-made gelee was veal-based, and its clarity was superb.

We ventured to the third course of home-made duck breast prosciutto (thinly-sliced and air dried duck breast) with white beans cooked with a bit of orange zest and onions.  The warm soft beans paired with the duck breast went perfectly.

Course number four was a ravioli stuffed with goat cheese and a melange of mushrooms.  It sat on top of a fresh tomato sauce that was both light and summer-perfect.

Finally, we concluded our lunch with a Belgian waffle in a perfect star shape, hand whipped fresh cream, but the absolute delight was homemade mint ice cream in a vanilla base with fresh mint leaves and a dusting of Szechuan peppercorns.  Your tongue would be numbed by the peppercorns and then cooled by the ice cream.

The meal was followed by a thorough discussion of each plate and she shared favorite products like Premiere Pression Provence a first pressing of olive oil that is divine.

A walk around the 12th to the Bastille followed lunch and it was a truly exceptional start to a wonderful week.

More Paris highlights to come, but the fantasy did not disappoint.

Go to Sleep You Little Baby

I sometimes wonder if the gut feeling you have about something that may manifest is more correct than not.  I really do feel that I have a good gut instinct and about right now I am viewing a made for TV movie in my head.

The dramatic moments of a lover's quarrel, a soap opera cat fight, or pent up rage has all the elements of pain and sorrow.  Something we work really hard to have less than more in our life, but a persistent cloud remains.  Take it in then breathe it out--ujjayi breathing for parents.  This breath helps build energy, while clearing toxins out of the body.  Sit with the pain; the sorrow; the anger; the sadness - but then let the damn thing go.

Repeated scripts of abuse and remorse were at one theoretical, not anecdotal.  Anticipatory loss were scenes from movies or in novels, not in our daily bread at the kitchen table.  But as the girl becomes a woman and the boy becomes a man the loss of the child is sometimes grieved by those who love them.  By no means am I comparing the physical loss of a child (a death, a gun shot, or a self-inflicted accident) to the loss of innocence.  But sometimes loss is loss.

My son has experienced loss from the time he entered the world.  It keeps rolling up onto him as both a gentle wave and a crashing surf.  He has found both salvation and preservation when there were no words available.  But I wonder if the rubber-band that holds it all together will snap?  And if it does . . . . what happens next?

May the love that he has found bring him peace and know that the love he is my ever-loving baby.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.