A couple of nights ago, my friend shared with me her new year's resolution - to practice 'here and now' (see http://www.buzzle.com/articles/buddhism-buddhist-philosophy.html).
And in an exercise of this, she turned off her music while walking from the bus to her office building and focused on her feet touching the ground, each step, the move of her arms, the feel of the mist on her face, the smell of the wet air, and it became so important to her, that she had done this walk so many times and never actually experienced it in the 'here and now'.
At the time of sharing this with me, I was in Mother Theresa mode, focusing on doing many, many small things towards the greater good. I could not appreciate the 'here and now', as I had a long list of small things I needed to finish in order to reach that greater good for the week.
This morning, we went for a walk in glen park canyon. Mid-January, we were in short sleeves, walking in the sun, and it was warm enough to smell the eucalyptus trees. The most amazing smell. And I felt present, oddly enough, not so much in the moment, but in the imagination of running with my music, through sunshine, through the trails, seeing the bay, and smelling the trees, complete freedom, almost abandonement. My imagination allowed me to experience the strength and awe of the beauty of the moment, even without fully experiencing it.
That is presence to me. That is what presence is to a writer - the space of imagination and memory merged into one.
It is late now, almost 11. Tonight we celebrated my husband's 40th. He was away all week and I worked very hard to make the party special without him having to see the effort that needed to go into such a special night. So many people came, traveling from around the bay. I saw his eyes tear up a couple of times and he does not express emotion, hardly ever, and so I knew that it was right, that all those small steps had amounted to something important.
He is out now, continuing the night. I stayed behind, cleaned the house, and now feel that it is important to take this time to write my blog - to capture this moment in history, even if it becomes something that I can share with him down the road, or share with Amelia over the years when we are celebrating milestones.
There were a couple of crazy moments. While making up the goodie bags for the kids, which I spent a good bit of time preparing for (I bought special gifts that represented each of the seven children and one almost-born child), I could not remember any of the children's names (except Amelia's - my daughter). And then later, when introducing one of the guests, I called her the wrong name, and I was truly embarrassed, but then realized there was something about being present and with trying to get through the week that it was that seemed to occulminate in a loss of detail. I have always been a conceptual thinker, and never get the concepts wrong, but the details, I cannot seem to hold on to them, to make them concrete, not at all in moments like these.
This week I had another deadline in work, Padhraic was away so I was on my own with Amelia, and I needed to do my best to make the birthday weekend special without him feeling the burden of the work that must go in it. I also had an important meeting, unexpected, but one that I am glad happened, but left me with those feelings of guilt again, knowing that I needed to be assertive and confront some very important issues, but feeling bad that I wasn't acting in the space of pure kindness, empathy, warmth, inspiration - the space where I seem to gain rather than lose energy.
But the night that it was, I feel was ultimately a success - Padhraic felt joy in a moment of change - this was my goal - to give him that.
I will write Julie a card to say I am sorry (for spacing out on her name). She is this amazing woman that I look up to - I would love to see myself like her in a few years time - so full of life, so present all the time, there for so many, participating in the lives of those around her. She told me that she came tonight to feel the presence of the children and the joy she knew they would be having with all the chaos of the birthday around them.
When I tucked Amelia in tonight, she sang 'Happy to you, dada, happy to you dada' up until the moment when we are always present together, when I sang us the sh'ma, which I have done almost every night since her birth.
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