Here’s how Sunday went down.
(Spoiler: it was a good one.)
I awoke at 5:30 to prepare for Amy to join me in our weekly communal Sit Fest.
If you have read a few of my posts over the last month, you may recall that my friend and I propelled ourselves into a Zen Meditation practice inspired by a book, a gorgeous priest with 1 inch hair, and a crazy road trip to Washington D.C. We continue on this path to who knows where. If the journey is the point, I’m not getting off the train anytime soon. It’s a marvelous ride.
This entailed re-cleaning the kitchen from the efforts of my two older children, making coffee, lighting up my praying lady and letting the dogs relieve themselves.
My praying lady
I have grown attached to this $12 trinket from World Market. She’s been a part of my Zen Meditation journey from the beginning. Think Tom Hanks and Wilson from Castaway.
Likewise, I have grown attached to this daily practice of sitting still on the throne my my hind quarters. Amy and I are both at a loss for words when we are asked what it is we are up to. We don’t know. But something’s happening here, just read the signs or look at the bitches. Here’s my Maggie during our quite time:
Completely relaxed. Wide awake. I want to be like her.
After I shot us up with coffee and we caught up from the weekend by whispering in the dawn light (my family was asleep but had been forewarned that this ritual was to take place one floor below their slumber.) I was nervous we’d be walked in on. In the immortal words of one of my VERY FAVORITE BANDS THAT NO ONE REMEMBERS AND FEW HAVE EVEN HEARD OF, The System:
Hang a sign up on the wall, don’t disturb this groove.
Amy (l), Clair (r)
Then she left. Time stands still when we sit. We are quiet, we breath, and then the bell rings. Sounds riveting, doesn’t it. It is. It really is.
I set my praying lady back on her throne in my dining room and proceeded to wake my children so we could attend Mass at a monastery and then serve pancakes to the monks. I was so deeply connected to that experience and didn’t once feel confused or like I was cheating on myself. Eastern-influenced meditation practice meets the beautiful rituals of Catholic sacrament. Though I felt like a spiritual mutt, it somehow works. They say mutts make the best female dogs. A mix of many influences, some obvious some mysterious. Mostly they are loveable and very, very chill. I’ll take that.
I taught a yoga class later that day, cleaned my house for the hilarity of the upcoming holiday, picked up one of my daughters from a sleepover hosted a marshmallow-roasting fest in my backyard and the other usual things most mother/yogi/wife/sister/friend mutts do.
This beeyatch was tired.
Conclusion: you don’t have to be one thing to be full-on, all-out, 100% awake. But, I do need coffee.
Would you have coffee with a mutt?