A warm April day. Stayed in bed until 10:30!!!! almost a record. My body feeling every bit of her 65 years today. Achey knees, sore back, easily winded, sprained finger throbbing and inflexible. Anxiety my friend and companion. An email from the owner of the birth center where my clinic is-raising the rent $300 a month and by the way, they'll be out of town for a week (in Maui) so get back to him with any comments after they get back. Ha!
I can't figure out the whole thing. I'm privileged to live in a house. I have enough food. I'm white in a white dominated culture. I have health and dental insurance. I'm pretty healthy. I'm fortunate enough to have and care for pets. I can spend time going to retreats. I will somehow manage to go to the UK with my children this summer. My problems are 'First World problems' as they say in my POC sangha.
And yet I'm afraid. I'm afraid that my business will fail. I'm afraid I'll end up old and alone. I'm afraid I'll outlive my meager savings. (whine, whine, whine)
Where's the joy in all this?
I planted hostas, a crab apple and a hydrangea today. In my new yard. Felix found every muddy trench on our walk on the Chief Sealth trail, an asphalt trail under the power lines that winds and climbs through my 'hood. The white dog with black paws, that's my dog.
On my mantle is a beautiful hand carved Quan Yin, her clothing lifted by the winds and her feet held by the surging waves. In her hand she holds a vase dipping downward symbolizing spilling the waters of compassion. She Who Hears The Cries of The World.
Beside her is the awful photo of Michael Brown's father wailing at his son's grave. surrounded by other mourners.
We all suffer. We all have the capacity for joy. And between those two places we swing.