So I sat five minutes at my desk, yesterday afternoon, my unfocused gaze on my keyboard. Looked at the clock three times before five minutes were up.
Then this evening a long hard phone conversation with my daughter. She's in tears, at times. She wants to come home. Everybody in her dorm is very nice and she feels utterly alone. She feels like she's in a bubble, she says. She wants dirt and kids and old people and problems outside of poetry texts. Nothing but an intense intimacy will make her feel any less lonely but if she found that she'd have to leave it again in just four years and she can't bear the thought of that.
So I didn't sit any more than that. Till 2:30 this morning, when I woke up, and Martha was already awake, and we fretted about Tori together and got a little cross with each other and finally Martha proposed we sit, which we did, except that my back started giving its warning signs, so I lay down. I couldn't remember the refuge prayer (!) so Martha omze'd for us. Then after ten or fifteen minutes she worried that I would be feeling "trapped" by her wanting to keep sitting. I wasn't, but I said my dedication prayer and got onto the floor to do my back exercises.
Now it's six thirty. Time to get going to work.
Anyway my meditation may not be very advanced but I'm doing a bang-up job of my contemplation of the Faults of Samsara :-)
Congratulations, your daughter sounds utterly normal! And particularly lucky in having parents who will listen to her fears. Of course, I don't know her, but it sounds like she's one of those who will take longer than some to make a group of good friends - and when she does, they will be strong friendships and make her very happy. You wouldn't want her to be the carefree, not at all intense type, would you? - because then she wouldn't be her. The thought of you and Martha worrying together in the small hours night and then deciding to sit is utterly endearing. You're obviously a close and lovely family. You'll all be fine. And I can't think of any way to make you believe that in the middle of the night when your beloved daughter has been in tears. Love and hugs all round. Even trying to sit is wonderful.
Dale, I remember how hard that transition was for me, and I wasn't even in close communication with my parents. I also know how damn helpless I feel when I watch my daughter hurting (and we communicate a lot better). Good thing kids - and people - are resilient! My heart goes out to you and Martha. moose
Dale, as Jean says you will all be fine, but it is hard. I was like Tori when I went to college. Good thoughts to all three of you at this time. And what an example you are, to me anway, that you sit, no matter how you feel.
I sat yesterday morning and this morning, and I am beginning to enjoy it. And much credit for the regularity of my practice at the moment is due to this online community's support.
Dale, from my side of the instructor's desk I see freshmen go through this sort of thing every year: as Jean noted, Tori's perfectly normal. That doesn't minimize her, Martha's, or your suffering, of course...but it does point to the fact that she's experiencing the kind of growing pains that are surmountable with time (albeit tough to deal with in the interim).
All you & Martha can do is exactly what you are doing: listening, trying, sitting, trying & listening some more. I wish there were an easier prescription, but that's about the only "drug" I know that works.
And oh yeah...I sat for 15 very sleepy minutes this afternoon, but I sat. I'm hoping to get back into the rhythm of sitting in the mornings & at night, but 15 sleepy afternoon minutes will do until then.
Thanks, everyone. Very reassuring and helpful. I guess Martha and I were both so clear that we wanted to get away from home, when we went to college, that we both find this response disquieting. Maybe we should take it as a compliment.
Wishing I could do more to help the three of you through the painful transition. It is beautiful to see the care and support you have for one another. Love to you all.
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So I sat five minutes at my desk, yesterday afternoon, my unfocused gaze on my keyboard. Looked at the clock three times before five minutes were up.
Then this evening a long hard phone conversation with my daughter. She's in tears, at times. She wants to come home. Everybody in her dorm is very nice and she feels utterly alone. She feels like she's in a bubble, she says. She wants dirt and kids and old people and problems outside of poetry texts. Nothing but an intense intimacy will make her feel any less lonely but if she found that she'd have to leave it again in just four years and she can't bear the thought of that.
So I didn't sit any more than that. Till 2:30 this morning, when I woke up, and Martha was already awake, and we fretted about Tori together and got a little cross with each other and finally Martha proposed we sit, which we did, except that my back started giving its warning signs, so I lay down. I couldn't remember the refuge prayer (!) so Martha omze'd for us. Then after ten or fifteen minutes she worried that I would be feeling "trapped" by her wanting to keep sitting. I wasn't, but I said my dedication prayer and got onto the floor to do my back exercises.
Now it's six thirty. Time to get going to work.
Anyway my meditation may not be very advanced but I'm doing a bang-up job of my contemplation of the Faults of Samsara :-)
Congratulations, your daughter sounds utterly normal! And particularly lucky in having parents who will listen to her fears. Of course, I don't know her, but it sounds like she's one of those who will take longer than some to make a group of good friends - and when she does, they will be strong friendships and make her very happy. You wouldn't want her to be the carefree, not at all intense type, would you? - because then she wouldn't be her. The thought of you and Martha worrying together in the small hours night and then deciding to sit is utterly endearing. You're obviously a close and lovely family. You'll all be fine. And I can't think of any way to make you believe that in the middle of the night when your beloved daughter has been in tears. Love and hugs all round. Even trying to sit is wonderful.
oh Dale, my T and I went through this too.
It's hard. I know. I know.
Dale, I remember how hard that transition was for me, and I wasn't even in close communication with my parents. I also know how damn helpless I feel when I watch my daughter hurting (and we communicate a lot better). Good thing kids - and people - are resilient! My heart goes out to you and Martha.
moose
--And to Tori, too, of course! <:-&
moose
(Blogger ate my first comment so I'll try again).
Dale, as Jean says you will all be fine, but it is hard. I was like Tori when I went to college. Good thoughts to all three of you at this time. And what an example you are, to me anway, that you sit, no matter how you feel.
I sat yesterday morning and this morning, and I am beginning to enjoy it. And much credit for the regularity of my practice at the moment is due to this online community's support.
Dale, from my side of the instructor's desk I see freshmen go through this sort of thing every year: as Jean noted, Tori's perfectly normal. That doesn't minimize her, Martha's, or your suffering, of course...but it does point to the fact that she's experiencing the kind of growing pains that are surmountable with time (albeit tough to deal with in the interim).
All you & Martha can do is exactly what you are doing: listening, trying, sitting, trying & listening some more. I wish there were an easier prescription, but that's about the only "drug" I know that works.
And oh yeah...I sat for 15 very sleepy minutes this afternoon, but I sat. I'm hoping to get back into the rhythm of sitting in the mornings & at night, but 15 sleepy afternoon minutes will do until then.
Thanks, everyone. Very reassuring and helpful. I guess Martha and I were both so clear that we wanted to get away from home, when we went to college, that we both find this response disquieting. Maybe we should take it as a compliment.
Wishing I could do more to help the three of you through the painful transition. It is beautiful to see the care and support you have for one another. Love to you all.
(I sat this morning too.)
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