MEDITATION FOR MOMS AND DADS:
Why the Busiest People
of Them All Can Have a Regular Practice
By Shana Smith, c. 2016
www.MeditationforMomsandDads.com
The
date was June 27, 1995. It was both my
25th birthday and the five-year anniversary of having a committed
daily yoga practice, and my friend Charlotte and I were celebrating with two
back-to-back yoga classes followed by meditation and brunch. We even had special new yoga outfits to wear,
and the stage was set for a perfect morning befitting the occasion.
We had
just started the first class, sitting peacefully in half-lotus and grounding
with some pranayama, when suddenly the door creaked open, and the high-pitched
sounds of children pierced through the quiet blanket of the room. Reflexively,
we all looked towards the door, and saw a mother with a toddler clinging to her
like a spider monkey and an older child--wearing an unmistakable pout--at her
hip.
“Sorry
I’m late,” she offered. “Can you please tell me where the child care room is?”
“I
DON’T WANT TO GO TO CHILD CARE!” wailed the older child, while the toddler
nestled her head deeply into the mother’s neck. “I WANT TO GO TO THE
PLAYGROUND!” The mother held her gaze on the teacher pleadingly, awaiting an
answer.
“I’m so
sorry,” said the teacher, “but we no longer offer child care.”
The
look of dejection on the mother’s face was palpable. She fell into a slump, but
then tried again: “But your ad in the local paper says you have child care on
Saturday mornings. I planned all week for this class.”
“It
must have been an old ad,” said the teacher. “We used to have it, but we don’t
right now.” Then, with a firmer I-need-to-get-back-to-the-class tone in her
voice, the teacher said: “Sorry again.” She turned her head back to face us,
and restarted her instructions for yogic breathing.
My gaze
lingered on the mom for a few moments, long enough for me to catch her hungrily
gazing at us blissful breathing yogis before she put her head down and closed
the door. I heard the muffled sounds of
the older child’s shouts of “YAY! PLAYGROUND!” Charlotte gave me a look of “can
you believe that?” which I acknowledged, feeling relieved that the interruption
of my perfect day was over. Still, I
couldn’t stop thinking of her…for years.
Long
before I ever had children of my own, I worked with them: first as a
babysitter, then as an educator. I also worked with parents by default, and while
I didn’t yet fully comprehend the kind of mojo it really takes to parent, I did
pretty easily see that families have a lot going on. I knew some parents who
handled the busy-ness like expert managers, while others could barely keep it
all together and always seemed to be on the brink of falling apart. I knew some
parents who made it all look effortless, and others who liberally shared the
travails and endless sacrifices they made in the name of parenthood. But that morning,
for the first time, I became aware of a person who had a longing for something
that seemed inexplicably unobtainable: a
simple hour of peace.
The
years went on, and my yoga and meditation practice deepened. I always seemed to have plenty of time to
practice. I met my husband at an ashram,
where we meditated, did yoga, and enjoyed kirtan together daily. We married. We got pregnant. Throughout
pregnancy, I meditated, did yoga, and chanted.
When my daughter was a baby, I blissfully swaddled her to my side and my
practice became our practice, knowing that it would bond us together and to the
Universe in ways deep and beautiful.
And
then one day, and seemingly overnight, I became that same mother of my 1995
yoga class. My daughter was 2, and it
wasn’t so easy to put her in the sling or nurse her while doing my practices. She woke up one morning and had her own ideas
about what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go, and she wanted all of
it to be with me. To compound this
sudden change in flow, I was also going back to work, which was in direct
conflict to our attachment style of parenting and caused separation
anxiety. She became the spider monkey, and
I the slumped mother, watching others breathe and ground and stretch and sit
unhampered while I felt longing for the unobtainable.
But my years of practice had taught
me surrender and patience, and soon enough, my husband and I found a wonderful
meditation group that offered free child care.
While we sat for two hours, she enjoyed her time in the play room with
other kids and I became introduced to formal Zen meditation. Our weekly sit with the Zen group became my
church, and sustained a daily practice that provided a vital grounding each
morning before my daughter woke up.
A few
years later, and without warning, the funding for the group’s child care was
cut, and so was our ability to sit weekly with the group. We had our second child soon afterwards: an
energetic and insatiably curious son who demanded time and attention at a whole
new level. Daily morning meditation
became a distant memory with two very young children to attend to. An
experienced father of grown children gave me a well-meaning picture of the road
ahead: this is the busy time of life. My practice now is to be fully in the
world, doing what householders do, raising kids and making a living. He advised
me to simply remember to be present as much as possible, but to not expect to
return to formal practice anytime soon in the way I’d known it.
After four years of dedicated Zen
practice and many more as a yogi, I had already seen the effect it had on my
inner and outer worlds. Meditation had become a foundation for living, and I
was unwilling to accept that it was no longer an option. The kids deserved a mindful, compassionate
mom. My husband, co-workers, and
neighbors deserved a mindful, compassionate peer. My alternative “sans
meditation” persona was harried, anxious, a bit manic, overachieving, and
dramatic. I heard the arguments that giving up yoga and meditation is part of
the “sacrifices one must make” to be a good parent. But I could only think:
sacrifices are about giving up “just me” stuff. There was no doubt in my mind
that “my” meditation benefitted everyone.
Giving up meditation was simply not an option. I had a whole list of
things that somehow got done every day, like brushing and flossing and bathing
and cooking and getting work done and even getting to the gym. It took some
serious time management and focus, but this list was doable. Meditation needed
to be on that list, so I put it at the very top, right after “wake up.”
Like
going to the gym, the hardest part about doing regular morning meditation is
simply getting straight to the cushion instead of filling up those sacred
thirty or so minutes with distractions like making tea, checking emails, or
making a dent in the laundry. It takes discipline and determination to report
to the cushion, but it works, proving that the old adage “I don’t have time to
meditate” doesn’t have to apply. It is simply a matter of priorities.
In a householder’s life, meditation
can be just as much a priority as that of a Zen monk’s. In the words of Zen master Ruben L.F. Habito
Roshi, “Even if we’re not called to monastic life in the formal sense, we are
called to awaken to truth, to awaken to the mystery of our existence here on
Earth.”
Like
the monastics, parents do well when they take time to manage their day, putting
the priority of “awakening to truth” in
the forefront and minimizing distractions like cell phones and TV and other
things which rob us of time to meditate and live holistically and mindfully.
With an established meditation practice, life becomes more mindful, or in the
words of Habito Roshi: “a life in total harmony with one’s true nature, an
authentic way of living one’s life.”
In Philip Kapleau’s “Three Pillars
of Zen,”
there are many accounts of enlightenment that happen during mundane life, or
life that Charlotte Joko-Beck simply calls “Nothing Special.”
In “Autobiography of a Yogi,”
after Yogananda broke through the veil of illusion and touched the sky,
Yogananda’s master handed him a mop and bucket to clean the ashram floor. Monks surrender to a life of deep practice,
letting go of worldly wants and desires, while tending to work that must be
done and contemplating the mystery of the gentle opening of a mountain cherry
blossom. Seeking parents surrender to
the miracle of things as they are now, letting go of wanting things to be
different, while tending to the work that must be done and contemplating the
mystery of why the laundry and dishes never cease while the cherry blossom is
gently opening. The beauty of a daily morning practice is that it sets an
attitude for the rest of the day that can really make some great waves that
have a wonderful impact on everyone.
Here’s a great real-life example of
this idea, one that proved to me that the world of awakening is indeed available
to all of us: I had been rather
drudgingly tackling a very large pile of laundry, and after three days, the
floor where the laundry pile was heaped was at last bare. Precisely at that moment (for the Universe is
determined to help), my two kids arrived and dumped their clothesbaskets of
soiled clothes all over that precious, smooth, floor, wiping my “done with
laundry” hopes and dreams right off the board.
The “plop” of the clothes on the tiles was as cathartic as the chime of
the temple bells after a long meditation retreat, when the Universe cracks open
and spills gloriously all over you. I
broke out into laughter—it all suddenly seemed so funny! Endless laundry. No laundry. What was the difference? I’m here, alive,
now, able and strong. It was all so
beautiful, and so clear. The wiping out of wants, expectations, desires—even
for “spiritual” things—brought me home. For the monk, it was the gentle opening
of the mountain cherry blossom. For me, it was the “plop” of soiled
clothes. There was no difference.
Happy as I was, my kids were even
happier. They fully expected a
disgruntled response to the extra piles, but instead they got the full brunt of
the boundless joy of a momentarily free being. My kids loved this light and
blissful me, and the day simply got lighter and happier. All that because I got myself to a cushion
for a few minutes in the quiet morning.
Start meditating. Today and from
now on, set your alarm clock just fifteen minutes earlier and create a daily
life routine that includes some space and time for yourself on the meditation
cushion at home. If you are new to
meditation, start with five minutes of counting your breaths in and out. If you are experienced, return to your
practice for five, fifteen, or thirty minutes.
If your thoughts wander, label them “thoughts” without judgement, then
return to your breath. That’s it. Through
the simple act of sitting you have set forth a powerful intention into the
cosmos that manifests for you by its very nature. It doesn’t take much time,
and isn’t as hard as it seems once you get yourself on the cushion and just
begin. Get to yoga class and meditation groups when you can, but make your
personal daily home practice your foundation.
I still often think about that
mother from twenty years ago. Today, her
children are grown, and she is probably free to attend any yoga class she
wishes whenever she wants to. After
twenty years of raising her children, of surrendering to the playground while
yearning for the siren song of the Universe, she probably reached a profound
understanding that there is no difference between the playground and the
Universe, that matching yoga outfits and formal classes don’t a yogini make. How
I understand her better now, and how honored I feel to be walking her same path.
It’s the path of the masters: full of grace, presence, wonder, and gratitude.
By simply sitting and breathing
with intention at a scheduled time each day, you can reach deep states of awareness
and peace. By practicing meditation and yoga from the perspective of transcending
wants and expectations, your practice is
the most authentic of them all. You, mom
and dad, will benefit in marvelous ways, but your children and the world itself
will benefit most of all.
Reprinted with permission from Om Yoga Magazine.
RESOURCES TO HELP:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Shana Smith is a mom,
musician, marine biologist, teacher, and writer. She is an avid and
longtime practitioner of Zen and meditation, a decades-long yogi, and a much
sought-after kirtan wallah, or devotional chanting leader. For the past
twenty years, she has been known to many across the state of Florida and the
U.S. as the nationally award-winning (Parent's Choice, iParenting, NAPPA, Just
Plain Folks) children’s musical persona “Shana Banana.” Shana and her
family (husband Dan, daughter Grace Ohana, and son Benny Albert) have settled
down in Gainesville, Florida to run their meditation- and yoga-based
Gainesville Retreat Center, which attracts many renowned teachers and
practitioners and offers weekly meditation nights.
In addition to book and
music appearances, homeschooling her two kids, and running the retreat center
with her family, Shana is currently working on a series of children's books
based on her original musical stories currently available on Shana Banana CD's.
She is also writing a tween mystery series developed over the past two years
with her kids, and recording a CD of devotional chants from various traditions.
In her free time, she walks in the forest, gardens, cooks, writes
poetry, and plays. A lot.
Also visit Shana at: http://www.shanabanana.com/ and http://gainesvilleretreatcenter.com/ and Facebook
