Mommy Monk

Do you know hard it is to write the truth of your self to the couple people that read this? Extremely difficult. It is one of the reasons I can’t seem to post that often. I have a lot saved in draft but not published. Why? I’m scared. I am so worried that I am going to say the wrong thing. Or it is the right thing and then more is expected.But, it will be my truth. But, you may not agree with me or you will. You may think I’m crazy. I may start to doubt that thought and then I save it in draft and crisis is adverted.

I promised this blog of madness to be honest. I felt that I wanted it to be humorous and spiritual. I am a funny person. I find though that being funny and talking about spiritual things can seem counter productive. But, it seems to me that if I had instead become a monk and done the spiritual side only, then I know I would have longed to be free from that silence. I instead chose a life with a husband and children and in the depths of what many call a normal part of life. But, try as I might to be in awareness of life and have the stresses also has been challenging for the most part.

So, to break up this sometimes awkward feeling I have to tell you the truth of my struggles:

I meditate most mornings. I get up earlier to do this. So, most mornings I can get my mediation in and have a coffee and if the weather is great then I’ll go out on the deck and love the nature before its go time. But, occasionally my husband gets up a little after I do. I have my eyes closed and my headphones on. I am still, silent and present. Then a finger pokes me in the face.

I have read the most mind blowing book, or listened to a podcast that made me want to be a better person starting right now. I am basking in the light of my new found wondrous light and this euphoric state of being and then BANG! A door slams. Muffled argument in the bathroom downstairs between my daughters because one was looking at the other and not staying on their side of the sinks. I yell downstairs “Knock it off you two, or you’ll be sharing a room again!!”

I want to write this blog. My son sits on my lap for a hug. He starts to ask me what I’m doing. He starts to read what I’m writing. He says dad is so funny. He poked you in the face. Oh yes, really funny. He shakes his head about his sisters. He asks, are you trying to write more. I said yes. So, I write….. You need to wash your hands. They are dirty. You are rubbing your eyes with dirty hands. Your eyes are dirty. Please go wash them. You are making mommy dirty. He giggles and says I can’t walk anymore. My legs are broken. Of course they are.

Enlightenment at its finest.

 

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