Saturday, August 21, 2004

We were at Sweetie's apartment today. He was working on cleaning everything to be painted while I watched. I have offered help like a good mother, but he wants to do it himself.

While we were loading up, that monk walked by banging his drum. I smiled and looked at him and he looked back at me but I didn't feel blessed. He looked like anyone else walking by on a sidewalk, going somewhere, except he was dressed in white and yellow robes banging a drum.

Something similar happened in the presence of Tibetan monks who were doing a sand mandala at the library last year. Watching them interact while they worked and seeing them walking back from lunch at the cafe, they seemed like nice young adults having a good time. I thought they would emanate something spiritual by their presence, but it came through their art which transformed something in me.

When my kids were growing up I didn't tell them what to believe in terms of god, God, gods, goddesses, supreme beings, the Green Man or Mother Nature, Allah, Vishnu or whatever. I have my own ideas, but I figured if there is some omnipotent presence who wants to get in touch with them, it'll (he'll or she'll?) be able to do it without needing me as a via on the line. They were able to come up with some thoughtful ideas of their own.

I think distance is involved in that drum banging blessing. I see him walking down the road, I think "oh, he's blessing the town". I have some time and space to get the idea of being blessed which is what really does it. Getting the idea of being blessed is the trick.