Screen Savers

We know only that our entire existence is forced into new paths and disrupted, that new circumstances, new joys and new sorrows await us, and that the unknown has its uncanny attractions, alluring and at the same time anguishing. - Heinrich Neine in the Zen Calendar (January 11, 2007).

Day 110. Time marches on.

I was just sitting here staring at my computer screen waiting for some blog inspiration. None was forthcoming. In the meantime, my screen saver happened to be a random slide show of the pictures stored in our photo software. Like little sparkles of memory, three years of history with my partner and my son randomly flashed before my eyes.

My partner is actually a rather talented photographer. He has a much better eye than my mother, who recorded every stereotypically significant occasion of our lives in exactly the same manner: an artificial pose holding a cake, present, turkey or in front of a historical marker with a smile plastered on our faces as we stared at her Polaroid. He captures images like the dogs staring up at a squirrel they've treed, the family trying to put on our paper crowns the first time we burst English "crackers" at Christmas brunch, my son being hugged by a teammate on the sidelines after an interception. His pictures are rarely posed. Mostly, they record a genuine and precious moment in time. It is a powerful medium of art.

I sat for a long time gazing wordlessly at the memory parade flickering on my computer screen. There were the most amazing pictures of Ruby and Katy. Photos depicting Katy's youth and frivolity and Ruby's magnificent dignity. Milestones and ceremony: my brother's surprise 50th birthday party, my son's high school graduation, yearly pilgrimages to Florida to visit my partner's mother. Incredible sports and action photos: my nephew high in the air above his skateboard, my son in a hundred plays during varsity football his junior and senior year. And me. More pictures than I can count - most of them on a bicycle of some sort. Mountain bike, road bike, tandem. Bikes on trails and dirt and asphalt, in forests and streams and precarious rock gardens. Movement, triumph, emotion -- all digitally recorded, dated and stored.

The timing of this spontaneous trip down memory lane is of consequence. My son is spending his first night in his very own apartment (granted, the place is located on his college campus, less than a mile from his previous dorm room). Still, it feels like another milestone in this leap from childhood to becoming an adult. I haven't seen the place; we have an odd custom in which he does things on his own while I avoid being a hover mother until he cries out in anguish that he needs me. Should be about next weekend. The computer photos and the text I just received from him which says, "Ha I'm in my own apartment!" leave me feeling sentimental and melancholy. Interesting, given that the title to a blog less than a week ago was, "I Know Why Mothers Eat Their Young." Parenting is tricky business.

It is probably not accidental that these thoughts follow the theme of impermanence in yesterday's blog. Our entire existence IS forced into new paths and disrupted . . . over and over again. I get used to my infant and - BAM! He becomes ambulatory! Preschool melts into elementary school which dissolves into middle school, which (thankfully!) blurs into high school; I blink twice and - BAM! He has his own apartment. I suspect there is another half a lifetime awaiting me with both alluring and anguishing new circumstances. Seems to be an occupational hazard of drawing breath.

Lamenting about the passage of time is not original. Neither is misting up over pictures of my child reaming the stuffing out of offensive players at high school football games. What does feel vivid and fresh and significant is how my zazen practice has altered my relationship with time. Living in This Moment renders photographs almost superfluous. My practice helps me experience every Now deeply and mindfully. This makes Life a rich adventure I've LIVED, not a two dimensional artifact I've looked at. Indeed, it is an uncanny existence.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc