RE-ENTRY: RESTING IN AWARENESS
Home resides inside me, but is influenced by my outside environment. I am a beach person and was on a beach vacation for the last three weeks with my husband; every moment was filled with wonder, gratitude, and surprises. My niece Bekka visited us for the first week with her six-year-old son, Lucas. We marveled at Lucas’s knowledge of sharks and went crabbing with him off a pier with a chicken drumstick as bait. We have rented the same house for about thirty years now, and Bekka wanted to share her memories of visiting us when she was young with him. After a day of rest (six-year-olds are very active), my brother and his wife came. They moved at a slower pace and appreciated silence, rest, and shared our interest in fresh fish, good films, lectures, and the beach. We don’t see each other very often, so it was special and lovely to be with them. After they left, we had a week to ourselves, and we savored each moment anew. We enjoyed doing nothing, qvelled (Yiddish for swelling with pride and delight) as we successfully got Maya, our dog, to overcome her fear of the waves in the bay where we were standing and swim to us. It was her first time: very exciting! The weather was perfect, and there was just the right amount of companionship, time with family, rest, and physical and intellectual stimulation. We even got to greet David’s nephew and his family, and share love and ice cream before we caught the ferry to go home, and they went to open their rental house and begIn their week away.
I am good at sitting still and doing nothing, and I can do this either at home or away, but there is something special about a change of scenery and activity. Wherever I go, there I am, but I prefer listening to the sound of the surf rather than passing cars. I am undergoing vacation withdrawal, and sadness has appeared. I miss the smell of the sea and the rhythm of the waves. I feel sad that there is a physical distance that separates my brother and his family from us, and I am very aware that this vacation could be our last time together. I also am feeling sad about the state of the world, and I worry about climate change and the increasing division between people and ideologies. Hatred is like putting your hand into a fire to take a burning coal out to throw at another. Both get burned. Kindness and happiness are contagious. So much is possible if we work together and connect to compassion and love. Your pain is my pain and your joy is mine too—and vice versa. Walking along the beach and watching the dogs with their owners and observing the variety of types and behaviors was enlightening. There was a camaraderie among the people who came early in the morning to walk the beach and to let their dogs run and play. People admired each other’s dogs and were interested in how others were doing. It was a town beach, and there was always a threat that the privilege of allowing dogs on the beach would be rescinded. Everyone had to keep an eye out for poop and make sure they cleaned up for their dog’s—and sometimes others’ poop to make sure the beach remained clean. Everyone was responsible for leaving the beach with their dog(s) by 10 a.m. Some of the same people came each day, some we recognized from other years, and others were new and would only be there for a short time. Some were renters like us, and others were full-time residents, but EVERYONE was friendly, said hello, and exchanged greetings. Maya is a springer spaniel, and another springer spaniel owner remembered her from last year and encouraged her to run after a ball into the water like her springer, who was a water aficionado. It didn’t fully work, but we enjoyed the process. I felt a part of a community, each person and dog unique but connected, open, and caring, and sharing a love for our dogs…and the beach. We valued the privilege we were given to be there with our pets and felt a responsibility to pay attention and look after our dogs and each other, realizing that one thoughtless person would affect us all.
Now that I am home again, there is no beach, and we leash Maya, but she has a playmate who comes over once or twice a day, and they run freely in our yard. We often walk with other dog walkers in the morning, and I value this community. I miss the day-to-day contact with my brother and his family but we continue to connect thanks to FaceTime and Zoom. On vacation, I loved going to lectures, the farmers' market, art galleries, and films, followed by intelligent discussions with a leading actor or director of the film. I liked being among writers and painters. It’s still possible here in Worcester, but it takes effort to find. I don’t like feeling sad, but I remember I have choices, and I am more than my sadness. It doesn’t define me. It’s a feeling state and I experience it as a heaviness in the center of my chest, but I am not sunk in depression or crippled. I can walk, move my arms, and use my mind to refocus my attention elsewhere, so I went outside. Here, at home in my backyard, I gazed at our yard and its greenery. I experienced the vastness of nature and the glory of the trees, the dahlia, and the sunflowers. I became absorbed in the miracle of summer and the giant beans growing on our beanstalk. I felt the sun on my face and soaked up its warmth. I followed the leaves as they reflected light and swayed in the wind. The sadness did not disappear, but it did not dominate. I was at ease. I rest in the awareness of it all.
I have been examining what it really means to rest in awareness. Can I be aware of sadness and still be at rest, think clearly, and act wisely? Even when sadness is present, can I still feel grateful for the abundance that surrounds me, both internally and externally, and experience spaciousness and peace? I had my hair cut today. It’s a little shorter, and I look a little older. So it is; just this. Can I hold it all and be at rest in the awareness of the fullness of life and the challenges it presents?
EXISTENCE, Thich Nhat Hanh
It is night.
Rain pelts the roof.
The soul awakens
To a flood of earth.
A sea of storm
roaring
and then passing
In that short moment of shifting.
Lines and shapes, fleeting.
Barely seen, here and there, leading
where…come and go…
Before the passing moment tilts
And falls to melancholy
Laughter sounds
In quiet raindrops.
WE WILL MEET THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2025, at 11:00 A.M. EDT
Let’s practice resting in awareness and examine how we can hold “just this” whatever it may be, and be at peace.
