Sitting

It was so quiet I could hear her breathing, and the occasional sound of her throat when she swallows. We sat close to one anther, cross-legged in the lotus position, and meditated before our little altar in the living room. It's become a kind of nightly ritual between mum and I, something we both do together before retiring to bed.

All the noises and troubles of the day seem to disappear, at least temporarily. All the sights and sounds of hospital wards, of sickly patients, of needles and injections vanish, at least for a few moments while we sit and watch our minds. Of course, occasionally disturbing thoughts appear, fears, worries and imaginations arise. But the point is remind yourself again and again that these thoughts and feelings will come and go, come and go, so there is no point to be entangled in them.

It is a special bond to share, I was told before by the monk in the mountains. A mother and child being able to meditate quietly and share that peace of mind and stillness of the heart between; it's rare. To be able to reflect and talk about teachings of the Dharma, to talk freely and frankly about life, death and suffering, and walk down the Middle Path together; it's a gift that not many family members share . And I am so fortunate to have that.

Every time, at the end of the meditation session, which can last up to an hour, we bow and end the sitting. We always look at one another, with a sort of satisfied and content look on each other's faces.

I'm going to miss this, and so much more, when I am gone...