A Meditation on Presence
We are arriving at lessons. Every day, every second we arrive at lessons, whether or not we are aware of it. The lesson I have been arriving at my entire life, and finally have begun paying attention to in the last couple of months is the lesson of presence. To be fully present, in the here and now, in the common yet miraculous breath, in the discomfort of the body, in the magic of disappearing into the ordinary.
From when I could hold on to memory, and not just memory but to the chain-reaction links that it forms, I have not been present. I am a day-dreamer par excellence. I could be physically in one place and mentally in another more beautiful, more fascinating place filled with more engaging people and most importantly, inhabited by a more wonderful, accomplished, beautiful, dramatic version of me. I slipped into this other world not once in a while, but all the time. All. The. Time. This was the 1980s and 90s, and I got away with being called a day-dreamer. In today’s world, I may be diagnosed with some mental condition, which in hindsight may have been a good thing, because it would have shone the light on a habit which was eroding my experience and quality of life, without my being aware of it. I missed out on meaningful interactions and experiences as I was away in my la-la land being the queen of all I perceived.
I look at my mother and some friends, who have so many memories – good and bad. Whereas I struggle to come up with memories. I struggle to remember the names of teachers or classmates. I can remember a handful at most. At times this vagueness of memory is a blessing because I don’t hold grudges – you got to remember them to hold them. But at other times, it would frustrate me no end, wondering why I cannot remember such-an-such a person or said hilarious incident. I understand now that it was because all of my mental faculties were not present when engaging with an incident or a person. Instead of focusing and getting involved in a conversation with friends or family, I was busy rescuing a leopard or putting a handsome guy in his place, while dressed like a super glamourous cow girl or a rock star… in my head.
Music, novels and movies aided me in this escape providing a background score to my imaginary world. Interestingly, as I become more present in my life, I am more and more comfortable in silence. I no longer need the music or telly on to create worlds for me to inhabit. My reading has become more focused. Maybe it is an age thing – becoming sensitive to the idea of time being a finite source, and therefore enjoying it and what it offers more fully. The ability to be fully present in a conversation or in a moment is paying unexpected dividends – I am enjoying life a lot more, and I have begun to shed the faint taint of guilt that I was carrying around, like a shroud. The guilt of not putting your 100% out there. The guilt of absence.
I often wonder whether I was fully present as a mother for Sakshi. If I am brutally honest – not always. Work, fatigue related to thyroid related issues, the smartphone and my own escapist day-dreams did get in the way. But I also know that I was more present than most – feeble comfort. More importantly, I know I was present fully whenever it mattered in her beautiful, young life.
Yet there is a part of my mind that wishes, as always, that it could turn back the clock. I want to have another go at being her mother, where I was more fully present, where I could suck the marrow of the experience fully. Life in all its glory is so short. We know that. Yet why do we not truly know that! Why do we forget?
To be present, in the now, it is a lesson that I am still learning. I am conscious of the fragility of these states of presence… how easy it is to slip into ennui, boredom, escapism and absence. The lessons of presence are learnt on a daily, minute by minute basis. It sounds overwhelming and boring. Yet the rewards are immeasurable – days filled with light and a calm that 20-year-old me would have shaved her hair off for. Days filled with the knowledge that there is no tomorrow, where I get to be the star of the show, or a tomorrow, where I will finally like how I look, or a tomorrow, where I become exactly who I dream of being. There is only today, in all its ordinariness and there in, gently hidden under the humble, commonplace folds of routine and familiarity lies the beauty of life.
On a different note, I recently got certified as a grief educator, and completed my final clinical hypnotherapy level.
Every time I read you, I feel like a tiny bud is blooming - slowly, gently and beautifully. Thanks for sharing your words.
Binu, Congratulations on completing your certifications, I am sure it will help support others who are in need.
On being "not present enough as a mother", I think all mothers carry this guilt somewhere within them. We really need to be more kind to ourselves. Much love to you.