When Kristy was in third grade she drew this portrait of herself. All through grade school she was known as being a good artist. She also played the violin. One day many years later she told me why she had given up drawing. She said it was because she couldn't draw as well as I could. She was discouraged and had decided she wanted to do one thing better than anyone. And that's when she came to the realization she was going to be the best athlete in the world.
We would talk about this every now and then. She and I both had a love for art and for independent physical endeavors. We didn't like team sports much but we liked running, exercising and bicycling. When our family was younger and we lived in Modesto I used to ride my bike to work. I was also an avid wind surfer. As the years passed we both developed a sort of fulfillment in the other's successes. She helped me in my art career and admired my art work. I helped her in her athletic career and admired her achievements. We were constantly comparing and contrasting the similarities of the two passions.
So much of what one does is hard work and dedication. But there is always that wild card lurking - when something happens to throw everything off. This happened to each of us. We knew it happened and that it would continue to happen. In previous times it used to bother Kristy quite a bit. But during her last year she had come to experience a great calming peace by accepting it's inevitability. The inevitability of impermanence. Of all things changing and nothing being certain. This is what she was teaching me.
About four months before Kristy died she gave me a book by Pema Chodron, entitled: "When Things Fall Apart". It was changing her life she said. And so it was. I could see the difference almost immediately. She was so open and compassionate - and so at peace. When I first walked into her room after she was gone I saw this book by her bed. I opened it to this passage:
"Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don't struggle against it, we are in harmony with reality. Many cultures celebrate this connectedness. There are ceremonies making all the transitions of life from birth to death, as well as meetings and partings, going into battle, losing the battle, and winning the battle. We too could acknowledge, respect, and celebrate impermanence.
But what about suffering? Why would we celebrate suffering? Doesn't that sound masochistic? Our suffering is based so much on our fear of impermanence. Our pain is so rooted in our one-sided, lopsided view of reality. Who ever got the idea that we could have pleasure without pain? It's promoted rather widely in this world, and we buy it. But pain and pleasure go together; they are inseparable. They can be celebrated. They are ordinary. Birth is painful and delightful. Death is painful and delightful. Everything that ends is also the beginning of something else. Pain is not a punishment; pleasure is not a reward."
I am trying Kristy - but I miss you so much.
Today's workout: 70 minutes cross training at gym.
We would talk about this every now and then. She and I both had a love for art and for independent physical endeavors. We didn't like team sports much but we liked running, exercising and bicycling. When our family was younger and we lived in Modesto I used to ride my bike to work. I was also an avid wind surfer. As the years passed we both developed a sort of fulfillment in the other's successes. She helped me in my art career and admired my art work. I helped her in her athletic career and admired her achievements. We were constantly comparing and contrasting the similarities of the two passions.
So much of what one does is hard work and dedication. But there is always that wild card lurking - when something happens to throw everything off. This happened to each of us. We knew it happened and that it would continue to happen. In previous times it used to bother Kristy quite a bit. But during her last year she had come to experience a great calming peace by accepting it's inevitability. The inevitability of impermanence. Of all things changing and nothing being certain. This is what she was teaching me.
About four months before Kristy died she gave me a book by Pema Chodron, entitled: "When Things Fall Apart". It was changing her life she said. And so it was. I could see the difference almost immediately. She was so open and compassionate - and so at peace. When I first walked into her room after she was gone I saw this book by her bed. I opened it to this passage:
"Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don't struggle against it, we are in harmony with reality. Many cultures celebrate this connectedness. There are ceremonies making all the transitions of life from birth to death, as well as meetings and partings, going into battle, losing the battle, and winning the battle. We too could acknowledge, respect, and celebrate impermanence.
But what about suffering? Why would we celebrate suffering? Doesn't that sound masochistic? Our suffering is based so much on our fear of impermanence. Our pain is so rooted in our one-sided, lopsided view of reality. Who ever got the idea that we could have pleasure without pain? It's promoted rather widely in this world, and we buy it. But pain and pleasure go together; they are inseparable. They can be celebrated. They are ordinary. Birth is painful and delightful. Death is painful and delightful. Everything that ends is also the beginning of something else. Pain is not a punishment; pleasure is not a reward."
I am trying Kristy - but I miss you so much.
Today's workout: 70 minutes cross training at gym.
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