Day 3 - Meditation Invitation
Welcome to your day 3 meditation. Today’s focus is compassion. You might have noticed this human being-thing comes with some pretty awkward and uncomfortable roads to navigate. At times it can be challenging to trust and love ourselves through the bumps in the road. Here’s the kicker, compassion for others begins with kindness towards ourselves. I know we’ve all heard it before, but you have to fill your cup first. Take the best care of yourself so you can be of the best service to others.
What kind of world would we live in if we all gave 5% more energy to taking care of ourselves? I’d love to live in that world!
A side note to today’s practice: this particular meditation took me awhile to warm to. It felt weird to say, “I love you” in a genuine way. I would repeat the mantra as a cursory practice, but the intention behind it was missing. With time however, I came to see the magic in those three words. So trust me, it may feel unnatural at first and you might want to skip right over it, but please give it a try. And let me know how it goes. As always, I’m here for you!
From the cushion,
Poem of the day:
What the Living Do by Marie Howe
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of. It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along thosewobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it. Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless: I am living. I remember you.
When I live from the heart of compassion, I always know what to do.