The Bodhi Tree and Me

It's not always like this...

“Ommmmm,” teases my 11-year-old son Theo. Hands praying, he mocks my mindfulness practice by closing his eyes and chanting. Just for fun, he sometimes attempts to bring me to tears by getting all doe-eyed and dramatically repeating the word “compassion.”  Despite all this, my little jokester is quite courteous when it comes to my daily morning meditation, in the same spot on the living room couch for twenty minutes, sunlight pouring in, cozy underneath the faux fur camel-colored blanket my mom sent as a gift when I was recovering from my illness two years ago.

Today as I meditated, Theo respectfully and silently adorned me with a Nerf Mega Blaster machine gun, our dog’s poop emoji-shaped squeaky toy, two yardsticks left over from the signs we didn’t make for last week’s Women’s March, a wooden catch ball toy, a small plastic soccer ball and a yoga bag that’s too small for my mat. 

Though my meditation is secular, I couldn’t help but think of the story of the Buddha under the Bodhi tree. There he sat for 49 days searching for the meaning of life, even when the evil Mara tried to distract him by sending visions of his beautiful daughters. Buddha remained unflustered. Legend has it that he achieved enlightenment there beneath the heart-shaped leaves of the Bodhi Tree.

I am far from enlightened, and though Theo may be devilish, he is in no way evil. I could feel him covering me with all that stuff but I never lost my patience. I just cracked a smile. I also cracked my eyes open periodically to see his mischief in action. I used this distraction as a way to stay focused on my breath. Theo was having fun, and it gave me pleasure.

If a definition of mindfulness is “paying attention to present moment experiences with open curiosity and a willingness to be with what is,” wasn’t I living it? Meditation doesn’t have to be so serious, strict or stodgy. He enjoyed himself while I breathed. A clear “win-win”.