Just This! Just This!

Yesterday afternoon I was outside in the front yard with my daughter.  She was flying a little paper kite on a string, her curly hair bouncing around her, her bare, muscular legs pumping as she ran.  I thought about raking the garden out from under its bed of leaves.  But then a line from my dear spiritual uncle Walt Whitman came to mind:  "I loafe and invite my soule, I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass."  I stayed put on the warm grass and watched my daughter, and doing that, I realized how rare that kind of ease and focus is for me these days.  So often, I'm trying to do several things at once, glancing at my children out of the corner of my eye while I attend to some other task.  

Of course it's important for me to do some of the other work I want to do:  to write, to work for our neighborhood, to care for our house and yard.  But I want to remember to just be with the kids more often.  I want to strive more consciously to take both a big view and a little view, all at once:  to keep in mind the big view of supporting my relationship with my child and modeling gentleness and kindness--even when we're running late to get to an appointment and my daughter suddenly decides to get verrrry particular about what shoes she wants to wear and how I should put them on.  And I want to take a small view when that's more appropriate--to focus in on one girl running across the grass in the sunshine, instead of letting her be crowded out by a flock of noisy abstract concerns.

On that note, here's more poetry from another spiritual uncle, Ryokan, an 18th-century Japanese monk and hermit:

First days of spring--blue sky, bright sun.

Everything is gradually becoming fresh and green.

Carrying my bowl, I walk slowly to the village.

The children, surprised to see me,

Joyfully crowd about, bringing 

My begging trip to an end at the temple gate.

I place my bowl on top of a white rock and

Hang my sack from the branch of a tree.

Here we play with the wild grasses and throw a ball.

For a time, I play catch while the children sing;

Then it is my turn.

Playing like this, here and there, I have forgotten the time.

Passers-by point and laugh at me, asking,

"What is the reason for such foolishness?"

No answer I give, only a deep bow;

Even if I replied, they would not understand.

Look around!  Just this!  Just this!