Healing Arts

If living is about balance, then I have veered far into the side that thinks and controls rather than feels and does.

The repercussions of my past acts haunting me, shame and regret are shackles that bind me.

We as a society restrain our impulses to adjust and adapt as social beings.

Those impulses we hold deeply bound inside us grow stronger with the restraints.

Erupting unexpectedly somewhere, somehow.

Living is a constant negotiation between self-restraint and expression, where we constantly seek the balance that allows us to be. Alive.

Cup your hands and fill them with water. Feel the cool sensation against your skin and notice how your hand curves gently to cup the water. Bring your attention to the sensation and the experience of the water seeping through until your hands are simply wet but no more water is contained within them.

It is a handful of water, filled with sensation. You can hold it for a moment, perhaps more…but eventually it will seep through your cupped hands leaving an impression of wetness and a memory of it having been held there.

If we draw our attention to holding on to the water, we may miss the sensation of the wetness of our skin and the soft way in which our palm gently curves to gather it together. Our attention will be drawn to the way it seeps away, noticing how it becomes less and less until it is no more.

The moment is like water cupped in our hands. It will pass and leave us with a memory of a sensation. And no matter how much we try to hold on to it, it will not remain constant or unchanging.

And yet, we try so hard to hold on. To the feeling we get when our child looks at us needing love and attention, or to how we feel when we fulfill someone’s need or even when we accomplish a difficult task. We try to hold on to moments in which we feel significant, worthwhile, extraordinary – loved. But those too will pass.

After a while, it begins to feel futile because no matter how big the task, the majority of the work remains undone; no matter how big the favor, people’s needs are endless and we can never truly make anyone else happy.

So if it isn’t about doing something worthwhile and good, then what? I cannot hold on to the cup full of water anyway so why fill my hands with the moments life has to offer?

But the task of living is not about holding on, its about letting go. Its about being in the moment and immersed in its sensations and experience and allowing it to fade, seep, flow, and pass. That we have the experience of cupping the water for a moment is the gift itself, not how much water we have, nor how long we can hold on to it.

Each experience of a handful of water can be as rich and meaningful as the quality of our attention. Observe the moisture on the skin and the form the water takes as it rests for a moment. If it is on the cupped hands, notice how they bend and shape to allow the water to sit for a moment. Each exercise in allowing the water to flow through teaches us that eventually life too will flow through us, leaving us…

A hand cupped full of water is the gift of this moment, each moment.
Being in it is what living has to offer. It is its Grace.

The  narrative loosens – the story of the self, its meaning and connection with events – and what has been and what will be.  Wishing does not make it so.  And yet.  I can still feel the remnants of desire – will that fade and shrink too?  Now that the outcome has been released like a 100 colorful balloons into a faraway distance.  I held on tight and dreamed of flying with the balloons… but now I am.

Content with just Being.  Each moment pregnant with possibility.  THIS IS LIVING. Unfolding.

My unconscious drama manifests in life events until I can see clearly again.  Right now that clarity is a misty haze – I see shades and form but no details.  I see an expansive self – connected, less fearful.  A lot less expectant and imposing.  Waiting and ready for the moment to unfold and reveal the opportunities rather than chase them – altering their presence with my demands and expectations.

A voice says:  Do what’s asked of you – listen to your Truth and act.  Perhaps the moments between the doing are just as lubricated with opportunity because there is within that Stillness, a space that gives rise to Truth.

There is no right or wrong, just consequences.  Whether it’s a separation from connectedness, a malignant virus of doubt – or an expansive sense of Oneness, it depends fully on my intent.

And that is derived completely from the quality of my attention.

What is faith? What is god? Does he exist?  I don’t know…

But how I live this life is a choice.

I humbly bow my head as I write this.

I call myself a psychotherapist. I work with children and families in crisis. I have been doing so for 5 years now. A client once asked me, why Shazia do you do this work? I knew at that moment, she needed an answer. An honest answer. A clear answer.

So I responded, honestly, brutally, openly: Because it’s the hardest thing I have ever done. Because families seek therapy when they are in severe crisis. When their children have troubles for which they have found no solution. For families who cannot seem to understand each other or communicate well enough to move forward from a stand-off. Teens in transition, children with severe behavioral problems, young people who have been traumatized in their early years to have the experiences of trauma re-enacted in different ways…

But now that my own daughter has turned a corner, and has entered the pre-teen years, I reflect for a moment, and in that pause I know, what I uttered was not true. Providing support and guidance to families in crisis is indeed difficult, but nothing compares to the task of parenting. Parenting is by far the most difficult experience I have ever confronted. It was not always like this.

When my daughter was born, I knew how to be her mother instantly. I know now that that does not happen instinctively with all mothers, for some take time to grow into their motherhood; while others hone these parenting skills with experience and time. I was lucky. She was born and I just knew how to be her mother. But it’s certainly not that way anymore.

Fiercely independent, vocal, and responsible from the outset – she is changing into a young person who needs space, privacy, and more room to make her own decisions. She can go days without saying more than 2-3 words to me. She wants to organize her own room, manage her schoolwork, and independently plans her own social life. There are times when I feel that I am no more than a logistical coordinator for her busy social calendar.

I admit, there have been moments when I feel left out, abandoned and rejected. I feel side-lined, out of control, and barricaded (literally – her room door is often locked) and I feel helpless, powerless, and very, very scared. How am I supposed to take care of her if I don’t know what’s happening? How am I going to make sure she is safe and learning good values? How can I ensure that she has enough support to deal with her troubles?

Her father and I talk endlessly on these topics, each of us relying on the other to provide guidance and solutions. Neither one of us feels in charge.

Then I remember the analogy. Parenting is like teaching a child how to ride a bike. At first, you hold the bike and teach the child to climb on. All the while, holding it in balance. Then you walk alongside as the child learns to pedal, holding onto the handlebars so it does not tip to one side or the other. Next comes the part when the child starts pedaling a little faster. And it’s time to run alongside, while allowing the child the freedom to maneuver while remaining ready to catch her if she falls. If she does manage to tumble off, you are there to pick her up and help her brush herself off and climb on again. Until she takes off on her course, navigating the bumpy terrain.

I remind myself now- she is ready to start pedaling on her own. She needs me to let go of the handlebars. But that does not mean I can stop running or walk away – no. Even though she is ready to balance, this sense of balance is new. I have to run alongside, waiting and watching – steadying her if she tips off balance.

As frightening as it is for me to “let go” – I now recall, every major step of her development has been anxiety-provoking: enrolling her at pre-school at 19 months, the month I sent her off to Canada to be with her grandparents while I went to study in Amsterdam, the first time she travelled with her school to Europe for 2 weeks… each one of these milestones has been extremely challenging.

But this one for some reason is harder than the others. Because it’s not about adjusting to her absence that is needed here, rather it is about adjusting to a different kind of presence. She is here, with me, day in and day out, but she is her own person, with very distinct and unique needs.

So I still myself and listen. To what she is saying without using words. If I cannot be there with her, I will be around her, watching out for her, observing signs, watching her back, so to speak. Not hovering, rather standing guard – vigilant but from a distance. And I practice staying calm. It’s not easy because the words, my words, keep echoing in my ears – “But she’s only 11″. Everything has happened earlier than I thought. I recall the words of the principal of her pre-school. “Shazia, your daughter is fine, it’s you who needs to adjust.”

So true.