Moments like these are always bittersweet for me. When I say
good-bye, turn and walk away, I always have this lump in my throat, as my heart
swells with all the love that I have for him, and for the gratitude that I have
because of the person I am when I am with him. I have learned about love with
Jan, more from the difficult times than from the rosy times, more from the way
he loves his family and friends than when he is just with me, and more from the
honesty of his expressed feelings than my assumptions about unspoken feelings.
With Jan, I also have learned a bit about letting go, too.
Every time I take him to the airport, I realize that I can’t care for him like
I do when he is at home with me, and that there’s even a chance that I may not
see him again. All I can do is be grateful for the time I had to love him, and
trust that he will be surrounded by love wherever he is.
As a result of my zazen practice, I’ve realized something
else. As I sit, when a thought appears and begins formulating a story, I catch
myself, and return my attention to my breadth. With Jan gone, I find myself
repeating this behavior. When I think of him and wonder where he is or what he
is doing, I catch myself, and return my attention to my breadth. When I write
an email to him, I do the same thing. If I begin thinking about writing someone
else, or taking care of my taxes, or think about some aspect of my project at
work, I catch myself, and return my attention to my breadth, to writing to Jan,
and am filled up again by his love and mine.
This relationship has taught me about love, and about
letting go. Both can exist at the same time, like the breadth, with each inhale
and exhale, I breathe in love and I let it go to everything around me.
It is so nice of you, Mark...that it caught me in tears, and, well, breathless.Which reminds me of the fact for which zazen may not have an answer yet: How about the breathless moments? I love you... Hodi
Posted by: Jan | January 28, 2010 at 12:32 AM