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Harvesting
Mindfulness
by Peg Streep |
A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He
fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he
caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung
himself over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from
above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far
below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the
vine sustained him.
Two mice, one white and one
black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine.
The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the
vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the
other. How sweet it tasted!
From Zen Flesh, Zen
bones, translated by Paul Reps
Acknowledging how mindfulness changes and
enhances the journey of life seems, after this
tumultuous and saddening first year of the new
millennium, more important than ever. If the events of
September 11th have taught us anything, it
surely is that the superficial quick-fixes, the
well-intentioned "to do" lists that often
mark the start of the new year are not enough. How can
we set them aside for something of greater sustenance?
How can we, as the Zen parable tells us, taste the
sweetness of the strawberry while recognizing both the
tigers and the fragility of the vine?
What emerged from that day in September – a
cataclysm framed against an incongruously perfect,
cloudless sky – was that mindfulness was, in fact,
within the reach of so many. That morning, I found
myself on a high ridge in my town, with a view of the
flaming buildings in the city I was born and bred in,
and love. Like the strangers and neighbors who
surrounded me, I felt the need to see without the
comforting filter of television and, indeed, even though
miles separated us from the horror, the mind struggled
to take in what the eye reported. The anxiety in the air
was palpable—the question "What’s next?"
hung unspoken – and people talked rapidly and loudly
as they looked, as if ridding themselves of the extra
energy endowed by fear. And then, before our eyes, the
first building collapsed – disappearing, in the
distance, suddenly and violently. After the first gasps
of breath and startled exclamations, there was silence
– as each of us was shocked into greater awareness.
Life changed that morning. The tigers above and below
each and every one of us emerged from the brush and into
full view; the fragility of the vine was apparent. But
the sweetness of the berry, the awareness of life, and
of what matters in it also came forth with vivid and
startling immediacy. That is mindfulness and, if we can
hold in our hearts the images of New York City streets
blanketed with the to-do lists of errands and bills to
be paid, of plans and dreams that will never be
fulfilled, we can each better tend our gardens and bring
forth a harvest of mindfulness into this new year, the
second of a new millennium. True mindfulness teaches us
that cultivating the soul isn’t a retreat from life
but a journey into its very heart. Paradoxes abound, as
they did that cloudfree morning: Only by separating
ourselves from the distractions which surround each of
us, can we engage ourselves fully in living.
© Copyright
2002 Peg Streep. All Rights Reserved.
 
Peg Streep holds
advanced degrees from the University of Pennsylvania and
Columbia University and is author of many spiritual
titles, including "Spiritual Gardening: Creating Sacred Space Outdoors,"
"Altars Made Easy: A Complete Guide to Creating
Your Own Sacred Space," "Mary, Queen of Heaven,"
and "Sanctuaries of the Goddess: The Sacred Landscapes and Objects."
She is co-author, with Dr. Nancy Snyderman, of
"Necessary Journeys: Letting Ourselves Learn From Life"
and the soon to be published, "Girl In the Mirror: Mothers and Daughters in the Years of Adolescence," Hyperion,
February 2002. She lives in a suburb outside of New York City where she
devotes equal time to motherhood and writing.
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