Fully Alive: My Spiritual Practice as a Mother

Can you remember a recent moment when your child inspired you to be fully alive?

Living in overcrowded downtown Cairo (before I had children) prepared me for parenting. It wasn't always pleasant--pungent smells of trash piled high, burning rubber, a loud and constant chorus of car horns, a layer of black grim covering my floor (and the inside of my nose). Yuk.

But, somehow that city surprised me because amidst all those repulsive sights and sounds and smells, my senses woke up to the amazing migrating bee-eaters that visited our clothes line every May, the voice of a young man practicing Koranic chanting somewhere close by, and the soft feeling of my toes after washing them upon returning to my home each evening.

The shocking, the not-so-desirable, chaotic sounds and smells and sights of a big city was surprising a place of beauty too. Because my senses were so awake to the bad, I was more available to see, hear, and smell the good.

I find it the same with parenting. All the dirty diapers, the cleaning, the washing, the tiredness, the middle of the night calls from an awakened child, all the emotional discharge, all this very ordinary and chaotic life of parenting somehow allows me to catch all the good: recognizing my daughter practicing my favorite song on her violin, the smell of my 4 year old's forehead, the sight of the clean dishes that are waiting to dry. Moments of chaos make me experience fully moments of calm.

I feel more deeply as a parent as my senses are more activated. Always awake, they show me how to experience the unexpected with the expected, the unpleasant with the pleasant, the painful with the joy. And they teach me really useful things like when it is time to sleep, when it is time to listen and to speak, and when it is time to step into living love and compassion.

Do you have a memorable moment or a place when you felt fully alive? Do you experience parenting as a journey into being fully alive?

Living in Season: Follow a child

Today is Twelfth Night. It is officially the last day of Christmas. It is the night we celebrate the journey of the three wisemen (three kings) who follow a star to visit baby Jesus. In our house, this is the highlight (and our favorite day) of the Christmas season. We have a feast, wear crowns, eat special bread that is shaped like a crown, drink special grapejuice--all under candle light. We also have a three kings cake. Inside is a nut and whoever gets the nut is the king/wiseman. At our feast, I put five nuts in strategic places so that we all get a piece of cake with a nut. We are all kings, all wisemen!

In my post yesterday I highlighted why I love this celebration, but I have one more thing to include. It is this idea about following a child.

My journey as a mother has been one of intense spiritual growth. My children have lead me to so many interesting spiritual discoveries, and yet, these discoveries are not new, just hidden. There are many times I have thought of my children as my spiritual midwives. They are the best friends to my soul. They have witnessed my soul being born again and again each time I recover one of those lost childhood treasures they continually point out to me.

Here is why I love the idea of following a child:

1. Children are mystics. Mystics are those who experience the holy. Children know the Divine because they experience it. No one has to tell them how to pray or meditate. They don't need to read books. Their understanding is based on experience, intuition, instinct. Their lives are fully integrated with the holy in such a way that they live life as a prayer. There is no division for them between the physical and spiritual worlds.

2. Children know how to practice mindfulness. They instinctively know how to be totally present in the moment. Watch a child fall to the ground in the snow, make a snow angel, and remain there for a while looking above at cloud formations. They know how to be in the moment.

3. Children have this amazingly strong sense of wonder. They explore, they question, they dream without censoring themselves.

4. They are engaged in life. They show interest and enthusiasm over small things like butterfly wings, campfires, the full moon, and big things like the size of the universe.

5. Children are open. Open to trusting and open to forgiving. And it comes so easily to them. I am always amazed at how easily my children forgive me. And while my children question my decisions (especially as they grow into adolescence), they have always remained open to hearing what is alive in me.

6. They remind me about the importance of staying connected. Whether through play or through talking about things, especially feelings and needs, they want to stay connected.

7. They remind me that laughter is like prayer and meditation--it is good to do it everyday.

8. Children remind me to dream big. Think abundantly. My son recently said to me, "when do you think we will get that land you dream of Mom?" For him, it wasn't a matter of if we get the land but when we get the land.

9. A wise person is a one who points out life's mysteries. Children are clued in to the mysteries in life. They are the wise ones I think worth following.

Do you want to join me?


Peace,
Nicki

Living in Season: Mothering as a spiritual practice

I have been thinking a lot lately about non-traditional spiritual practices. Often times these practices are so apart of our lives that we don't even name them as such. I think if we really consider their power in our lives and the influence they have with our civilized egos, then we will notice the depth these practices take us. Practices such as mothering, walking, writing, and deep empathy bring about a clear and often times a radical shift in my own consciousness. I am wondering what practices are part of your life that take you deep into the center, the place where you receive illumination, insight, clarity, focus?

There is nothing in my life that has changed me as radically (or has taken me even deeper into my true self) than mothering. The three steps of the spiritual path: releasing, receiving, and integrating (as found in Walking a Sacred Path: Rediscovering the Labyrinth as a Spiritual Tool by Lauren Artress) is an old formula for the spiritual journey, but it speaks so well about my own spiritual movement of mothering.

The releasing stage is about letting go, shedding. More often than not, I am feel like I am in the releasing stage. There is so much to let go: old patterns of dealing with conflict, hiding my real thoughts, my schooling experience, my teacher training, the tradition, all the institutions. Not that any one of these things is necessarily bad for my soul, but I am looking for those places that need healing and those places where I desire a balance. This is particularly pertinent to me since I am home with my children attempting unschooling. The whole process of unschooling has been more my process than my children's. They have never been to school. Interestingly, the unschooling of my own mind and experience is the place of intense spiritual growth for me. Unschooling, for me, comes under the umbrella of mothering, so it is linked with my spirituality.

In the receiving stage there is so much to embrace: my personal experiences, my intuition, more silence, my inner voice, insight, clarity, trust, the wisdom of my children. As I watch them and as they teach me, this stage is our lived prayer. Mothering is my prayer. I meditate, I ask, I manifest, I nourish, I receive, I dream, I heal, I trust, I hope, I learn.

The final stage, the integrating stage, is the stage of union, empowerment, and becoming grounded. If you are walking the labrynth, it is the way out from the center. It is the stage when we practice and try on what it was we received from the center. The act of mothering is also my spiritual ground and my spiritual grounding. Slowly I am realizing it is my place of empowerment.

Mothering is not a linear journey. It continually spirals back in on itself and then moves outward again. There are many times when I feel myself drawn inward toward the center and less times when I feel grounded in walking outward.

The spiritual practice of mothering links us to an ancient form of worship: a worship deeply embedded in our natural cycles and in the fibre of our bones; a worship that is like the roots in a tree, extending deeply downward to nourish life upward; a worship that is grounded in the unseen so that the seen can thrive. Mothering at its best, and believe me this happens maybe once a week in our house, is my worship. Like with any good worship, there is so much room for growth and experimenting and creativity. Good worship is a journey, a movement toward the holy.

Peace,
Nicki