"Be intimate with your life." This is instruction I've heard more than once from Karen Maezen Miller. It's a teaching she passes on from her teacher, Maezumi Roshi. That she passes it on from him, gives the instruction added weight, like it's an old timer that's been around the block a few times.
What I'm learning this summer is that being intimate with my life is sometimes like eating a summer peach, sweet and unimaginably juicy. At times like these I follow the instruction and feel a kind of halo of goodness shimmer around me as I devour every last drop.
And then there are days like today (none of the pictures in this post were taken today!), when stuff happens that I don't particularly enjoy (let's just say the dog didn't feel well last night), when suddenly, the instruction to be intimate with my life, which was so fun and cozy last week, feels like a knowing parent pointing a finger at me. Accordingly, I transform into a whiner (can you hear me whining??). I wonder out loud to Graham whether or not he thinks Oprah has installed a hotline in each of her homes to deal with this situation--I'm dying to know if there is a dog owner alive who has figured out how to escape this particular intimacy, because in the moment, seriously, I need to know how to get out of this!
I watch myself turn on my life so quickly, in an instant really. If it weren't for the further instruction "You don't have to like it," I'd be downright depressed with myself.
Having gotten over that hump, it did occur to me that there is a kind of agreement in the intimate life. That to enjoy the clear waters, you probably also have to be willing to clean up the mess (and get over the bit about the halo already).
If this really is the deal, and I think it may very well be. Then there's no question.
I'm in. I'm so in.