“There is nothing so disobedient as an undisciplined mind, and there is nothing so obedient as a disciplined mind.”
…And breathe.
In.
Out.
Focus on the breath.
Follow the inhale. Feel the pause. Be the exhale.
Pay attention, but don’t. Notice that there is nothing to notice.
As thoughts come. Let them go.
The tiny stream is noisy, the depths of the ocean calm.
“The trouble is,” Buddha said, “you think you have time.”
“No Buddha,” I said, not giving away my shock at seeing a Deity. “The trouble is I do have time. All the time. This is lockdown, Buddha. I’ve read about your silent retreat under the Bodhi Tree. Invigorating, painful, enlightening. But at least you were outside. And didn’t have a four-year-old daughter using you as a climbing frame.”
That was breath one.
I tried to let the thought go.
But Buddha said I shouldn’t try.
I could see the Buddha and I falling out.
Alice and I were sitting in the meditation pose in the middle of the living room floor. We were surrounded by Lego and tractors and broken plastic jewellery and books and an orange lorry. Positivity was coursing through the universe. Viral load, incubation periods and social distancing were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they were under the crayons.
“Look Daddy,” Alice said, “there’s a triangle.”
“Have you got your eyes open?”
She giggled. “No.”
I knew she was lying. I opened my eyes. The sun was shining through the window, triangles danced on the wall. The day before we’d noticed how few triangular things there were in our lives, seeing as we didn’t live on the Forth Railway Bridge.
“Close your eyes. And focus on the breath. But at the same time don’t focus on the breath. Does that make sense?”
“Daddy,” Alice said, stretching her legs and playing with an old Christmas decoration she had found in-between space. “What are we doing?”
A thought came. I let it go. It came back. I let it go. It came back. I let it go. It came back. My brain sang Frozen.
“Meditating.”
“Why?”
“So we can be calm under pressure.”
“Why?”
“You’ll know when the times comes.”
“Is it now?”
“No. Close your eyes. When thoughts come, let them go. The Buddha said what you think, you become. What you feel, you attract. What you imagine, you create.”
“Who’s Buddha?”
“The Awakened One. A philosopher, a teacher, a wise man.”
“Look, the sun made a rectangle.”
“Sit down,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t and the game was over.
“I am.”
“No you’re not.”
“How do you know if you have your eyes open?”
“In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“I’m awake,” she said. “Like Buddha. Can we watch Paw Patrol?”
“No, we’ll do Cosmic Yoga.
We left the Buddha behind to his overrated enlightenment and did downward dog, upward dog, child’s pose. Cat, dog, lion, crow. Alice wasn’t distracted, didn’t ask for sweets, ice cream or pasta. She didn’t scramble off to look for toys, build Lego towers or read a book. It’s as if yoga was invented by children, for children.
Complete articulation, the full range of movement.
Yoga and mindfulness.
Just adults trying to be kids.