WWBD?

“God breaks the heart again and again and again until it stays open.”

--Hazrat Eneat Khan, Sufi Master

 

It’s a perfect summer day and we decide to make an impromptu visit to a friend’s farmstand in the rolling hills of the Berkshire mountains.  We only live twenty minutes away, but our friends Matty and Kyra have just recently returned to their family farm after a three-year stint in California, so this will be their first time meeting Quinn without a breast in his mouth.

As we hop out of the car, eager to introduce Quinn to all of the wonders of a farm, Kyra and Matty’s four-year old daughter, Annadelia, comes bounding towards us, proudly clutching something in her hands.

 “Look Mama, I caught a frog and I didn’t even kill it!”

Annadelia was just learning to walk the last I saw her, but now she is a silken-haired colt, running barefoot over rocky soil, her entire miniature being lit with joy.  Revealing her prized pet, Annadelia tells her mom all about the mud holes she’s been exploring in search of “hoppers”.  Kyra responds with wide-eyed delight, but it’s clear that this wondrous exchange between mother and child is as commonplace to them as the smell of sweltering collard greens … and without a moment’s warning, the sheer simplicity of it shreds my heart into a thousand tiny pieces.

I do my best to hold back the tears, but I am besieged with wanting.  Wanting such ease and delight in the world, and not just for Quinn, but for myself.  Just a few moments, even, of connecting with the world and each other without first having to construct a bridge with toothpicks and glue. 

Annadelia gingerly tries to hand me her frog and the second arrow strikes.  I don’t just want.  I envy.  I covet.  I turn away, frantically asking myself, “what would Buddha do?”  I’m drawing a blank and there are no answers forthcoming from Master B.  I suppose he has more important business to attend to, like Tibet and stuff.  But this is easy, right, this is like Dharma 101 material, just THINK: what would the jolly fat man do?

I realize I can’t answer the question because I’m preoccupied by the fact that Quinn is standing next to a horse for the first time in his life and he doesn’t even seem to notice its presence.  Instead, he’s studying his hands like they’re ancient texts containing all the secrets of the universe. 

Forget about ancient secrets, what about that horse! What is wrong with my beautiful boy?  Why doesn’t he care about that huge and magnificent creature standing beside him?  Is he afraid of it and trying to pretend it doesn’t exist?  Or maybe, he’s not able to see it?  Good Lord, I need to call that vision therapist as soon as we get home, which can’t be soon enough. 

“Quinn, do you see the horse,” I wheedle? 

He continues to look at his hands as if neither the mommy nor the horse exist. I feel myself growing hot with panic … I’ve clearly been in denial, my quirky little boy is never going to “catch up” with the other children, because he is a stranger to this world and he doesn’t know how to enter it. 

I bend down, look him in the eyes and plead, “look at the horse, Quinn, look, a horsey, so beautiful … PLEASE QUINN, LOOK!” 

There is a clear desperation in my voice and Quinn hears it.  He turns away from me and repeatedly says one of his five understandable words, “go”.  “Go … go … go, go, go, go, go”.  I can’t make him stop, once he gets fixed on a word or behavior, it has to run its course. 

Go, go, go …GO, he’s starting to cry and I feel my bad-mommy sensor short out and now the snarly bitch that lurks beneath the sacred bridge I’ve built between my son and myself is free to roam.  I’ve dealt with this free-loading fiend before, she considers herself quite the expert on everything that’s wrong with me and my life, eats nothing but scraps of fear and pain, and lives for time in the spotlight.  I’m on constant patrol for her appearance, but mostly when I see her slithering up the trestle, I make a break for it, ducking my head for cover when she hurls her sticks and stones.  But occasionally, she catches me unawares and knocks the breath right out of me.

“We are not going until you look at the horse, we came all the way to Matty and Kyra’s farm and you need to look at their horse.” 

Quinn begins banging his head on the car door, repeating his mantra, “go, go, go”, and my urge is to scoop him up and say, “FINE, we’ll GO", and then throw him in the car and never return to see Matty and Kyra and their most perfect little daughter ever again!  But just before I pull out the coat hangers and really let my bad-mommy run wild, I see the freshly banged welts on my son’s forehead and hear the Buddha banging his gong: “It’s the resistance that causes the pain, grasshopper.”

Apparently Buddha has returned from his lunch break.  He may be enlightened but he’s not above making a dramatic entrance.

What would Buddha Do?

Buddha would invite the snarly bitch in for a brewski, okay maybe just for tea, but he would never let her take over his house.  He would kindly remind the troll that she’s a mere visitor, just like those other little thieves:   Envy, Shame and Despair.  He’d invite the whole crowd of sorrows in, treat them with respect, and in doing so, take away their power.  He’d sit quietly while they growled at him, politely asking them to hold hands and say grace before settling down to dinner. He’d ask them what housewarming gifts they had brought, and if they refused to show their offerings, he’d pull them, one by one, from behind their ears, making magic out of mayhem.  But he’s Buddha, and I’m just me …  a fried and frayed around the edges Mom of a struggling child.  What could I do? 

I suppose I could admire Annadelia’s iridescent little hopper, I could even admire Annadelia, in all of her glorious innocence and wonder. I could let the horse stray. I could dive headlong into the mystery of my son’s hands.  I could rejoice in this life I was given.  I could remember the holiness in each and every one of us.  I could let my tears fall into the red clay of Matty and Kyra’s farm while I scoop up my child and take him to see a field of rising corn.