Vipassana meditation and the Binky

Luke in the morning after a full night without the Binky!

So last night we got rid of Luke’s Binky.  He is 3 years old and was getting a rash at the corner of his mouth from having saliva pooled and held there for long periods of time by his Binky (for those unfamiliar with the term a Binky is a pacifier, also known as a BoBo, Nubbin, and so on).  So we told him that we had to stop using it because it was causing a rash on his face and he was a big boy who didn’t need it anyway (he sleeps and spends the entire day in day care without it).  He agreed and said he was a big boy and wanted to throw it away.  We went to the kitchen garbage can and threw it away together. 

Luke was fine for the rest of the day.  Bed time came and Jackie took him upstairs.  As could be predicted, when he got into bed he asked for the Binky.  She explained that we had all agreed to throw it away and he was a big boy who didn’t need it anyway.  He then proceeded to tell her that he was a little boy-  his head was little, his feet were little, his hands were little, etc.  He went through an entire list of body parts showing her that they were little and so he was a little boy and would like his Binky.  At this point she called for me.

I went upsairs and spoke to him again about throwing the Binky away, he was a big boy even though his body was littler than ours, etc.  He got very upset when he began to realize that the Binky was indeed gone.  He was crying, sobbing, saying “I want my Binky” over and over.  Kicking, chest heaving, tears.  I picked him up when he finally would allow me to and held him, rocking and letting him cry on me.  He really was experiencing a strong loss reaction and I wasn’t sure how to handle it so I just tried to be gentle and present.  He was sobbing so much and I began to breathe with him, meditative breathing, trying to pull him into a rhythm with me and deepen and slow his breaths.  Amazingly, it started to work – he began breathing with me a bit and even listened to some verbal coaching – breathe in deep, breathe out, breathe in deep, breathe out, etc.  The breathing focused him a bit and the crying abated.  And then we were just breathing together in the dark room, and the light from the hall was on his face so I could just barely see it and we were looking in each others eyes and I felt so much relief for him, so much contentment that I was able to help, so thankful that I was given the chance to do this for him and for myself.

At this point I had been holding Luke, standing and rocking and breathing for quite awhile.  Jackie realized I must be physically tired so she said “Lukie, do you want to hug Mommy now?”.  And, staring right into my eyes, he said “I want Daddy”.   And I somehow found an even deeper piece of my heart to give to him.

He slept through the night peacefully without his Binky.  Let’s see what tonight is like.

So much more than I deserve

The woman who owns my heart

I                                                                       

One of the children who own my soul

And the other

                                                  

           

My Boys

 

When Jonah was born, a friend gave us a small ceramic statue of a big brother standing behind and supporting his little brother.  It sat on our shelf these past 8 months.  Yesterday Luke noticed it for the first time, pointed to it and said “that daddy and Lukie”.   I don’t know how to express the mixure of feelings that flooded through me – love, joy, happiness, fear (there’s always fear in the mix for me, always), sadness and melancholy.  I had a glimpse of how he perceived me in that instant.  I am his father.  I am his support in the special way a man and son are supposed to bond.  I do not see myself as strong or masculine, not in the ways the world defines.  When he first came to us I wonderd how long it would be before I broke his heart for the first and only time ( boys hearts break only once I think, then they armor up for life ), when I would commit that first and final failing that would mature him and close him up forever.  Because never in my life would I have looked at that statue and seen my father and myself in it, or anyone and myself for that matter.  I don’t know when I closed or if I was ever open.  But somehow for him I became the big person in that statue, somehow he finds the openings in me and lives in them.  It is more his strength than my own, more his love that sustains us together and saves me a little bit from what I might become.  I am immeasurably grateful to him for these things he gives without awareness or intent.  I would be that father forever if I could, I will be that father for as long as I am able. 

 

This year is the 50th anniversary of the publication of The Americans, the photo collection by Robert Frank which changed contemporary photography profoundly.  A new edition of the book is being released in a few weeks and I’ve already pre-ordered my copy from Amazon.  Most critics agree that Franks’ influence has been felt by essentially every, or at least every American, photographer who has come after him.  One went so far as to say that he was the last person to look through a viewfinder and see anything new.  High praise for him, but a bit depressing for the rest of us. 

I am a believer in photography as art, I truly am.  But I find myself questioning the mechanical nature of the medium with great regularity.  The fact that one can capture complex imagery in a fraction of a second, often not even being aware of the true contents of the image until it is examined at leisure later on, introduces a disturbing lack of artistic intentionality into the process.  I was furthur disturbed to learn that the 83 images that make up The Americans were selected from 28,000 photos Frank took over the course of one year.  That works out to one keeper in every 337 images.  I wonder if I set up a camera on a tripod at a promising location and just randomly tripped the shutter 337 times if I would end up with one sterling, rich image out of that collection.  Garry Winogrand was famous for burning rolls of film, when he died there were about 250,000 images he had taken but had not yet developed and/or proofed.  Is it in large part a numbers game?  Maybe that is one way to approach it.  Contrast that with a photographer like Ansel Adams, who was very intentional and controlled in the making of his photographs – using a view camera kind of forces you to be.  Adams was a very different sort of photographer than Frank or Winogrand.  His equipment, subject matter and approach were all almost diametrically opposed to the ethos of the “street photographer” that Frank and, certainly, Winograd followed. 

So what it comes down to is I’m not really sure how to fit some of these facts into my understanding of the meaning of photography as an art form.  I am comforted, however, to discover that Frank once wore a single pair of pants every day for 3 years straight.  That has to count for something.

When Jackie’s father passed on a few years ago I went to my first Jewish burial service.  I remember how strange everything felt, the amazing cultural differences in the faiths (I was raised Catholic but never really practiced the faith.  I would describe myself as more spiritual than religious right now.)  The austerity and realness of the service struck me.  A plain wooden box, a grey sky and a mound of dirt.  It was very different from the Catholic services I had attended.  Less pagentry, more recognition of the cycles of existence.  While we were in the small building at the cemetary before the burial service I was sitting there with Jackie’s fathers side of the family.  Luke had just arrived from Korea a few months before and none of them had met him yet, but they were all looking at the few pictures of him I had in my wallet.  One of Jackie’s cousins is married to an Irish man who converted to Judaism from Catholicism.  He asked what faith we were going to raise Luke in, and I said that since neither one of us practiced any particular faith we were just going to raise him spiritually and let him make his own decisions.  He said that he didn’t think that was fair, that I had been given a structure, a faith, when I was growing up.  Though I ultimately rejected it, it was still a guide I had been given at a formative age.  He said he felt it was unfair to give a child nothing.  What he said really struck me, no one had ever put it so plainly or expressed it so simply and I saw a truth in it.  It changed my thinking in a deep way and led us to begin questioning our spiritual/religious life more seriously.

So began our search for a faith.  We ruled out Judaism because neither one of us really knew anything about it.  I just couldn’t do Catholicism - I spent 12 years in parochial school and it never resonated with me.  I have done a bit of Buddhist meditation and briefly considered Buddhism but, while I think the meditation practice has great value, I don’t know much about organized Buddhism and somehow I think that the essence would be lost in an organized setting.  So we were left with Christianity.  I have no problem with Jesus Christ, I always felt a connection with him and his message.  I have some understanding or background due to my Catholic training so it’s not entirely foreign to me.  Jackie is open to it and to learning about it.   So we began attending a small contemporary Christian church in our town a few months ago.  So far it has been a good experience, though I must confess I am wary of all organized religion and on some level I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop – for some position or action of theirs that I find totally unacceptable to come up.  I’m hoping for the best, but prepared for the less than. 

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and just lay there looking at Luke’s tiny sleeping face and feel the most incredible awe.  Before I became a parent I approached the idea with great cynicism – I never believed that I could feel anything but tolerance for a child.  Certainly I didn’t think I would be able to love any child as much as I loved my wife.  Luke turned that all upside down in relatively short order.  I can say with complete honesty that I have never felt the depth or range of love I feel for him before and never expect to again.  He is the most phenomenal being I have encountered in this life, by far.  And with that love comes a great and abiding fear.  When you love this way you place your entire being in jeopardy in a very fundamental way – thay never tell you this, all those parents you talk to when you are childless – but it is true.  Luke carries my soul with him wherever he goes, he owns me in that way.  It is a joyous thing, a deeply reverent thing and I am thankful that I have been able to experience this depth in my lifetime.  It is also a terrifying thing which I am powerless to control.  When I look into his sleeping face in the dark silence of 3am I am also looking into the uncertainty of my own fate, linked so deeply with his.  And I pray for mercy, for him first and foremost, and if there is any left over, for myself.  It is a treacherous business, this loving, but they never tell you that.