Practicing Dharma

My dad triggers me. He says stuff like, “Both my sons are failures” and “I wish you would quit dreaming”, which sends me in a haze of confusion. I imagine having arguments with him, how I would tell him off.

Then I catch myself, and I breathe. I take in the moment. I focus on the wonderment of the present, my breath, this planet I’m living on. My brain is struggling to continue its confusion, but I fight to be present.

At the end of the night, I expect a talk of some sort, so I want to sleep early to avoid it. Since I want to avoid confronting my dad, I do the opposite: I walk right into his room, tell him I’m going to meditate and go to sleep. Surprisingly, last night, he asked me about meditation. I described it to him, then invited him to meditate with me. My mom also joined in. The three of us had a peaceful meditation before everyone went to bed. It was nice.

This was because, instead of harboring my ill-will toward my father, instead of avoiding him, I opened my heart to him and was vulnerable. It definitely could have gone the other way: he could have told me to sit down, as usual, and lectured me about life for an hour. But avoiding him for just one more night would have created another night’s distance between us. I already know how that story goes.

I never thought I would be teaching both my parents how to meditate. Maybe I will lead them toward Buddhism next.