looking for mustard seeds

The internet is a wonderful place, really. Hard to imagine that a person experiencing a serious illness, which may be terminal, can put themselves in front of a computer and describe what is happening. I am additionally amazed when a person can turn that experience into a meditation on faith.

The first blog I want to share is from an Australian man who has motor neurone disease (known in some countries as ALS). He writes about the everyday and also about the miraculous, and he writes through the lens of his Christian faith. You can read his blog here: http://roderickmallen.wordpress.com/ 

The other is from a man called Santi who lives in Rochester (USA). In December last year he was diagnosed with cancer. To be specific he has lymphoma. He might be a famous person over in the USA - I'm not sure - but his blog is humble and lovely. Santi is a Buddhist. You can look at it here: http://liberationpark.org/blog/

Over the last while a shift has occurred for me about my Mum's illness. I have been thinking more about Buddha's story of the mustard seed.

The basic yarn of the mustard seed is that there was a woman who had a son who died. In desperation she asked the Buddha to bring her son back, as her grief was more than she could bear. The Buddha said that he wanted a handful of mustard seeds in return, but added that, "The mustard-seed must be taken from a house where no one has lost a child, husband, parent, or friend." The poor woman went from house to house looking for these seeds. But there was no house free from grief. She realised that suffering in this way was part of being human, and that all people must experience it, and that she was one of many.

The story goes that she buried her son in the forest. Then she went back to the Buddha, and took refuge with him, hoping to understand and develop compassion for all beings.

I work in a big building with hundreds of people. A while ago it occurred to me that a number of these people were probably feeling just like me. Maybe they had lost a mum, or a brother, or a son. Maybe their aging father has dementia, and the difficulty of losing someone slowly while they are still alive is pulling the ground out from under their feet. And maybe, just like me, someone was trying to cover their tears while looking for the stapler - just trying to get on with living while grief tore them apart.

I started listening more to the stories of other people. I started really appreciating the fact that Mum is still here, and that we love each other. That we have each other. And that we could afford to help her buy an Ipad so that she could communicate more effectively with us. We are very lucky here. I am very lucky here.  

It doesn't mean that things aren't painful, and that her slow progression towards immobility and death isn't pretty much the Worst Thing Ever. It actually really is. But like the woman searching for the mustard seeds, I feel like I can see the suffering of others, and maybe lend an ear to hear those stories. I guess that's all I have to give. I hope that its enough.