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I am in an appalling state. I have a badly sprained, hurting wrist and a tooth that is scheduled for root canal and I really, really want to scream. Plus, it is the 5th or 6th or 7th gray day this week.
My son is running a marathon on Sunday, probably in the pouring rain, which only adds to my malaise (true, he is 50 but once a mother always a mother, as my own mother used to say). So the possibilities are be miserable, remind myself that my son has mastered the art of taking care of himself, vacuum the cat hair (my cat is black) off the light-colored rug or…turn to my good friend, the Dalai Lama. His words are my bible.
He says to me, “My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.” ...and he means kindness to myself, as well as to others. He says, “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion and if you want yourself to be happy, practice compassion.” So I sit quietly and let his words drift over me, and once again (and again and again and again) I become aware that I am caught up in my own drama. These thoughts are enough to get me up and moving, in a much better frame of mind. The Dalai Lama is my hero.