Ty Phillips shines light on how rituals form bonds between parents and children.
___
“Daddy, we do incense now?” Brynn’s tiny hand latches onto my finger and she pulls me towards the basement. She watched me light the incense, place it on my altar and take refuge once, and now it has become a daily ritual that we do together. Her delicate hands pull the incense from its gossamer package and she holds the tip towards me. I strike a match and grins. As the tip ignites, her eyes burn just as brightly. She holds it close to her face, gives it just a few short moments of life, and blows it out.
I hold the small glass bowl filled with jasmine rice and she slides the wooden end into its depths. She looks up; “With me daddy, with me!” She folds her hands in a prayerful gesture and says with me, “I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.” I hold my hand out to her as we high five and I tell her, “Great job, pumpkin!” She skips away thrilled.
♦◊♦
What started as a way for me to remind myself to be mindful of the teachings of Buddha has transformed into a clear window of time where Brynn and I bond.
|
This ritual that I do daily for my own practice takes me less than a few breaths. What started as a way for me to remind myself to be mindful of the teachings of Buddha has transformed into a clear window of time where Brynn and I bond. The ritual in itself means little to her and—outside of my personal practice—it means little to anyone else. What matters are the moments when she knows I am engaged with her.
Each moment of mindfulness becomes real, not because it has religious significance, but because it has human significance. It brings joy to my daughter and me. It teaches discipline and quiet in its own way. It teaches that I will be there, steadily, in its own way. It also creates a pattern of emotional joy in the mind of a three-year-old, in its own way.
I added the high five in the end, just as much for me, as I did for her. This trivial action removes the sense of dogmatic austerity that we as adults tend to cover things with. It helps me remind myself that the end of suffering isn’t found in ritual or reliquary, but in bringing joy and compassion to the forefront of our lives. It is a reminder that suffering is almost always self created and in the simplest of actions, we can teach a child (and ourselves) how to remove it.
It doesn’t have to be a ritual like mine. It could be a morning story or letting our kids scoop the coffee into the coffee maker.
|
It doesn’t have to be a ritual like mine. It could be a morning story or letting our kids scoop the coffee into the coffee maker. When we are truly engaged with them, it could be as mundane as flipping the pages of the paper for us, but they know we are paying attention to them instead of immersed in ourselves.
These gestures reinforce that each day holds meaning, joy, and a sense of renewed security. This sense of stability will carry on with them as they grow. It will hold significance even when they no longer wish to partake and it will be a memory that strengthens them in moments of doubt.
As the day progresses, I start to lose my focus. Brynn notices, and will often chime in, “Daddy, we do incense again?” It always makes me laugh on the days she asks twice. What started out as a ritual to remind myself of my learning turned out to be a another moment when my daughter was teaching me.
Photo—Iqbal Osman/Flickr