Baby in a Bell

Fifteen years ago, my Nonviolent Communication (NVC) mentor Inbal Kashtan gave me a gift, one of many, that I cherish daily. It happened when a baby cried.

In a room full of parents learning NVC on the path to become lay leaders, a baby let go a wail from tiny lungs that stopped all other action for a full minute. Its mother fumbled with her shirt and bra to bring the needed relief, apologizing all the while.

Inbal smiled. When the baby happily latched then gulped and sucked its way into silence, Inbal spoke. "It's really fine by me," she said. "I enjoy the opportunity for self-reflection. Awhile ago, I decided to treat a baby's cry like a meditation bell that reminds me to pause and return to presence. Now, instead of being annoyed, I welcome it."

This week, I expanded her lesson into my own world. Laser eye surgery several weeks ago tacked down a horseshoe tear in the retina, and a minute, jagged piece still waves like a flag within one eye. Looking at the screen as I type now, placing my attention on it, I see the transparent globe tipping and turning slowly here and there, or nowhere at all. I see this tiny ghost more when I look for it. Surprise, surprise. In direct sun, it has little dots that stand before the light and cast an inner shadow that lasts like a negative, black spots left dangling for minutes.

I found this disconcerting at first. I wondered when and whether it would heal. I wondered how much energy I'd spent redirecting my focus. Then, one day recently, I stopped squinting to get a better look at it. Yes, it's still there, and making sure of it does ... just that.

I decided to see something different, so I turned it into a bell.

Now, when the translucent flag in my eye waves its salute, I look for where my gratitude lies. It's not so hard at that point. My eyes are open. Houseplants, my children, my car, my home ... can you imagine all of the wonderful things I lay my eyes on every day? And if what I'm seeing is not something I'm grateful for when that flag catches my attention, then I might ask myself how I could be in better alignment with what I'm seeing, in better alignment with myself? Or, would it make more sense to turn my gaze elsewhere?

I find such joy in transforming what I previously saw as "broken" into a gift that brings other gifts into view. I've since decided to welcome formerly unhappy thoughts in kind. When an uncomfortable memory arises related to my former partner (we parted ways 7 months ago), I take the opportunity then for gratitude as well. Sometimes, even gratitude about our relationship.

Paradoxically, my gratitude practice has diminished such thoughts and even the awareness of what I'd considered to be a fault in my eye. I see it less. What, do you think, could be the implications of this?



P.S. I would love to hear the ways you practice gratitude in the comments below. You are a hotbed of inspiration, my friends!