Buying a Zoo- 4 am Ruminations

Written by Gabi on . Posted in Overcoming Ourselves, Vipassana Meditation

This post began as an offshoot of my facebook update, which turned into a blog post Don’t Buy a Zoo; Do Fart over at the nomadic family travel blog, which then refers to here for the spiritual enlightenments. I know, almost for a fact, that google won’t give me credit for bouncing you here and there with criss-crossing links. But at a time like this, who really gives a shit what google thinks? I actually met a backpacker here who works for Google Israel, and she was very nice, so maybe she’ll tell them to be nice to us too.

So, if you are new here, you might as well take a look around. It’s The Real Deal with Neal McNeal (which by the way, does anyone even know that show anymore… News Talk Radio or something like it. Kobi and I loved that show). So, newbies, you really want to look at my Addiction/Letting Go/Death series cuz it always seems to come back to that, these days.

We all have a learning journey, and mine is hovering right around that issue for the past six months or so. I dip in, I dip out, but it hovers. There is clearly more for me to learn here. So, I’ll wipe yet another tear, and learn I will. Oh, and last side-thought: If you thought I cried a lot over at the nomadic family travel blog, well you are in for a treat. There, I just brush a tear away with my lady-like polished finger; here is bawl like a baby. I guess part of my learning journey is crying. I like crying. It connects me to my innermost outflow of emotions, and it creates more drama (which we all know Gabi still likes to create). So there, now we can begin what this is all about.


Kobi and I just watched “I Bought a Zoo’ and of course, when I see movies that bring up death in a way that I can envision in my loving family life, it gets me. Especially the part when the husband misses him wife. Where Matt Damon sits on the kitchen floor and clicks past the first of forty-two pictures and allows himself to mourn. And when they go to the coffee shop and he tells the girl that mom is sitting right there. and they see her, they see her, THEY SEE HER. The girls says, “Hi Mommy” and the boy says, “Hi Mommy” and the dad talks to her, and she smiles at him again and says, “Why not?”

And that kills me, cuz I see that too. And I see so much at the same time. I see Kobi or I dying and the other finding our Highest Self to be there for our kids. I see a family filling the void with something beautiful that could not have existed had the mother not died. “I hear your voice inside me, I see your face everywhere” (Pat Benatar) and I see ‘a dear friend’, the one I am mourning. And I keep thinking it’s done, and now I can just celebrate and rejoice and see him dancing in my life the way Matt Damon sees his wife in the blue-flowered white dress dancing in the kitchen field.

And I can’t yet. Damn it. I can’t. I see his face in the faces of backpackers up and down the street. I see his face at the disco when we are out having the best time. I see his face in this ally, smiling at me the way he did when he gave me strength, when he told me with his eyes, “I love you. I believe in you. You are strong. Carry on. ” And I miss him. Death is a shitty thing, especially when the person is not dead dead. Especially when you know the person is still there, or could be there; that the potential of that person you love is still a heartbeat away, but, alas, you must keep him dead for that is what is. And that hurts. A lot.

And so, watching this movie did a lot of things. Besides the cockroach, the farting, the King of Cambodia, the family and God-I-love-my-amazing-Kobi things it brings up; it brings up my journey through my own pain. It brings up whatever is so raw and unresolved in the death of ‘a dear friend’ that keeps gripping me, alone and in silence. It brings up what I am meant to look at. For that is what I desire, to look and really see.

“Vipasana” means to see, but to really see things as they truly are. And God, I wish to see, see; not through my emotional filters, not through my desires and attachment (which according to Buddhism is the root of all suffering. Amen! I see it!);  not through my unresolved soul issues, not through my addiction to pain; but to see.

So, it’s now 4am, damn it, I can hear a rooster. I’m doing Vipasana, seeing what is. In three, two, one….

Vipasana is the fan turning cooling my legs.

Vipasana is what is which is what is.

Vipasana is me being sad and longing and attaching to what is not.

Vipasna is my head throbbing.

Vipasana is the fart I mentioned earlier at the nomadic family travel blog.

Vipasana is me loving to write.

Vipasana is my uncle accepting my facebook friendship request, which could get weird.

Vipasana is my husband loving me and being committed to me for life.

Vipasana is my son waking up from my screaming about the cockroach and saying, “Mom, do you know why the cockroach climbed up your leg?”

“No, son, why did the cockroarch climb up my leg?”

“He wanted to kiss you, ” and then he softly smiles and drifts back to sleep.

That’s vipasana.

Vipasana is my someone who helped me for a long time, mad, because I hurt her feelings and me feeling so sad about that.

Vipasana is my mind drifting and my fingers clicking to see my facebook status and triberr account updates.

Vipasana is the wisps of hair on the right side of my face covering my view as they sway to the fan’s song.

Vipasana is my soul slowly awakening to herself.

Vipasana is my right toe pushing against the laptop.

Vipasana is the soft smile creeping onto my face as I enjoy observing all that is and I feel my mood changing.

Vipasana is loving myself for being a hopeless romantic, an overly emotional/highly sensitive fool.

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