spirit flows thru -- Alison Rittger's spiritual reflections on finding the holy in the daily
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When my one and only rang Greg’s doorbell, I was released into the hall. I saw her. Joyfully, I leapt upon her, racing up and down the hall, coming at her from many angles. Cooper too bounded into the hall and he jumped on her. On her hands and knees, she petted and kissed both of us, his fluffy white face and my brown one. Finally she fell over uttering a short word I doubt is Sanscrit or Pali. In the midst of the ruckus caused by Cooper and me, she smiled, and I could see a radiant light around her. Maybe not. But she was happy.

I heard her tell Greg she didn’t talk at Spirit Rock, even to ask the time. After the closing circle when people cried and held each other, she exchanged names with the two dishwashers she had been teamed with for work meditation each morning after breakfast. She gave her name, phone number and email address to a woman she’d loved deeply for 20 minutes while they sat across from each other and gazed into each other’s and their own hearts. My one and only said that those who chose to be part of this closing loving kindness meditation had paired with a stranger, and when the five teachers finished guiding the practice, the room was thick with unconditional friendliness. My one and only said it felt beautiful. Could she have loved this woman as much as she says she loves me? I do not feel jealous in the least. Not even of Cooper, the white dog, when he kissed my one and only and she kissed him back.

Since we’re back in Oakland, my one and only meditates as usual every morning. I will still interrupt her for string cheese or an urgent walk to the park. After we return, she resets her meditation timer. As the sound of three singing bowls settles her, I settle too. We are again a sangha of two.

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