Central to Buddhist teachings is the notion of impermanence, the idea that nothing is fixed and permanent. The knowledge that things are constantly changing, and will forever be so permeates many aspects of Buddhism. It is central to the first noble truth, that all life contains suffering. We will change. We will get old. We will get sick. We will lose the things we try to cling to. Our suffering is caused by our inability to accept the notion of impermanence.
Further, this notion of constant change undercuts the dualistic view of ourselves as other from the rest of world. When we think back to ourselves as an infant it is hard to define what is the same. The material stuff of our physical bodies, the image we cling too, has changed-over countless times. Nothing physical remains. The analogy is often to a river and it is said that you can never step into the same river twice. We are like the river, always changing. We are not the same person we were 10 years ago, 10 days ago, or even 10 seconds ago. So, Buddhists would have us ponder, what are we really? And how are we separate from the air we breathe in and the food we consume. At what point does it become us? The answer is that it always was.
This last thought leads to the belief that what counts and all that really exists is "now." And much of the Buddhist meditation practice is about learning to tune into now and becoming awake to the world that exists as opposed to the thoughts and worries that are fabrications, fleeting ones at that, of our mind. Nothing teaches the lesson that things are changing second to second than parenting a child with an autism spectrum disorder.
Of course, on the surface this might not seem the case. It has been the long-standing and official view that autism is a life-long condition and that it is incurable. It seems a strangely authoritative and final pronouncement to make given that the mainstream medical community knows nothing about the biological mechanism or origin of the disease. Nonetheless, that is the first thing parents of newly diagnosed children are told. However, every parent on the ground could tell a different story and new advancements in neurobiology are rapidly overturning the notion that you can't teach an old brain new tricks. Many of these new discoveries are coming from the study of mindfulness and show that the brain is, in fact, able to rewire itself through meditative practice resulting in a clinically observable change in the way people respond to and view different situations.
Often dedicating tremendous hours to the simplest of developmental milestones, parents of children with autism develop a keen eye for any sign of progress. And when you are looking that closely for change you notice that it is constant. Some changes are monumental. I remember vividly that first time Danny's head turned in response to his name. The first time Kenny truly looked me in the eye. Others are a little harder to appreciate but we appreciate them all the same: the first time their play went "off script" and deviated from the verbatim recitation of Dr. Seuss lines, the first time they lied, the first time that they used slang (the glorious nonliterary word ain't) they had picked up from a classmate and not a book.
The truth is that our children are changing every day. That change may look smaller than most and it may take a helluva lot more effort. However, by being keenly aware of this change we have the opportunity to enjoy the specialty and wonder of the change in a way that others may not fully appreciate.
We are also all too well aware of the flip side of impermanence. Good things won't last either. The desire to cling to them will only lead to suffering. Skills fought for, developed and taken for granted at one school can be left behind with a change to new school. The calmest moment around the house can turn into an explosion of anxiety, anger and non-compliance in an unpredictable instant. The best outing to a park or a zoo can end in disaster.
For awhile this was perhaps the most challenging aspect of parenting my boys. I felt and lived as though I was always one second away from disaster. I felt as though a black cloud was constantly looming over my head ready to throw down bolts of lightning the second I relaxed and dared to enjoy something.
My Buddhist practice has taught to let go of my desire to cling to the good moments hoping to preserve them as long as possible, but instead to truly enjoy them in that moment. Truth be told, even on the worst days there are moments to savor and enjoy. Likewise it has taught me not to wallow in despair following the sometimes epic meltdowns. There may be things to learn from a meltdown that are worth remembering, but it is important to know that the meltdown doesn't doom the entire day. Each moment is new. And we've all changed since the last and will change again before the next.
No comments:
Post a Comment