Equanimous without Mother

There are two couches in the living room forming an L shape. I lied on the the smaller one that faced the big screen TV. The air-conditioner blew out cold air that obstructed my nose from breathing naturally. My dad lied on the larger couch watching an arabic comedy movie, first night in months. Ever since the January revolution his eyes have been plastered to news and political talk shows. But this night was different. He keeps peering over to his side to see what the frantic typing was about. He must be thinking what on earth is she doing? why is she always so preoccupied? Or am I merely projecting how I feel about him? He must have looked over to my side about ten times. I figure he must be trying to get my attention. Perhaps he wants us to watch this movie together. Perhaps he's using this movie as bate so that we can spend more time together. Maybe he's actually trying. I closed my laptop and tried to watch. I was fidgeting. Too much coffee perhaps. Or is it something else?

I found my mind wondering to that night Mother and I watched the same movie while she lied on the hospital bed a few months ago. I was feeling especially vulnerable that night and quite unusually decided to share her hospital bed so that I could rest my head on her dolphin shaped stomach. It felt soothing. Comforting. Right. Her face carried tiny glasses and a contended smile. Underneath my head and ear I can still feel her stomach ascending and descending lightly with each breath. She held my hand. I asked her questions like a three year old curious child. She replied with gentleness, sincerity and humour. 

But with my dad we watch in silence. He grins and smiles occasionally at events unfolding in the movie, but unceasing tension fills the room. He looks back at me perhaps wondering why I'm not laughing. I pretend. Once. Twice. Three Tears escaped my eyelids. Silently. Practicing yoga regularly has increased my awareness and acceptance of the present moment. Rather than dwell on longing, I appreciate the moment and remain composed. Mentally and emotionally stable. The fountain is dry.  Mother, even though not physically present, I am still learning through you. Learning the power of EQUANIMITY. Thank you. 

Click-Clock, I hear dad's bedroom door close shut only a few minutes after I excused myself from the living room. Why didn't he finish the movie I wondered? Was it because I wasn't there? No need to react to reaction I reminded myself. Just let it go.