Tea Time

As Ajahn Chah, a forest monk from Thailand, was discussing Buddhist ideas with other monks, nuns, and lay students he pointed to the tea cup he was using and said: “I love this glass. It holds my tea so admirably. When the sun shines on it, it reflects the light beautifully. When I tap it, it has a lovely ring. This is my favorite glass, but I do not cling to it, because to me this glass is already broken. When the wind knocks it over or my elbow knocks it off the shelf, and it falls to the ground and shatters, I will say, ‘Of course.’ But when I understand that this glass is already broken, every minute with it is precious.”


Today a resident with dementia saw me walk in and thought I was her mother. She kept calling out from across the room, “Mama, are you my mama?” Her sweet face was in such a state of fear and panic (like that of a lost child). I didn’t realize she was talking to me until she wheeled her chair over to where I was talking with a client. Once I knew she thought I was her Mama, I bent down taking both her hands and said, “Yes, shhhh … you’re okay, I’m here, I’m here with you now.” The comfort in that statement softening her ice blue eyes. My client asked me how long my mother had been in our facility and I politely explained that she was not my mother. It was an opportunity to educate him about caring for those with dementia and how important it is to meet the broken minded where they are. A lesson he is sure to learn this year due to his mother's recent diagnosis.

At another facility the same day; I had found a quiet corner in which to catch up on my paperwork when I noticed a woman who kept going in and out of one of the rooms, she was thoughtfully disturbed. She stopped at the door and our eyes met when she said, “It’s just so hard to leave sometimes.” She had been visiting her friend who was having a bad day and this woman wanted to stay but had an obligation to pick up her grandchildren. Four times she made it out of the building and four times her love for her friend begged her to check just one more time. It was agonizing to watch her inner tug of war but touching to see her great care. Not all of our residents are so lucky. The last time she exited she told me that she knows it won’t be long until her friend would not remember her so each visit now grows more meaningful. I smiled in agreement and expressed my admiration for her taking such good care of her friend.

Like the story about Ajahn Chah, I’ve learned that we are the glass and our bodies will be broken in death.  I saw many broken teacups today that reminded me of how precious time is and how each life encounter can grow more meaningful when adding the light of our awareness. Which makes me wonder if we each knew the day of our death, or, better still, if we'd wind up broken minded and conveniently tucked away in a nursing facility ; how differently would we spend our time?! It would be mostly spent living in the moment not only savoring the sunsets, the feeling of sand beneath our toes and enjoying all of our favorite things (I've been told by the actively dying), but, too, praying that we'd be compassionately cared for when we no longer can care for ourselves. But until then, do not cling so tightly to your life that you never fully enjoy the cup that holds your tea.


Thank you for reading this and sharing a little of your valuable time with me.  

Mona McPherson