I hated the spots on the floor.

Our new dog - temporarily living in our house through a “Cuddle Before You Commit” program - was bouncing and throwing his toy everywhere. At 13 months, we knew to expect this type of behavior. And to be honest, it was so freakin cute.

But GAH, the slobber spots. And that doggie smell. And the tiny hairs he was shedding….

I’d gotten used to not having a dog, to having clean floors (because our family removes their shoes before coming in and with Covid, we have no visitors). I’d fallen in love with stretching out on the floor, walking without noticing spots or cringing over crumbs sticking to my toes.

I’d grown used to wearing black clothes again without white-hair accents. I’d grown used to smelling whatever candle I had going or whatever was in the stove or, more honestly and not as pleasant, the odors from my son’s tennis shoes and clothes wafting from the laundry basket. These were the smells of home.

But now, everywhere I looked, there were matted lines and random blobs where the slobber was drying….staining my once beautiful floors. Hair bunnies were starting to multiply and create communes in every corner of the house.

We had two weeks to decide if this dog was the right dog for us. My decision wasn’t if he was the right dog - it was if I even wanted a dog (again) at all.

—-

I practice a form of meditation called, “Shamatha Vipashyana”, which is basically a practice of calm abiding as a way of obtaining insight. It’s seeing the mind (and thus, everything) as it is.

It is a practice done with eyes opened instead of closed.

There are many reasons for this. A reason I practice this way is because I don’t want my practice to be something that removes me from the rest of my day. I practice to learn how to be with my day, not to escape from it. (There is, of course, no right or wrong way to practice. My evening meditations are often guided ones, listened to with my eyes closed.)

In my regular meditation practice, my eyes are open so that I learn to see in the midst of all of the visual candy that surrounds me. I practice this way so that I learn to find stillness amidst distractions and itches and random noises. I practice this so that I learn how to find my breath as my thoughts race on and entice me to follow them.

With my eyes open, my gaze isn’t fixed. It is soft. It is hard to not start finding patterns in the shadows that fall on the floor or start counting the individual carpet threads. My mind is always looking for something to do. I soften my gaze so that I don’t cling to those shadows or carpet threads.

I soften my gaze so that I can see what is.

Seeing what is requires me to go beyond just my visual field. It requires me to go beyond my preconceived notions, my expectations.

—-

The marks of my dogs paws are on the floor. I practice seeing them with a soft gaze.

I notice the shedded hairs on my black pants. I hear his bark as I pull into the garage. I can still smell him on the blanket that lines the floor of the car (to protect from those shedded hairs).

I notice to those things to which I would’ve clung before and wanted to immediately fix or change. Those things are still there. I’m not pretending they aren’t, trying to ignore anything.

I’ll mop the floors. I’ll train him to be less reactive. I’ll do the laundry. I’ll rinse and repeat.

And I’ll practice doing it all with a soft heart and a soft gaze, seeing truly what is.

—-

p.s. We officially adopted Mr. Milo on September 1st.

Soft Gaze