Stumbling Toward the Buddha
Dawn Downey writes stories about Mindfulness, Gratitude and Transformation
Stumbling Toward the Buddha
Birthday Celebration
A winter draft sneaking under the blanket woke me up. The clock read 5:17 a.m. on my sixty-first birthday. Hallelujah.
At this hour decades earlier, twenty-year-old Dawn had just run out of time to finish the term paper due that day. Thirty-year-old Dawn gulped aspirin to tamp down a hangover . . . caused by the previous night's attempt to outrun her misery. Forty-year-old Dawn rose from her shared bed to wonder how things had gone so wrong.
At 5:17 a.m. on my ... << MORE >>
My Sister's Face
My face disappeared. In the bathroom mirror, I looked wrinkled. In the closet mirror, my skin was smooth. In the make-up mirror, I had dark circles. In the car, my eyes were bright. I didn't know which reflection was real. I had no idea what I looked like.
The day I skyped my sister, Michelle, her face filled my computer screen. The expressions that danced across it were mine. Our hairlines matched. Our noses, too. When she laughed, I saw my teeth. (She laughed a lot that day and so did I.)
There's my face. Michelle's been wearing it. It's beautiful.
Dear Lovely Subscribers
I'm sorry... I hit the wrong button on my blog and published something by mistake. Please ignore if you received a post that says "The house."
Facebook Friend Finale
"XX wants to be friends with you," the email said.
XX and I had dated for a decade. I left abruptly…after he raped me. For forty years, I've ignored and dreaded his attempts to reconnect.
I tapped delete.
A screen appeared. "Do you know XX outside of FB?"
Unexpected discernment answered, "No."
Another screen. "...won't be able to send you any more friend requests."
Voila. Vaporized. Forty years a stalker. Now, only a ghost in the collective imagination.
XX and I had dated for a decade. I left abruptly…after he raped me. For forty years, I've ignored and dreaded his attempts to reconnect.
I tapped delete.
A screen appeared. "Do you know XX outside of FB?"
Unexpected discernment answered, "No."
Another screen. "...won't be able to send you any more friend requests."
Voila. Vaporized. Forty years a stalker. Now, only a ghost in the collective imagination.
A Death in the Suburbs
After the storm killed the power, our block was as still as a cemetery. In the afternoon a chainsaw's whine split the silence. Neighbors had assembled to remove an uprooted oak.
The sudden swarm mystified me. Perhaps the leafy giant's demise had triggered a homeowner distress signal, discernible only to native suburbanites. I was deaf to their language and my ignorance of tree-clearing etiquette stymied me. Should I help out or was it invitation-only?
The sudden swarm mystified me. Perhaps the leafy giant's demise had triggered a homeowner distress signal, discernible only to native suburbanites. I was deaf to their language and my ignorance of tree-clearing etiquette stymied me. Should I help out or was it invitation-only?
More Power to You
The storm uprooted trees, turning my morning stroll into an obstacle course. Facing day two without power, I longed for a hotel with movie channels and AC. A neighbor, sixty-ish like me, retrieved her mail. Fresh make-up, manicured nails and salon blonde hair –– a girly-girl like me? A kindred spirit?
She scowled. "Gotta clean my yard again. I'm no sissy, but now I'm getting aggravated."
I slouched home, a sissy in danger of being found out.
She scowled. "Gotta clean my yard again. I'm no sissy, but now I'm getting aggravated."
I slouched home, a sissy in danger of being found out.