using the arrow buttons.
by clicking on the page.
the page around when zoomed in by dragging it.
the zoom using the slider when zoomed-in.
by clicking on the zoomed-in page.
by entering text in the search field, and select "This Issue" or "All Issues"
by clicking on thumbnails to select pages, and then press the print button.
displays sections with thumbnails and descriptions.
displays a slider of thumbnails. Click on a page to jump.
allows you to browse the full archive.
about your subscription?
Lions Roar : January 2019
We clashed regularly, as she was always trying to make me fit into society as she knew it—making me learn to cook, sew, and type. I was angry she couldn’t see me for who I was and what I could do—my drawing and my creative, albeit improbable, ideas. She saw no value in honing either of those attributes, and said so. In response, I took tantrums. Even in my adult years, we mistrusted each other. I remember buying a wonderful new winter coat. When I showed it off to her, strutting like a fashion model, she looked me up and down, and said, “Well, I suppose you don’t have much time to shop.” Instantly, I was the wrong child making the wrong decisions. In general, our communication was reduced to a polite distance, avoiding speaking the truths we felt about our unsatisfying relationship. She had learned to dislike her- self at a young age and had taught me the same. Neither of us knew how to talk about hard emotions. Our relationship changed when she entered a nursing home at age ninety-four. To be with her there was fright- ening and sad. I didn’t want to go visit her every day, or even every second day. The nursing home was miles away from where I lived, and I dreaded seeing people so clearly at life’s end. I wanted to pretend Mom was doing fine, that placing her there was as far as my obligations went. Without my meditation practice, I don’t think I could have gotten through it. Repelling what we don’t want is misguided. This is one of the first things I learned on my Buddhist path. The starting point of the path is suffering, and sickness, old age, and death require peaceful abiding, rather than hope, fear, or especially ignorance. Unconsciously, my meditation practice began to express itself in everyday life and became present in this situation as well. Albeit reluctantly, I made my way to see Mom regularly. Like meditation, it took discipline. I was always uneasy, not knowing what to expect, how to act, what to do, what to say. I also carried an underlying anger that I was the sibling stuck doing it. Despite all this, I knew it was important to remain open for Mom’s sake, as at some level I loved her deeply, beyond the itch of aggravation. So I began to slow down to see what was really going on. I started to communicate with Mom in the ways she wanted, not the ways I did. I recalled her interests, her habits, her conversations, and I catered to them. I brought her gifts such as small animated toys I found tacky but that made her laugh. Always bored with history, Mom’s passion, I now read up on it to initiate conversations. I encouraged my daughter, living in London where Mom was born, to send postcards. Generously, she flooded Enthusiastic LION’S ROAR | JANUARY 2019 70