Two Miriams, thirty years between their birthdays, are having a mother-daughter chat over morning coffee.
Miriam senior (90) tells daughter that, unable to sleep because of the rising tropical heat, she spent the night fiddling around with curtains and bedding trying to create better conditions for rest.
Then she adds, almost guiltily, “I know I should just ‘be’ with ‘what-is’ …”
Daughter asks, “But wasn’t the ‘what-is’ of the night the heat and the subsequent discomfort? Wasn’t the ‘what-is’ of the night the impulse to find remedies for that discomfort?”
“So how can you say you weren’t wholly ‘being’ with the ‘what-is’ of the night?”
The mother’s face creases with laughter. “I’m such a clot. I still sometimes forget.”
“Clotting is Beingness too! Forgetting is Beingness too. What can we find that’s not Beingness Being?”
Two Miriams, thirty years between their birthdays, crack up with crone-cackle over morning coffee.