Author Minal Hajratwala's first meditation teacher was her father. They had a close bond. She was eighteen the first time her father needed open heart surgery; twenty-nine the second time; and forty-nine when doctors admitted nothing more could be done for her father.
As she watched his decline she recalled "what arose in me at last was gratitude, not as a practice but as a fruit of practice. Gratitude for the years we’d had together and the karma that allowed us to be together at the end. Gratitude for the medications and comforts afforded us by the great privilege of our place (a palace, by the standards of much of human history). And gratitude for these powerful practices, great lineages of teachers, our robust and diverse sanghas persisting through the flames of war and roars of beasts: a triple jewel which never tires of offering us refuge."
As she watched his decline she recalled "what arose in me at last was gratitude, not as a practice but as a fruit of practice. Gratitude for the years we’d had together and the karma that allowed us to be together at the end. Gratitude for the medications and comforts afforded us by the great privilege of our place (a palace, by the standards of much of human history). And gratitude for these powerful practices, great lineages of teachers, our robust and diverse sanghas persisting through the flames of war and roars of beasts: a triple jewel which never tires of offering us refuge."
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