Basketball with the Buddha

I took my son to his basketball practice last night. Ran a bit listening to my music, some Tool and some AC/DC to keep my feet moving. When I became bored with running around the parking lot I went back in to the gym to watch practice and wait.

I made some light conversation with a few of the mom’s and then left them alone so they could read more of the romance novels that they all bring to the gym. After a few minutes I found myself sitting crossed-legged on the concrete floor, dribbling my son’s basketball about three inches off the floor.

I was surprised how relaxing it was to focus on the ball under my fingertips. Slowly the coach and kids on the court dissolved, they seemed to fade in to the darkness. I was left alone there with my basketball and the ground.

Music was still in my ears though, the Pulse CD by Pink Floyd was playing now. Soft and quiet, the Pulse version of Shine of you Crazy Diamond was lulling me deeper into the basketball and the concrete floor beneath me.

I thought of mindfulness and about ‘being here now’ so I paid more attention to the ball. I closed my eyes and suddenly it all felt so very different and new. The ball was touching my fingertips differently now. It was so much easier to concentrate on the ball and therefore not concentrate on the ball at all. Does that make any sense at all?

I don’t know how long I sat there, motionless except for my right hand lightly dribbling the ball off the floor – it was just so relaxing. When I finally did open my eyes I was refreshed and rejuvenated, and the only thing that I had done was to pay attention. Instead of blankly dribbling the ball and eavesdropping on other conversations or yelling at my son on the court I had paid attention to the ball, to my breathing and to me.

I had noticed my hand on the basketball, how it felt on my fingers and on my palm. I felt my wrist and my arm, my shoulders. I consciously relaxed my shoulders and my neck, my legs and my back. Felt the breath enter my lungs and then move around my body; like light moving in a dark room.

And then it was over. The coach had yelled my name, asking me to help with something and my moment was over. Just like that.

But I was mindful of that moment and where I was. I liked it.

If you meet the Buddha in the lane, feed him the ball. – Phil Jackson