Have you at least heard of the admonition “that an empty mind is a devil’s workshop?” That would send Buddhist meditators on a rampage or do they ever go on such emotional extremes?

I grew up with that stern warning: anybody who hasn’t heard of that warning must be too young to read my essays except as a compilation of weird messages from a crone.

I grew up with the constant holy reminder to keep my mind busy or else the devil will whisper to me the way it did to Eve in Eden. Come to think of it the devil’s messages could have very well been the Monkey Mind of the late 1900s. The term just wasn’t introduced then.

My irreverent mind is tickled by the misunderstandings the youth would read into this essay.

One of the solutions to keep the mind safe from the devil was to do ejaculations. Ejaculations were meant to be short term solutions. The preferred antidote was saying one rosary after another the way my mom filled her day.

My experience with the admonition to fill my mind consisted of repetitious recitation of lessons to be recited in class. During my elementary years school was primarily Q and A. To be

an honor student you simply had to memorize answers usually marked in the textbook. Hardly any critical thinking happened. In high school there was a semblance of independent thinking. My personal recall is this teaching style was adopted in the classes of Literature .But then I may have been biased towards Literature. College in the early 60s was very bland and safe. The church guided and guarded the youth. Imagine being sanctioned when you went to a movie marked “objectionable”. This meant you watched a lot of kissing on screen. No nudity as yet!

Gory movies which would have merit the classification of “objectionable” were simply not available.

In the 70s I was teaching then. I started right after graduation in 1963. To some of the “worldly” students in high school I must have been just like the nuns, somebody to be revered and not to be questioned.

But I was in a turmoil. Often on weekends at home I would pace back and forth hoping for answers for domestic family problems as well as the wider world issues. I had been reading many books from the library of my dad especially those of the philosopher Bertrand Russel. I was conflicted because there was an unwritten law that dad’s books were forbidden books.

History repeats itself. Julie Anne nonchalantly mentioned to me that she finished reading The Scarlet Letter. But she was only in Grade 4! I didn’t make a fuss taking care not to question her judgment. She was raised in a liberal environment as far as her intellect was concerned. I was more a disciplinarian when it came to routine and religious practices.

Today whenever we visit  Julie Anne abroad I sort of regret she is a product of my disciplinary school. In Singapore, Australia and in London Emil and I have been treated as guests in her flat. But what rules we have had to observe. Money? She has always been very generous to us but at what real cost?! Even our diets were checked. We had to eat our daily requirement for vegetables. Fruits which we thought were substitutes were of an entirely different category. Where to put the luggage! “Not where they would scratch the wall.” We found out she would have to pay for every nick on the paint, stains on the table etc. Her flats were paid for but “ damages” were charged to her account

I have an unforgettable experience of blessing at Wimbledon. Uncanny but one that brought home a metaphysical lesson. Even a fastidious parent like me can learn from a daughter. One afternoon I wanted to surprise Julie by ironing some of her clothes in a pile of clean laundry. Everything went fine with her cotton clothes. Then it was time to iron her barely-used delicate white blouse. I read the instructions on the label and reduced the heat. I ironed the entire front. Right before my eyes the material started to break into small pieces like paper. I didn’t burn the blouse; yet I destroyed it.

I called Julie at the office right away. She must have sensed my distress. I offered to buy her a new blouse. She assured me not to worry. She had burnt a blouse too. My God! Would I have been as calm as she was? I’m sure she didn’t learn that from me. Most probably she got that from her dad but surely it’s in her nature. She is generous.

photo credits to angleiasarjournal blogspot .com