Lawn Mower Meditation

This time of year puts my practice to the test.

It seems to be a rule in my neighborhood that we must all cut our grass one after another, never at the same time, so each afternoon greets us with a long duration of the startlingly loud whir of someone’s lawn mower. 

This often coincides with my daily late afternoon meditation. Even when I close the windows and the slider door, I’m astounded by how loud a gas-powered lawn mower across the street can be. Our technology can send humans to the dark side of the moon but lawn tools still sound like this.

This is a good argument for early morning meditation, when the dew is too thick on the grass for a clean mow, and outside is quiet except for the birds and sometimes the low humming of a train at the station a mile away.

But lawn mower meditation is advanced practice. Can I accept the present moment as it is, without judgement, without wishing it to change? Can I welcome what is here, even if it’s noisy? Is my concentration strong enough to contend with loud distractions? Despite the fanfare of lawn care, can I just focus on my breath?

And then, the reward for being present and paying attention when the mowing stops: the sweetest silence.