There is an effort brewing to teach mindfulness to children.  I watched a video in which children with missing front teeth described the feelings that swirl around them that make it hard to think. Or be kind. In kidspeak they explained how slowing your mind, and breathing deeply can stop anger faster than a traffic cop. 

 

There are small groups I attend that engage meditative minutes, or the resonant gong of a Tibetan bowl to ring us back to center. Visualizations, and guided stories have a permanent place in my back pack of calming tools. 

 

Sometimes when I am with children I tell stories. What happens continues to astonish me. As I spin a tale the kids are reigned in. Even the wiggly ones. The bored ones. The naughty ones. 

 

Sometimes when we are with a couple that is mired in resentment, or apathy, we invite them to tell us about how they fell in love. Bringing their own story to the forefront is incompatible with discontent. I can almost hear the shift as they look at each other and leave the argument behind, unfinished, like a day old vending machine bologna sandwich when hot French pastry shows up on a porcelain plate. 

 

Even a six year old can learn how to take a deep breath and engage her prefrontal cortex.  Maybe I can too, seeing as I have all of my permanent molars.