Just keep moving
This morning of the whole moon, it was a struggle to awaken. Not quite asleep, but definitely a slumber.
I have felt of late between the worlds, a liminal space. Last week finished with the realization that aspirations for a workshop, something beautifully and elegantly done to bring people together safely in the context of Covid to learn about the skillfullness of care, was simply countermanded by county ordinance.
“No problem.” I thought. This event was to be the first of many movements in the explication of MettaCare as a synergistic dynamo to both nourish the field and draw forth more generosity through our little effort here on Mill Peak and the coast of Virginia.
I’ll take a day, shrug it off, clear my mind and identify next steps forward. Then LB had to go.
But I digress, just a story of the week, just the way I found myself focused, not on forward, just on not down too far. For those following the saga, this is not news. Father fragile, friend fallen, feet unstable…
Heart, quite simply, simply broken. But at least I have The Good Place. It has been such a week that even the sacred study group hour of Thursday evenings with the Sufi master was today surrendered in favor of the lighthearted musings of a master of another kind. Yes, I come to these words interrupted only by a brief letter to a friend, from the warm embrace of binge watching “our program.”
Today is long. Dinner yet awaits. It was only force of will that brought me to hold the encounter of our group meditation in the morning. Dutifully I rose, five minutes early as is the custom, to begin the day.
Rising with sister Stephanie we listened a little longer to the agonizing story of our present global condition, courtesy of Katie yet again. I was reminded again, those of us who think we can act, must act.
7:30 AM, coaching call with LB, now just one day away from homelessness, though there are many souls praying for his well-being, a vision which is occupied most of my time this week.
After rising, my dear Terri took us further down the rabbit hole of what “can” be known today of the emerging edges of consciousness’s journey through the field of being human. A skillful creator, how much of her wisdom was drawn through the fields of Buddha, one may never know.
She reminded me through a meditative invitation to recall what might that be, that deepest sense of possibility and purpose in the world?
“I want to facilitate tens and then hundreds of thousands, and then millions, and then billions of humans to become gainfully and joyfully employed, even gainfully and joyfully engaged in the work of building a new and more beautiful world.”
This thought came to me about five years back. I don’t know why it let me go, but it has me again.
The time with Terri ran long, longer than scheduled, but shorter, always shorter than one’s longing for that time with Terri to go. I was left in the state of boundless gratitude, inhaling love through my eyes and praying that radiant generosity might pour from my being in an open and endless flow.
And then to earth. The crying, broken, anxious and sweating earth of today. A young man struggles. His only known link to the world of well-being is this wounded body. If the whole world is broken, crying, anxious, how can I turn my back on one man standing reflecting, in all ignorance, that to me?
I would work on that for the next three hours, almost exclusively.
The horoscope, yes I read horoscopes, “the highest of the lower mysteries” says another great Daniel in my life, but I digress, the horoscope today, indeed for this month begins “Keep Going… No Matter What.” I laughed. Haven’t I been saying that, to myself at least if not out loud, all week long?
Like a zombie in eternity, that has been my sense. “Let fall away, be stripped away, all that which I have built to blind myself to the beauty of boundless and timeless awakened being.”
“Focus on moving some meaningful intention forward today, even just if baby steps.” It said of this harvest Moon.
I had imagined I would string together some elements yet unbound in my notes into something more cohesive. Or maybe I would creatively diagram something, or… “I must get to that.” I said to myself.
The time focused on LB came to an end, he was at a choice point, recognize his own vulnerability and rise, or stumble further to see the truth. The phone rang. I let him go.
One of my oldest friends on the other end of the line. “It seems, my friend, that I am not long for this world, indeed I will not see the end of this year.” Came the voice.
For 30 minutes we communed with the simplicity and elegance of beauty. We agreed, as one does, we may speak again. The call ended.
To speak the words, that such a conversation had even taken place, stopped me entirely. Real tears, not long or voluminous, just a few, but perfect in their presence and message, a true expression of actual sadness. I suppose this must sound ordinary.
I have died. More than once. Ironically, I have seen but one death, as the witness to another. I have given a friends ashes away to the wind in the forest. I have lost loved ones. My father struggles today to get oxygen to his heart and sleeps tonight in a Montana hospital 1300 miles away.
Even the goodhearted stranger before me threatens to slip through the grasp of my care into the thorns of the world. These little deaths do not bring sadness. The mourning I carry contains that much without breaking a sweat.
I am not only Kabir, I am the earth risen up in body. I am not only that, I am Stardust given life by the breath of grace. I am not only that, I am the eternal evolution of form cresting into the field of its own reflection. This life and death I inhale and exhale easily, within each moment drawing inspiration and creativity from the perfect beauty of it all.
This world aches, the people cry. Children are killed, and grandmothers go hungry. Those people beloved of me, I embrace in the sweet surrender of impermanence.
For a moment today, that sublime grace simply broke. A tear, perhaps two, a breath, icon that this man, this simple stupid, sweet and beautiful man, must simply keep going for that whisper of a candle flame of love for all of this must carry forward…
Payroll. Payroll was next. People depend on me. I depend on them. Not yet thousands, nor 100, not even a dozen really, today though I do employ a few, and I strive that they might be gainfully and joyfully engaged.
I have struggled to see how to raise funds to serve these lives. Demanding of myself, a tribute of ignorance, that I should remain confused as to how to generate such resource circulation from my own wits and diminished sense of generosity.
May this delirium be broken now. May I know the truth of that capacity that comes, seemingly so easily to so many others. May this body, heart, and soul realize its own capacity and pour forth effortlessly that good I know can serve the loving hearts of humanity.
No, seriously, today just payroll. It didn’t go smoothly. The task is usually five minutes, today, 45. It was more costly than I had anticipated. A momentary sweat, do I have enough attention in the right places? Exhale, for now, yes.
My father has been biopsied. So, by the look of it on the video, has a friend of mine, not quite so far away. Tomorrow we may know more. The family is gathered. At last count, a few hours ago, my cousins wife was still in a long first labor. They are in the same hospital as my father.
The water bubbles in the front door. The ceiling fan turns. Another hot day is coming to a close.
God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…