It Is Well

Long Hill Cemetery is an easy walk from my house.  Nestled in a twisty, crowded suburban neighborhood, it is the final resting place for many of our town's oldest families since the early 1800s.  Many names are familiar to me either because they also appear on street signs or some of their descendants are alive and active in town.  Some markers are those tall obelisks  on which entire families are listed.  Some are marble so old they have broken apart and eroded.  Some are small square bumps that can trip me if I'm not careful.

The one that is compelling to me is Mary's.  It's surface is eroding too,  but it is a good sized, hefty cube with edges carved like columns and a fading sprig of lily of the valley in bas relief.   It stands between the thinner headstones of Mr. and Mrs. Beard, birth and death dates noted; and someone who was the 25-year-old son of Somebody and Glenda Blackman.  What draws me to it time and again is the simple inscription:

Mary

It Is Well

No last name.  No dates.  No relationship.  My first thought is that she was a family slave who bore no surname and whose age was a mystery.  Perhaps she was the illicit lover of the 25 year old and her disgrace was buried by her anonymity.  I may never know the facts.  Indeed, they are of little consequence.  What does matter is the clear sense that, despite her obscurity, Mary was worthy of regard.  Whether the providers of the tombstone chose it out of respect or remorse, it is a stone that was far more costly and far more embellished than its neighbors.

As I said in my first blog posting, I'm just writing to share my own disparate musings and discoveries with you.  I don't know why I'm writing this particular posting except that I feel compelled to.  Just as inexplicably, Mary draws me close to her, and I go to the cemetery purposely to visit with her.  But I cannot intellectualize this, nor do I desire to.  This is a matter for the heart.  Whoever she was reaches out to me over 100 years later.  And it is well that I should simply bear witness to her silent grace.

Pax tecum, Mary.  And to you all.

Open Wide and Say "Ahhhhh"

Don't you hate it when fear gets the best of you?  I do!  My brain makes a unilateral decision to flood me with adrenaline and thoughts run wild like a pack of stampeding lemmings heading over a cliff of worst case scenarios.   

When our buttons are pushed and we keep replaying a scenario in our minds--real or even more amusing, imagined--that's irrational.  Adrenaline is contributing to it.  Hormones!  Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.  It makes us feel worse not better, and there is little resolution in the exercise.  We're just rehearsing a bad outcome.  The counter-intuitive trick is to open wide our heart and mind to be ready for a different solution.

One day my car started making a funny noise.  My mechanic determined it was the alternator, and it needed to be replaced.  He remarked that it shouldn't go bad at 28,000 miles.  "Is the warranty still in effect?"  "No," I sighed.  "Well, call up the dealership and use every argument you possibly can to see if they'll do it for free.  Otherwise, this will cost you a bundle."  

I went home and started to panic.  Money was tight.  And I am one of those really fair-minded people, so asking for an exception to the rule makes no sense to me.  Fair is fair, even if it is not to my advantage.  Badgering people and using emotional blackmail is just not in my value system either.   The lemmings were heading over the cliff.  So I just sat, breathed, and said a prayer for the best possible outcome.  I didn't know what that was.  But the more I open my mind and heart, the greater the chances I'll recognize a solution when it happens.

I called the dealership and spoke with the manager.  I explained the situation rationally and got no further than "Is there anything you might be able to do?"  "No problem!  We'll take care of it under our goodwill policy."  The lemmings hit the brakes and, not a little sheepishly, headed back home.  The situation could have turned out the opposite way.  Even then, I still have the option of staying open to seeing what might come of it. 

When we engage in these trying scenarios with balance and neutrality, the situation can become easier to handle.  The panic, the rage, the confusion are no help to us, so dissolving them as quickly and compassionately as possible is to our advantage.  When we are open, we can breathe.  Energy flows more readily to be of service to us and to facilitate communication.  Easy to do?  Heck, no!  But it is possible to open ourselves more and more.  Keep it up, you'll see.  And remember to brake for lemmings.

Pax tecum.

Just Start Walkin'

If you doubt that how you show up in the world can make any difference, think again.

John was not on anyone's radar in 1971.  But a huge oil spill in the San Francisco Bay prompted him to take action to save the environment.  But doing what?  He had no skills, no college degree.  And how?  He made a simple choice: he chose to stop riding in vehicles fueled by petroleum products.  He walked everywhere for everything, hundreds of miles, in all kinds of weather.  He even refused to ride in the ambulance after a bad accident and walked to the emergency room!   He got a lot of notice.  His action stirred a lot of people...to anger!  Well, we do tend to project our fears and guilt onto others, don't we?  He would argue his point of view for five years until he realized he was tired of arguing.  On his 27th birthday, he decided to keep silent for one day.  For the first time in his life he began to hear people.  Really hear them.  It felt so peaceful.  He kept silent for a second day.  And a third.  And...

Seventeen years later never uttering a sound, and with all of his energies focused on environmental science, he had completed a bachelors degree, a masters degree, a doctoral degree, taught at a university, worked in the coast guard, and wrote the US regulations on oil spills at the exact moment of the Valdez oil spill.  He was now on the radar.  For 22 years he was walking, biking, or sailing wherever he needed to go. For 17 years he got his degrees, taught his courses, and did his jobs in sign language and notes.  At every turn people were there to make things possible for him because his commitment was so extraordinary and his honesty so compelling.  On the 20th anniversary of Earth Day, he finally resumed speaking and the following year became a UN goodwill amabassador. 

He is John Francis, PhD, and his book Planet Walker is the product of his odyssey.  He encourages us to follow our vision no matter how crazy it may look; to do so with compassion; and when the time comes to evolve, let go of who we used to be and become someone new.  Listen to his talk on TED.com

As he laughingly muses, imagine someone telling you exactly how you can make a difference.  "You just start walkin' east.  Get out of your car and just start walkin' east...Yeah, and shut up too!  You're gonna make a difference, buddy!"

Strawberry Fields Impermanently

"Let me take you down 'cause I'm going to..."

...Jones Family Farms in this case.  It was the end of the season, and I wanted to be sure to get some fresh strawberries. I'm always amazed that fresh-picked strawberries are so juicy, unlike store bought which tend more toward crunchy. 

The folks at Jones will give you a large box before you go out into the field.  But this single chick figured better take just one plastic container of my own, and when it was full, that was it.

While it was a hot and sticky day downtown, up on Pumpkin Seed Hill the wind blew refreshingly over those of us picking in between the rows.  You have to be very careful not to step on trailing vines or bump into overly ripe fruit.  In this approach to the task, I experienced something like reverence.  The act of kneeling, moving slowly, and gingerly pinching the stems made me mindful not only of the berries but of the day and those around me.  The leaves felt leathery and hearty.   I could hear a mother with her children giggling through the rows with evidence of sampling on their chins.

The picking became a meditation that I did not wish to end.  Everything was so perfect.  But my container was filling up.  A dialog began in my head.  "I wish I had another container."  "Why?"  "I'd like to pick more!"  "But you know you can't eat more. They'll just go bad, and you'll throw them out."  "True.  When the container is full I will stop and have just what I need and want."  "Enough" is a difficult concept for our consumer society.  We don't want to run out of things or let go of gorgeous experiences.  But if they are always there, they becomes commonplace.  We miss what made them special.  We toss the unused portions into the compost bin.

The next time you go to a store, just check in with yourself without judgments.  Are you shopping  only for necessities?  If something not on the list strikes your fancy, do you put it in the carriage?  Are you standing in front of the jam section looking at the ten different brands trying to decide which to buy?  Do you remember when your city had a power outage, and you were staring at the last jar of mint jelly on the shelf?  Permanence.  Impermanence.  Enough.  Too much.  Not enough.  I just offer this as an idea to play with.  You may find by exploring these words you examine whether you are living a particular moment on purpose or on autopilot, in the past, future, or present.  Nothing more.  But maybe the awareness is enough.  Savor your awareness.  It's so juicy!

Pax tecum.