2:21 p.m. - Saturday, Aug. 20, 2011
The flowers.
I turned my palms to the sky. And opened. In that moment, every time, I am overcoming the intertia of the fetal position.
I want clarity. To be what I am.
As a child, when I was drawing or writing or working on an assignment for school - if I made a mistake, I would start over. Throw the entire piece away in disgust at the small erasure . . .the tiny scribble . . .the slanted line. Perfection only. Like a monk transcribing the Bible . . .perfection even unto Revelation, lest ye begin again at Genesis.
I see the stains of my life like erasures in my homework. The mistakes, the bad habits, the wrong turns, the intentional and unintentional pain I inflicted upon others and myself. And I want to crumble up my life like an essay with a spelling error . . .Throw it away and start over. I don't want to live like thiss . . .this.
When I go back in my mind, it's innocense I feel. And it feels good. Completely unjudged, completely accepted as I am - in whatever state that is - melodramatic, selfish, uncaring, manipulative - all of it OK. I think the pain comes from the realization that nothing is certain. I need the rule book - but there isn't one. It has to come from me.
And I have done it, so I know it can be done. The past few years - not this one, but the two before this - when I studied music and religion, reading the Bhagavad Gita and the Dhammapada in between endless scales on the Steinway - getting to know Satie and Chopin . . .the Buddha and Krishna . . .the 99 Names of Allah . . .experiencing yoga for the first time, and singing 16th century sacred music with the choir in the old Moravian Church . . .candles burning a light into the dark December evenings. I noticed heart-shaped puddles on the sidewalk, and the comforting smell of Bethlehem. I felt the water rushing over my feet and vibrations of brass through my body. I was mindful then.
Can I be mindful now? Can I feel the soft carpeting between my toes? And see the pinecones in the tree from my kitchen window? Can I be with the 4-year-olds? And laugh with them? And inspire them to overcome the intertia of their own fetal positions? Can I feel awkward, and really just feel it? Let it be awkward. Can I walk with my legs - lumpy as they are - walk with them anyway? Take it. Take it NOW. Not when, not if . . .Take it NOW.
The day she left us, we were uncertain as to what was really going on - but we knew it was bad. I felt a lot of pressure because I was the supervisor, so they expected me to know. I didn't. It was that bad. "Why, why, why?" They kept asking. "I really don't know," I kept telling them. Lorena came to me with a question about a transaction she was working on. I told her my opinion, but she wouldn't accept it. "Then don't ASK me," I shouted - throwing the check back at her . . .I felt horrible. We both loved her. We both felt a heavy sadness and confusion. After the rush had died down, I went to her. We didn't even speak, just hugged. And cried. One of the few times in my life I connected emotionally to another human being . . .let them see me in pain. "We have to keep going," she said to me.
She is right. We have to keep going. And I don't know why. But this is what we do.
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