A few weeks ago, I was struggling with shyness as I sat on a bench in a park near an old and interesting man (pictured above) who paces the park most days making strange gestures and mumbling to himself and whom I desperately wanted to talk to, but couldn't find the courage to strike up a conversation with. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the answer came in the form of a young man walking by, who saw me sitting there and simply walked up to me and said, "Hey. Whatcha doing?"and just like that, struck up a conversation with me. Isn't it amazing how sometimes we ask these questions of Life, how we struggle and complicate, and cry out, "How?" and then Grace comes in the form of a stranger who says, "Like this."
For The Sake of Strangers
by Dorianne Laux
No matter what the grief, its weight,
we are obliged to carry it.
We rise and gather momentum, the dull strength
that pushes us through crowds.
And then the young boy gives me directions
so avidly. A woman holds the glass door open,
waits patiently for my empty body to pass through.
All day it continues, each kindness
reaching toward another - a stranger
singing to no one as I pass on the path, trees
offering their blossoms, a retarded child
who lifts his almond eyes and smiles.
Somehow they always find me, seem even
to be waiting, determined to keep me
as it must have once called to them -
this temptation to step off the edge
and fall weightless, away from the world.
I remember sitting in my car one day, several years ago, at a stoplight in downtown Abilene, Texas, on my way home after a long shift at the bakery. I remember it as a time in my life when I had lost sight of something important, life seemed to have lost its meaning and I grumbled through my days discontentedly, crying out to the ether, "How? How should I live?" And as I sat, waiting for the light to change, the downtown trolley passed by in front of me. In that trolley, hanging out the window was a young, mentally handicapped boy, who had the closest thing to bliss I have ever seen all over his face. He seemed to be having the ride of his life and was looking with fascination at and pointing to some shiny thing on the ground as the trolley slowly rolled through the intersection. I don't even know what it was he was looking at, I remember following his eyes, trying to see what was bringing him such delight, to some shiny spot on the ground beneath him. Maybe it was a spot of oil, a coin, or a shard of glass, shimmering in the light, I can't recall now. But what I can recall with perfect clarity is the image of his rapturous face, so perfectly filled with delight at the sight of the simplest thing, something shining in the light, at the touch of the subtlest thing, the soft breeze in his hair. It was one of those moments where time slowed down, almost stood still. It was as if life, slowly and deliberately, was giving me the answer to my question in the form of this gift of a moment. And somehow, it was what I needed. Somehow this tender gesture jarred me awake to the joy of living. Some of our greatest teachers enter and exit our lives quickly. Be attentive to the things and people around you. They might be embodying the answer to your question, whispering in your ear, "Like this."
Jason and I love our Mamas and each other's Mamas. They are both the coolest ladies! We realize how fortunate we are to have Mothers that we also happen to actually like and whom we hope actually like us. If we didn't both Love and Like our Mamas, would we have gotten these?
I don't think so. You know I really don't remember my childhood all that well, but I have this feeling like little Tracy was probably a selfish little ungrateful brat who didn't even realize she was being a selfish little ungrateful brat. Kind of like this kid:
It's funny how long it takes us, or, at least how long it took me, to realize that my Mother is an actual human being and not just some machine programmed to take care of me, to feed me and clothe me and generally make my life easier and better. Like the little kid in the video, I had no concept of the fact that I could hurt or annoy or exhaust my Mom. From my perspective it was more just like ME WANT FOOD. The fact that it took me so long to finally put this all together (Mom = human being?!!!) serves as a great testament to my Mother's selflessness and to my own extreme selfishness. Growing up, it never occurred to me that my Mother might get tired or might not feel like cooking the 1, 332, 688th meal for our family or washing all of our underwear over and over and over or the bajillion other things she did for us.... Cause the thing is she just kept doing all those things day in and day out without ever complaining about any of it. It wasn't until I finally had to start doing all those things for myself and now for Jason, too, that I started to notice, hey, sometimes these things are a pain to have to do, hmmm... I bet my Mom sure did get tired of doing all these things for four people for years and years and years. Ding, ding, ding! And a lightbulb lights up the scene! I mean, how do Moms do all that stuff for all those years and in the case of my Mother at least, not even complain about it? How did you do that, Mom? I used to like to think that parents secretly get granted super powers on the day they become parents and that it's just kept very hush-hush because they don't want everybody rushing to have kids to get the super powers. But all the crappy parents out there sort of ruined that one for me. I guess maybe Love is the closest we can ever get to super powers. That's cool with me.
Dear Mother, I am sorry for reducing you all those years to my maid, my cook, my chauffeur, etc. without ever recognizing your wholeness. I'm hoping to have a brighter child who will catch on to that fact a little sooner and cut me some freakin' slack, but it will only serve me right if that doesn't happen. Sometimes I like to think about the little one or ones Jason and I will hopefully have someday who will undoubtedly take us just as much for granted. And when I think about this little ungrateful kid selfishly demanding things from us, I like to picture you and Pops and Jay and Barbra all sitting around us, watching with smiles in the satisfaction of things come full circle and thinking, "It's your turn now, suckas!" And while in my own slow way I am coming to understand and appreciate the hard work that is involved in being a Mother, I am also getting glimpses of the Joy in taking care of loved ones, of the Gift that Motherhood must be. When I think of my time as a nanny and all the Joy it brought me to take care of litle Eli and little Abe, to witness their daily struggles and triumphs and general adorableness...I am blown away by thoughts of what Motherhood must be like. All of this is to say, you have accepted the pleasures and pains of Motherhood with such Grace. For that and for all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made and underwear washed and dishes cleaned, I could go on and on and on, I Thank You. I Love You. You are a Good Mom.
I agree with everything that Tracy said. I too have taken my mother (both my parents actually) for granted for the majority of my life. It hasn't really been until the last few years that I have really been able to think of my parents as actual people. As I get closer to the age they were when they had me I've started to realize how big of a life adjustment it really must have been to all of a sudden have this new, helpless little person to be responsible for. It's nothing that you can really prepare yourself for, but when I was younger I thought that I would reach a certain age and I would have children and it would all just happen naturally. I didn't realize that before parents are parents, they're people just like everyone else. They don't have it all figured out. They don't always know the answers to the questions in their own lives, so why should they be expected to have the answers for someone else's? As a child I was frustrated by my parents' limitations. I thought that if they had the power to bring me into the world, they should also be able to make sense of it for me. Now I realize, however, that their limitations are what make them so special. The fact that they are ordinary, limited people who did such an extraordinary thing in raising me with such love and patience is what really makes them wonderful people. What I'm trying to say, without sounding too conceited, is that I feel lucky to have such great parents who raised me and made me into a person I'm happy to be. Not everyone can say that. Also, I know it's mother's day and I've been talking about both of my parents. That's because they're such a good team, that I find it hard to attribute anything about my upbringing to one without giving credit to the other. It would be easier if there were a parents' day. That being said, mom, I love you! I wouldn't be the man I am today without you, and I fully realize that and appreciate it. I feel lucky beyond description to be your son! Love, Jason
Barbra and Jason, Christmas 2007
My Mama and Me, Wedding Day 2009
photo by Emily Chastain
P.S. Don't worry; those are not real tattoos. We figure Chrissy has enough for all of us.
My Soul Sister, Ruth, is blogging daily Rumi translations by Coleman Barks over here, coupled with her own amazing photographs. This was yesterday's post:
The way you make love
is the way God will be with you.
This is Rumi's variation on the Golden Rule.
-Coleman Barks
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about Love and Passion, the physical and spiritual kinds, and the ways of course! they are intertwined.
They try to say what you are, spiritual or sexual?
They wonder about Solomon and all his wives.
In the body of the world, they say, there is a soul,
and you are that.
But we have ways within each other
that will never be said by anyone.
-Rumi
A few weeks ago, a Spanish man, a cellist with wild hair and deep dark pools for eyes who seemed old enough to be my dad, hit on me at the library, and it had an interesting and somewhat profound effect on me. I was perusing the jazz cds when he walked up to me and said, "I was watching you from across the room and I said to myself, there is a woman with a lot of passion. I can see it in you. My heart compelled me to come over to you..." I immediately started sweating profusely and turning red because this kind of thing makes me very uncomfortable, and well, I kind of laughed in his face a little, partly out of nervousness, partly because I had no idea how else to respond, partly because I do not see myself as a passionate person, but also because I am NOT the kind of girl this sort of approach works on. I mean, I love me some cheese, but not that kind. I quickly told him I was married and he responded, "Oh, but I would still give anything just to be part of your life... Oh, to be your shoes, your dog..." Wow. Who says stuff like that? Well, I ended up talking to him for awhile which some people may think is crazy, but I did it because I believed he had something to teach me. It was easy to make fun of him, to laugh him off as a sexually frustrated, ridiculous man with no respect for the fact that I was a married woman, but that would be me reducing him to something that is only part of who he is, just like he was reducing me to my sexuality. (When it became clear that he was not interested in any part of me besides my sexuality, I said goodbye.) But he did teach me something. I mean, that was a very passionate act, going up to a complete stranger because he felt compelled to, saying the kinds of things he said to me, and while I do not respect his lack of respect for the sanctity of my marriage, I do respect his boldness of spirit. And it's got me thinking about my own lack of boldness and about the many faces of Love and Passion. You know, sometimes Love is a gentle river winding slowly, which ever so softly changes the landscape of the hearts it meanders through. And I want that to be the way God is with me and the way my Love for myself and others comes, as a gentle peace in the heart. But not only, for Love is not one thing only. Sometimes Love is something very different, sometimes Love is a passionate flame that engulfs its habitat and changes it forever in an instant. Sometimes Love is Fierce. I think I have a lot to learn about fierceness of Spirit, about Bold acts of Love. There is something to be said about, something of value in accepting yourself and others for exactly who they are, for accepting the moment for exactly what it is, letting Love and Life come gently meandering through (my row, row, row your boat approach to Life) but I think Life is trying to tell me about another kind of Love, another way of living. I'm talking about the kind of Love that transforms, that challenges us to be more and to do more...I think this is in part why I am afraid of bold things, situations, and people, like my fear of great heights and the ocean and anger, because I have not yet learned this way of living and loving. I am often shy and lazy. But I don't want to Love or be Loved fearfully or lazily. You know it seems like Jesus was a pretty cool cat, a gentle soul who loved and accepted everyone, but there was another side of his Love that exploded like flames, that came like a sword in the cleansing of the temple when He overturned the money changers' tables and rebuked the dove sellers for turning the temple into "a den of thieves." That story always scared me because I have always been afraid of anger. I preferred to picture Jesus healing people with a gentle touch, petting little lambs and stuff like that. I believe He loved wholly every one of those people he criticized, but at the same time, he wanted something more for them and more for this world. Maybe we shouldn't be afraid to sometimes let Love come in the form of Passion, even anger, to sometimes overturn some tables, not from a place of hate, not in a pointing fingers kind of way, but in a way that says, yeah, all that greed and meanness and injustice and crap in this world, its in me, too, and only the flames of Love can wash us clean. Love isn't just something that comes from the ether as spiritual feeling in our hearts, it's something that we make, that we give form to. I mean, isn't that what this whole world is anyway, Love given form? I'm talking about Love as Action. I'm talking about translating all that Love and Goodness and Passion you have in your heart into something tangible, something that will transform the world, little by little. Here are some things I'm telling myself in my attempt to live more passionately with my body, soul and mind:
Have the courage to walk up to a stranger or a loved one and say something, even if it is difficult or awkward to say, if you feel compelled to. (It may just change their life and yours.)
If you find out about some injustice, don't be afraid to be angry about it, but do something, too. Make a call, write a letter, volunteer, spread the word, etc.
Kiss your husband like you mean it.
Love your friends and family and, well, everyone like you mean it through thoughts, words, and action.
Think about what stirs the greatest passion in your heart, and then apply yourself in whatever way you can think of to that thing.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
-Rumi
Cause you know, I want God to be with me this way, too, with powerful, fearless, audacious presence. I want to be transformed by the fierceness of Love. Even if it hurts. Because there is another side of The All: the Love that heals, and I guess what I am saying is that for the evolution of our hearts and minds toward oneness with It, we need both.
Love is here; it is the blood in my veins, my skin.
I am destroyed; He has filled me with Passion.
His fire has flooded the nerves of my body.
Who am I? Just my name; the rest is Him.
-Rumi
P.S. Thank you strange man from the library. Though not in the way you had hoped for, you inspired me to make Love!
Last Wednesday afternoon, after traveling by train and bus to Apollo Bay on Victoria's glorious coast, Jason and I began our journey of through-hiking the Great Ocean Walk. Following the tradition of using trail names for hiking journeys, Jason and I shed our normal nomenclature and became "Kiba" and "Timber" respectively. Kiba is a Japanese word meaning fang which echoes two of Jason's favorite things in the world, Japanese culture and wolves. I chose the name Timber from the lyrics of Joe Pug's song, Hymn 101: "I've come to test the timber of my heart."
With high hopes and heavy packs we began our walk on a cool and grey day. During the course of the day's hike, we spotted sheep, cows, a flash of a wallaby darting through the trees and one human being. We camped peacefully that night surrounded by sweet smelling Eucalyptus trees and the sounds of possums fighting, or at least awful sounding threats of fights. The following morning, I woke early and had my first koala encounter as a cute and chubby koala made its way down a Eucalyptus tree no more than 5 feet away from me. We both stopped and stared at each other for a minute. I don't think I will ever forget that moment. We saw two more koalas that day, plus a snake and a lizard and some really beautiful, brilliantly colored birds as we made our way through the fern forest to the bay. We started to struggle a little physically that second day as soreness set in, and I did get ants in my pants (literally) but all in all, the first two days were quite tranquil.
But on the third day, the rain and cold, strong winds came, and it poured on us all day long. We had no choice but to put on our ponchos (thank you Jay and Barbra!) and brave the rain and cold. This was Kiba's most difficult day. Some days, you've got it, and some days you just don't. His pack was not fitting him properly and had rubbed his shoulder raw, an injury which plagued him the rest of the journey. This was actually one of my strongest days, so I forged ahead and occasionally turned around to encourage Kiba, saying things like, "You are a champion!" I was amazed and grateful for how naturally we took turns being the strong one. One day I was struggling so much and so tired of walking up a hill that seemed to never end, that I leaned down and picked up a rock and threw it down as hard as I could and screamed, "Agghhhhh!" Kiba just stood there patiently, waiting for my tantrum to end, with a slight smile of understanding on his face. We eventually made it to camp, but heard along the way that the rain was likely to continue for the next couple of days and thought about calling it quits. Kiba DID NOT like the idea of continuing to hike through the downpour. We decided to sleep on it, and the next morning we awoke to blue skies! It did rain almost every night after that, but it never did rain on us during the day again. We did however remain pretty damp and therefore cold the rest of the time because our stuff never did dry out. While the blue skies and koala we discovered in the tree above our tent that fourth morning felt like blessings, the holes a mouse had chewed through our tent and through our bag of cashews during the night did not so much feel like a blessing.
The fourth day's hike was pretty tough as we had to hike a large portion along the beach, which sounds nice, but when millions of grains of sand, carried by 100 bajillion mile an hour winds, are pelting you in the face and body, and the weight of your pack is making you sink into the deep sand at every step, it doesn't seem so nice. Oh, but once we got through that section and climbed back into the hills, we got some of our most spectacular views and also spotted some sort of wildcat on the trail ahead of us, which was really refreshing in its unexpectedness. That fourth night was to be our most dramatic. I awoke in the middle of the night to what I feared was a mouse running across my face. I sat up suddenly, but I still wasn't fully awake, so that when Kiba asked me what was wrong, I had trouble articulating what I thought had just happened. "Um, uh, I think a... I'm pretty sure that a..." While I was trying to spit it out, I heard Kiba, who had turned on the lantern while I was stammering, gasp and move suddenly. I assumed it was a mouse he had just seen, so I high-tailed it for the door of the tent, but Kiba wasn't saying anything, (which I soon found out was because he was trying to capture and squash the mouse that was in fact in our tent) so as I was trying to get my ass out of the tent, I was yelling to him, "Am I getting out?!! Am I getting out?!!" (If there was a mouse in our tent, I was definitely getting out, but if not, I didn't want to waste the energy.) Finally, as I'm halfway out the tent, Kiba informs me that he just saw the mouse jump out the tent below me. Sigh. Have you ever awoken to the feeling of a mouse running across your face? It isn't very much fun. It was at that moment, that I lost it a little bit and allowed myself to cry a little. I was so exhausted, hungry for something besides nuts and cold canned beans and thirsty for something besides dirty and disgusting tasting water, in pain from sore muscles and sores on my feet which looked like they were getting infected and which made every step painful, tired of sleeping with no pillow and tree roots stabbing me in the back, sick of being cold and wet... and we still had such a long way to go. But, I knew it was dangerous to feel sorry for myself for too long. There was little I could do about the physical aspects, but I knew I had to stay strong mentally and emotionally. I think this was one of those moments that I grew up a little. I meditated on the following words from Rabindranath Tagore's Sadhana which I took with me to reread:
"Man's freedom is never in being saved from troubles, but it is the freedom to take trouble for his own good, to make the trouble an element in his joy. It can be made so only when we realize that our individual self is not the highest meaning of our being, that in us we have the world-man who is immortal, who is not afraid of death or sufferings, and who looks upon pain as only the other side of joy."
In those moments of pain, when I thought I couldn't take another step, as is often the case in my life it was the little things that kept me going.Grace would come in the form of a butterfly floating by, disappearing down the trail in front of us, or a heart-shaped leaf at my feet, in the thought of loved ones cheering us on ... But then sometimes, grace would not come, sometimes I would try to listen for your voices and instead of hearing you say, "Go, Tracy, Go!" I would just hear you snoring and see you lying in your bed all cozy and warm, and in those moments life seemed to be saying, "Hey! Make your own grace, why don't ya? What do you think that well of strength in your heart is for, silly?!"
If you do not get it from yourself,
where will you go for it?
-The Zenrin
And in those moments of digging deep, of believing in myself, I found a part of myself I had not known before, or at least had not spoken to in a long, long time.
Days 5, 6, and 7 were the longest and the most physically demanding. Up, down, up, down, up, down. That's pretty much how they went. My knees and back and feet were screaming! Kiba's ankles and shoulders were screaming! BUT! we saw gorgeous green rolling hills, breathtaking views of the ocean from way up high, a couple more wallabies, kangaroos, more sheep and cows, horses, a very scary snake, and even got to feast on fresh blackberries which were prominent in the hills! What a treat! On night 7, our last night, with only one medium day hike left, we could hardly contain our excitement! We fantasized about all the delicious food we were going to eat the next day when we returned home and about sleeping in a real bed (well, actually it's just a futon mattress on the floor, but, still!) We finished the Sci-fi novel, Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke, which I had been reading to Kiba each night in the tent. I was skeptical about it as I haven't read any sci-fi since like 5th grade, but since Jason seems hellbent on turning me into a big nerd, I figured I would humor him a little and give it a go, and it turns out I really liked it.
The bus ride home felt like the most luxurious ride of my life. The seats were so soft and it was so warm in there! The distance it took us 8 days to cover, the bus covered in about an hour. I listened to some pretty music on our iPod on the ride home and it was then, as I reflected on our journey, that my heart soared! (You were right, Ruth!) It soared right alongside every other heart that has ever soared, and in that moment, I felt the All in me. And suddenly, every step and pain and elation made perfect sense and were a part of this completeness I felt in my heart. What can I say, but that I felt pretty darn grateful to be sitting there in that peace, pretty darn grateful to be alive. I reflected again on the words that came to me one night in the tent as I lay half asleep which I kept repeating incessantly in a half-conscious state, the lyrics to M. Ward's song, To Go Home, in which he sings,
"God, it's great to be alive,
takes the skin right off my hide,
to think I'll have to give it all up someday."
Generally, I feel like I kind of sucked it up as photographer. It was overcast much of the time, so the conditions were not optimal for good pictures, and I didn't always take a lot of time and care with the shots, and in the case of the wildlife shots didn't have the zooming capabilities to properly capture. Furthermore it is very awkward to hike with the camera out, so I often kept it tucked away and therefore missed out on some kodak moments. Anyway, those are my excuses. But, I think I got a few good ones. Here is a little slideshow I made:
The other day Jason and I finally experienced the Giant Sky Wheel that lives across the street from us.
Have I mentioned before how terrified I am of heights? I am terrified of heights. I would really rather not be up there when I could be down here. Down here is so nice. BUT! for some unknown reason, I decided I wanted to ride the Sky Wheel, and for some reason I wasn't nervous about being up high, or maybe I just didn't think it through? This is quite possible, kind of like the time I thought I would give up cheese...we all know I did NOT think that one through. Perhaps I temporarily forgot about my severe case of acrophobia? Or maybe I didn't make the connection that ferris wheel = up high? With me, you never can tell. (And neither can I.) All I know is I was all, "Yeah, this is gonna be fun!" before we got on and then BAM! we got on, and it started going up, and I was literally frozen with fear. I would not/could not move. Jason was laughing and taking pictures of me.
(This is what fear looks like.)
And I was shushing him as if his words might make the whole thing collapse and holding onto him like a big fat baby. The ride paused when we were at the very top and the man in the cage in front of us could tell I was freakin' out and turned around to say in disbelief, "Are you scared?" As in, "are you actually scared of this stupid little ferris wheel ride that a small child would not be afraid of?" I managed a teeny tiny "yes." I was practically crying, guys, over a stupid ferris wheel ride! Seriously, it isn't even that high. But I just knew it was going to break any second and that it was going to be the end of me. I was examining the ride, asking Jason, "Why is it making that awful sound? Do you see how rusty those bolts are! Do you think if we fall this cage will protect us?" It wasn't until the very end of the ride that I finally started to relax, but then it was over. I was still alive! But I felt like an idiot for freaking out so much. I said to Jason, "And I was just learning to enjoy it! And now it's over." And he said, "Yeah, and isn't it a lot like life. We finally learn to stop being scared and enjoy ourselves, and then it's over. So, we might as well stop being scared now." He's pretty wise, that one.
(This is what Jason was enjoying while my eyes were closed.)
So, this got me to thinking about fear and its over represented place in my life, and I was going to try to expound on what el profesor said, to say something wise or useful or something! about fear, but honestly, I haven't figured out how to not be scared, (if you have, please fill me in!) so, this is not a story about me overcoming something or learning anything. Really, it's just me laughing at myself and hoping that you laugh at me, too, because really, if we can't laugh at ourselves or allow other people to laugh at us, then we are taking ourselves way too seriously. I recently finished reading Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude in which he writes: "The world was turned inside out, swept away, and then immediately reborn as a kind of metaphysical jest. There was no room in that world for a man who did not have a sense of his own ridiculousness." If that is the world we live in, then I think there is a place for me because I'm starting to get a pretty good sense of my own ridiculousness.
Jason and I were watching the tube last night and then this ad came on, which you can see part of below or all of on youtube. Our mouths were agape and my eyes filled with tears. Why oh why do people do things like this? I had no idea such a thing existed. If you are also alarmed by this and have $10 or more to spare, please go to http://www.bricksforbears.org.au/ and make a donation. And please spread the word! Let's encourage respect for all living things!!
