ponderingsat80’s posterous

(for Rob)

We were on a sabbatical year in France when our 14 year old son discovered a broken scooter behind the institute where we had an apartment.  Handy with his hands, he fixed it up and asked if he could use it to ride around Strasbourg?  The huge amount of traffic worried me but I gave my OK when he promised he’d stick to the side streets.

 All was well until one afternoon when I came back from doing errands; a hearse pulled into the driveway and stopped by our door. What was going on?   Why was it at our door? The driver then hopped out, opened the back and took out the scooter.  I stood there horrified.  My knees began to shake, and trembling, I asked, “What happened?  Where is my son?!”  I was so upset I thought I might faint.  Suddenly from behind the hearse, I heard, “I’m OK, mom.  My scooter broke down; I met the hearse and the driver offered me a ride.

 “How was I to know”, I almost screamed. “How was I to know that when a scooter breaks down, you take a hearse!  

I trusted the receptionist at the hotel to give the taxi driver directions to where I was to meet my husband.  The address with instructions in Japanese, were on the card I had given her. We were invited guests at a banquet that ended a five day Meeting in Osaka, Japan.   

 It did not take long to realize the taxi driver hadn’t a clue as to where he was taking me.   What should have taken 10 minutes stretched into 15 and then 20 .  I became increasingly anxious when after driving in one direction then another, he stopped to ask for help and received a shrug.  It was Impossible for me to tell him to turn around, take me back to the hotel, and I sat almost in a state of panic in the back seat of the cab.  Not only was I frustrated at not being able to communicate with the driver, I was in a foreign country unable to admire the sights of a city that I had never before visited.

It was quite by chance that after driving around for what seemed like forever, I spotted my husband on the sidewalk.  “Oh!”  I exclaimed, nearly sending us into a tree, it startled the driver so much.  “Stop!  Stop! ”  I continued to shout, as I reached over the seat and pointed to the man.  He soon understood and It was with great relief that I hopped out of the cab to greet my husband. The driver smiled, no doubt himself relieved, and  proud that he had delivered his fare safely to her destination.

 The banquet was impressive and the food delicious.   And I finally settled down.  But what I remember most about that evening, is a frustrating drive across a city in a taxi with a courteous, polite and extremely determined  driver.  And I will never forget his white gloves and the cleanliness of his car.     

Don’t just look, observe.

Don’t just swallow, taste.

Don’t just sleep, dream.

Don’t just think, feel.

Don’t just exist, live.

(Author  Unknown)

Let go the fear

O gentle man,

To bare your soul

 So sensitive.

 Tis from within your

Nature kind,

Comes beauty rare

And exquisite.

 And if it hurts at times

Please see,

A person honest, open -

Free

 Hold to this treasured gift

So dear,

Let it be seen,

Let go the fear.

We talked, discussed, speculated and theorized.  What if?  Maybe? Why?

Did we think ourselves clever?  Open? Free? Or were we just as muddled, confused and frightened – still in darkness – as when we thought ourselves unenlightened?

We talked, and I thought, this is wonderful, at last, I’ve found someone with whom to share.  Share what? We really have no answers.  We do not agree.

Could it be that it really doesn’t matter?  That it will be hidden from us until we shut up and simply be. Are we too ego-filled to do this?

 Should we not live in love, in compassion and in tolerance, doing what is at hand as best we can?  Perhaps it is in the doing of simple tasks, without questioning, in obedience to our human condition, that we begin to see and understand that these things are best left to Infinite Wisdom and Love. We are not meant to know – we are meant to trust.

Otherwise, we become frustrated and somewhat disgusted with ourselves; we sense we have overstepped the boundaries - this is God’s territory.  Man has yet to become simple in order to become All. 

In the night of our

Understanding

There is mystery

Yet to find.

In the day of all

Our reason

Comes a constant pull

Divine.

Much of life

Is such illusion

Often it seems so

Mundane

But in the light

Of our redemption

Waits our Truth

And so its name.

What is it about the strong?  What is it that keeps them from needing people? Or do they pretend to not need people?  Ah, yes, perhaps that is it.

 I do not understand why those of us who need people are looked upon as weak and therefore to be avoided.  Could it be we drain others with our need?  Could it be we make them feel theirs?  Something they reject and refuse to look at.  Are we a constant reminder that they too are human?   Do they perceive us as weak and themselves as strong?

 I need people.  I need love.  I need acceptance. This is who I am.  Is this not the case with everyone?  Who are the weak?  And who are the strong?   And does it really matter? 

 She buys into his asinine and thoughtless remarks.  She feels herself sinking, and although she knows better, allows her critical inner voice to judge her.  She accepts what he is saying.  It becomes her reality – this is who she is, she thinks.

 She has been down this road many times.  The slippery slope that makes standing and climbing back up an overwhelming task.  It is difficult and emotionally draining – and almost impossible to overcome.

 She knows she must not give in.   She must dismiss it, walk away, turn off the incessant voice that demands perfection, or at least, normalcy.

 It consumes her and becomes her self-inflicted torture. It is addictive, toxic and destructive - a dreadful waste. 

 And it is a total misunderstanding of life!

“Your wife will be fine,” says the doctor.    “A cluster of veins was the problem.  We removed it and all is well.”    “That’s good news,”says my husband – it’s always  worrisome when a lump appears.” 

The doctor is standing by my bed when I awaken from the anaesthetic.  “ What a  relief.” I manage to say.“What is?”  She asks.  “The lump was not cancer.”  I whisper out of a dry throat.   “How do you know that?” -  “I heard you tell my husband.  By the way, where is he? ” - “ I called him at his office from mine.  How could you have heard me?”

At this point we are both confused and somewhat amazed.  I had heard the conversation and thought it  had taken place at the foot of my bed!  Was this a psychic experience?   

Animal instincts versus man’s curiosity . . .  All those animals surviving the tsunami a few years ago, while man, because of  curiosity, stood and watched and got swept away . . .     Trust your instincts, o foolish man – listen to  the rhythm of the sea . . .

 Are we capable of more?  Could it be we all possess psychic ability but fail to use it because of ignorance and lack of trust? I only know that what I experienced was real, and the thought of this excites me.

A cardinal sang as we stood by my nephew's grave  – it’s beautiful voice held my attention throughout the burial service; it seemed to be saying. “I am free!  I am free!”

It was a mystical  experience  - one I needed to share with someone.  Later that  afternoon I wrote several emails to friends describing the incident.  A short while later, however, I  began to question what I had felt, and wondered if people would think me quite mad?

 As I stood by my kitchen window brooding, a gorgeous cardinal alighted on the branch in the nearby tree.    It sat waiting . . . waiting for me to notice him.  And when I finally did,  looked at me as if to say, “it’s  me! . . . Don't you get it!? – I am free! . . .” He then flew away.

 Strange coincidence, I thought as I took my evening walk – why had I not remembered Jacques had been a bird watcher . . . we had often discussed our love for birds and of their freedom to fly . . . Why could this not be his way of telling me he is now free?  The possibility brought tears to my eyes as I continued on my walk.