“Look, fish, you’re already in the ocean”

This morning in my journal I was reflecting on watching a documentary called The Last Repair Shop, a lovely film about a shop that repairs instruments for the Los Angeles Unified School District. It’s one of the last of its kind.

One of the repair people was a woman from Mexico. She talked about coming here for the American Dream, and how hard it was to find. She went through some really tough stuff, and was crying. 

I almost turned it off.

But then I heard the voice inside me say: Stay with her. Don’t run from her suffering. Be one with it.

And I’m so grateful I did. The film was uplifting and I couldn’t stop smiling when it was over.

I was glad I took the step to practice once again how to be in the moment even when it’s uncomfortable. It was interesting to see how I processed through it. And it was worth it.

*

I read a poem called “The Self We Share” by Rumi, and it fit right in. He speaks of little quarrels people have, but that they forget they are part of something larger. He caught my attention with this line:

But look, fish, you are already in the ocean:

just swimming there makes you friends with glory.

What are these grudges about?

As I return to work today after a wonderful break, I take this idea with me, as well as this prayer Rumi ended with:

You are the source of my life.

You separate essence from mud.

You honor my soul.

You bring rivers from mountain streams.

You brighten my eyes.

The wine you offer takes me out of myself

into the self we share.

Doing this is religion.

On Saying Yes, Part 3 (Finding Refuge)

On Monday I read Mary Oliver's essay called "Some Thoughts on Whitman." This is the one that brought everything together for me.

Mary focuses heavily on Leaves of Grass, spotlighting "Song of Myself," which is his most notable poem. Most people recognize these words:

I celebrate myself

And what I assume you shall assume

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

 

For years, I've looked at this poem as a celebration of the individual. And isn't that the way it is always promoted?

 

But I saw it reflective of Thich Nhat Hanh:

 

I take refuge in the Buddha.

The Buddha takes refuge in me.

 

These words Mary offered on Whitman's writing resonated for me:

 

Out-circling, interest, sympathy, empathy, transference of focus from self to all else; the merging of the lonely single self with the wondrous, never-lonely entirety.

 

Noting all these things in my journal, I came to a much needed revelation:

The practice of staying connected to everything has been calming.

I do not feel alone. That is huge.

Just a few days earlier I expressed how alone I felt. But I'm not feeling that now.

*

Yesterday I spent a few hours with Jim at the cancer center while he got his chemo. Last time I was there, I felt stressed and alien. I looked at other people there, listened to them, and felt I was in a strange lonely world. 

But yesterday was totally different. I felt the healing environment. I felt connected to the people there, not separated. The people we communicated with were positive and alive and present. 

 

And it didn't feel lonely.

I've let this experience in, which is what I needed to do.

*

Mary concludes her comments about Whitman with this:

Brawn and spirit, we are built of light and God is within us.

If I have to say anything about the moment I am living in, it is that. 

 

Unifying the light and dark is the best way I can describe it. 

 

Scared and lonely has no place in the refuge of God.

Without judgment or avoidance, I say a clear and resounding YES to this calling, this emergence, this never-lonely entirety.