I declare that there’s a secret spot on the top of the head where Divinity can pour in. It may be covered in hair … or visible in the skin.
Of course when we speak to each other on the level, we can’t see the place. So we need to practice flying, carrying a pitcher of glowing liquid as we do so.
As we soar, there’s plenty of the sacred flow to go around. We have all the time in the world to anoint whole crowds of human beings.
Perhaps these six especially need our blessing:
Sometimes our invisibility cloak fails as we fly, and we are discovered. That’s fine. Be friendly. And wait for another opportunity for the pouring.
So here they all are … arms raised or heads bowed. All needing to be inundated in the flow. We will find them.
Maybe that’s you and me in the middle, alone in our noticing of the above. May there be a time when the descending stream enters us as well.
I like sequences. One thing happens … and later another thing happens. Are they connected? Or is it just random? Actually, how much of this life is in the realm of my understanding?
Physicist Bryan Cox had something to say about this:
I honestly think the wheels are coming off our picture of the way the universe works at the moment. We don’t know what 96% of the universe is made of – that tells us that we don’t understand something fundamental.
And AI wants in on the conversation:
Most of the universe (about 96%) is made of mysterious substances (dark energy and dark matter) that we can’t see or fully understand, even though we know they’re there.
I have an example. Here’s the jigsaw puzzle I completed last night …
It’s such an adventure, looking at the leaning of books and the shimmering of turquoise to see what piece would fit an empty space. And the completed image is stunning.
This morning I was walking in Gent, enjoying the shine of wet cobblestones. And then I came upon a dislodged cobble. I wanted to make it right, so that no one would trip.
I picked up the stone and turned it this way and that, so it would fit the space. And Voilà! It worked. I was happy with what you see here … the one in the middle.
I’m a Buddhist, and I enjoy reading Tricycle magazine. This morning I sat in Lunchroom Martens, propped up my phone, and followed my eyes through an article entitled “Love In Action”, written by Devin Berry.
These words came:
Bring to mind someone in your life who’s having difficulty, someone that you care about. Still connected with breath and body, take a moment to sense the nature of their difficulty and what that might be like for them. See if you can look at the world from this person’s eyes, feel with their heart. See if you can get a sense of what it’s like from the inside – what it’s like to be living in their circumstances. Staying connected to breath and body, ask yourself “What’s the hardest thing for this person? What’s most disappointing? What’s hurtful or scary? What’s the most challenging situation this person is living with?”
Still connected to breath and body, sense and feel underneath the words that arise from the point of view of that person. What’s the belief here – that I’ll never get what I want? That I’m failing? That I’m somehow unlovable? How does this person feel that experience in their heart? From the inside out, you might get a sense of what, in this place of vulnerability, they most need or want.
Now come back to your own presence, but still sensing that you can feel this person within you as you’re breathing in and breathing out, contacting that vulnerability. With the outbreath, see if you can offer a bit of what’s needed. Perhaps that person needs to be cared for, or they wish to be understood. See if you can breathe in their pain, and as you breathe out, offer your presence and tenderness. Offer your care.
“May you be held in the arms of compassion. May you be free of pain. May you be well.” Or maybe simply offer: “I’m sorry, and I love you.”
Nice.
As I finished “I love you” an old man sat down at the table across from me. I smiled … and so did he.
And I knew … time to put away the phone and “be with”. He spoke Dutch, and a little English. The same with me – except it was “een beetje Netherlands”.
I asked the basics in Dutch … He was 85, lives above my pharmacy, and I’ll call him Frederick.
He enjoyed his eggs and toast, often drooling between bites. No matter. We connected.
And I realized … that I need to know far more Dutch if I’m to deepen the connection with folks who speak little or no English.
My favourite question to ask English-speaking people is:
Yesterday I returned to the Babbel language app for the first time in over a year. Motivation to relearn basic Dutch has returned, because the care home has accepted my application to volunteer.
How the seasons of life change … away from “English only” to Dutch conversations with old people, some with dementia.
I need the eyes to see the vibrant human being inside the old body:
Yes, this man has evolved over the years. No doubt life experience has drawn some filters over his eyes. But the emerging adventures of youth are still inside.
And the same …
Way back when, people didn’t smile for photos, but I bet they laughed a lot with their friends.
And more recently … Does the joking young one become the “mature” old one?
Or is it only through time that the true joys of living are revealed?
Whomever I meet at the care home, may I draw forth the humanity of the person sitting with me.
I lay in bed this morning in the silence. And then began a banging – slow, rhythmic, from across the river.
There’s a construction site about 100 metres from my windows. I imagined the workers using a machine to dig a hole. Later it would be filled with cement, creating a column that would support the new building.
And the throbbing continued. Part of it was inside me. And part of it was shaking my bed frame with every plunge.
“What?! My room is shaking. The vibrations are travelling under the river to me!”
Unknown. Things not as they seem.
***
And then the TV series Dark came to mind. It’s about four families and how they’re connected through time. Plus there’s time travel: between 2019 … 1987 … 1953 … 2053 … 1921.
The photo shows strings joining people. At the top right are three photos of Ines Kahnwald. From right to left, she’s 13, 46 and 79.
Subterranean connections within the same person – young meets old, old meets young.
Connections between people – in the same year, and also when you’re young and I’m old, when you’re old and I’m young.
Harry Chapin, long dead now, wrote a song about the music. Living rooms and kitchens rather than grand concert halls.
Just folks opening their mouths …
Remember when the music Came from wooden boxes strung with silver wire And as we sang the words, it would set our minds on fire For we believed in things, and so we’d sing
Remember when the music Brought us all together to stand inside the rain And as we’d join our hands, we’d meet in the refrain, For we had dreams to live, we had hopes to give
Remember when the music Was the best of what we dreamed of for our children’s time And as we sang we worked, for time was just a line It was a gift we saved, a gift the future gave
Remember when the music Was a rock that we could cling to so we’d not despair And as we sang we knew we’d hear an echo fill the air We’d be smiling then, we would smile again
Oh all the times I’ve listened, and all the times I’ve heard All the melodies I’m missing, and all the magic words And all those potent voices, and the choices we had then How I’d love to find we had that kind of choice again
Remember when the music Was a glow on the horizon of every newborn day And as we sang, the sun came up to chase the dark away And life was good, for we knew we could
Remember when the music Brought the night across the valley as the day went down And as we’d hum the melody, we’d be safe inside the sound And so we’d sleep, we had dreams to keep
Remember when the music Came from wooden boxes strung with silver wire And as we sang the words, it would set our minds on fire For we believed in things, and so we’d sing
Here’s a picture of nursing home residents I took from the Internet. In Belgium the facility is called a “care home”.
I met this morning with the volunteer co-ordinator of a care home near me. She agreed to accept me as a volunteer. Over time I get to be with the dementia unit residents. That’s what I want.
I now have the motivation to study Dutch again. I quit a year-and-a-half ago, saying it was “too hard”. And now … a chapter re-opening. I have my notes from Levels One and Two, and the Babbel language app. My next appearance at the care home is on December 22. Some basic Dutch will flow from my mouth that day.
The care home is around the corner from my music school. Both venues are offering huge challenges. And both will give me moments of immense happiness. Plus they are only a fifteen-minute walk from home.
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