Withholding the Biggie

If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?

Stephen Levine

What does it mean to withhold something? Tax people would say that it’s about “an employer deducting tax from an employee’s paycheque and sending it directly to the government”. Sounds pretty straightforward and neutral. Another meaning speaks of a “refusal to give something that is due”, such as not telling a police officer your name. There’s definitely a problem with this one, but hopefully not earth-shattering. A third definition talks about “suppressing an emotion or reaction”. How about uttering “I’m fine” to a questioning friend when you’re feeling anything but?

I guess we can all live with these last two transgressions, although the dissonance between what’s true and what you say could wear on the soul over time.

There’s an elephant in the room, however, as in something huge and heavy. Look at Stephen’s questions. Whether it’s now or as your final breath approaches, what haven’t you said to the ones most dear? It could be “I’m sorry that I didn’t stand up for you when that bully was having his way.” Or … “I feel horrible that I laughed at you when you couldn’t keep to your diet.” Or … “I gossiped about you when your marriage was falling apart.” Or … “Last year, I stole money from your bedroom dresser when you were downstairs hosting a party.”

All of this is serious stuff. If you’re about to die, it would help if you fessed up. Actually, it would be a good thing even if you were going to remain healthy for many years. However, there is something so important to say, that the saying of it has us soar with the eagles, and the not saying of it has us plummet like a stone. Werner Erhard knew what must be said before we die:

When you’ve said all of the bad things and all of the good things you haven’t been saying, you will find that what you’ve really been withholding is “I love you.”

Till The Birdies Come

I was enjoying an afternoon meditation yesterday in my bedroom. When it was done, I rang the singing bowl three times, as is the custom of many people before me. I sat happy. As I gazed out at the snow-filled field, I saw my young locust tree – 12-feet tall and branches bare. I knew that just to the right of my view were two feeders – for nyjer seed and sunflower seed enthusiasts. It was winter, it was cold and the birds were hungry. I’ve seen as many as twenty sparrow-like birdies on the feeders and underneath them on the snow. At the moment, none were in view. It was 3:43 pm.

A plan hatched itself, accompanied by my fluid brain. “I’m going to sit here until the birdies come, until at least one of them claims a perch on the locust.” There was a twinge of discomfort, and I could feel my thoughts starting to churn. “What if nobody comes? Are you going to sit here all night?” And up came the whole deal about giving my word.

I did a brief cost-benefit analysis of promising to stay in the chair until there was a bird. The chances were really good, I felt, that a feathered one would show itself within ten minutes. I was getting a bit hungry but I could shove that down for awhile. “I can do this!” And then I agreed to do so.

3:53

No one.

As the minutes unfurled, I looked out my window at the world. The branches were quivering and fluffs of snow danced across the land. There were breaks in the flurries of white and I was always glad when they’d begin again. Way over there on Harrietsville Drive, cars and trucks went their way across my field of vision. It reminded me of my childhood vacations on grandpa’s farm near Lindsay, Ontario, and the steam engine miles away pulling its cars every evening at the same time. I loved the white billows seeking the sky.

4:16

“Where have all the birdies gone? They need to eat before sleeping, don’t they?” Perhaps not.

The tall trees across the field by the creek just stood there looking back at me. Through the branches of one, I saw a distant red barn. I wondered if that farmstead was full of sparrows. “When you’re done there, come over here, please.” But all remained still for the time being. My stomach let its presence be known and my bladder chimed in with its own message.

4:48

Still alone. I noticed the power pole on Harrietsville. I’ve walked there, standing beside that pole and gazing back at my home. Now I could almost see the tiny Bruce figure on the road.

“This is really strange. Why did I give my word? I want to eat.” And still I sat, feeling something far larger than my stomach. This was a quest.

Suddenly, large birds flew across the horizontal pane at the top of my window. They were flying away from me. Were they seagulls? Whatever they were, I knew that even if I could coax them my way, they’d be too heavy to rest on the branches of my locust tree.