Healing after the operation continues on schedule, but not as swiftly as I wish it would. Two volunteer supervisors, after I let them know that I won’t be able to serve this week, write gracious notes of appreciation. A friend asks for a quiet moment to confide traumatic memories that continue to haunt. A house filled with sangha members, their partners and children (well, one adorable child so at ease in our midst), home-cooked food in abundance, easy conversation, much laughter, dishes cleaned and put away, left-overs in the fridge.
The very fact that I may sit, able to write and knowing that you’ll be reading this — in short, an abundance of gifts reminding me that love is what truly matters. Not any particular kind of love — neither romantic, platonic, sexual, filial, material, possessive, or otherwise. Reminding myself that I am loved — appreciated, liked, valued, respected, and somehow significant in other people’s lives. Knowing when enough is enough, the saying goes. Appreciate the cup regardless of its fullness; see what’s freely given and always there for the asking.
To mind come lines by Rumi, the 13th century Persian sage who knew all this:
Don’t let your throat tighten
with fear. Take sips of breath
all day and night, before death
closes your mouth.
… and …
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
source: Excerpts from Barks, C. & Moyne, J. (1995). The Essential Rumi. HarperOne.