Still Sundays

June 22, 2012

A man named Bala. The O’Donohue paradox: the human desire to share beauty, the trap of cyberspace.

I was expecting this Sunday morning’s ‘breaking news’ to read: Coolest Summer Ever Experienced!

There was no such news.

Instead a breeze that reminded me of a Lawrence, Kansas Fall tip toed around the apartment.

It’s sunny. It’s delightful. The eyes are confused because the trees are so very green, dressed to keep cool in the heat waves that have yet to come, instead of the mosaic offered in October.

In July of 2009 the New York Times reported 2009 was the coolest summer since 1903 or 1881. I was not in New York the summer of 2009. I was on a cross-country road trip with my mother, the beginning of a year long hiatus from life as I had known (which turned out to be more than a hiatus, it became a giant step in the direction I have been walking—happily but not without challenges—ever since).

There are things happening all over that we never experience yet they impact us eventually.

1816 is known as the Year Without A Summer. It even snowed in Albany, New York then.

A summer without summer is one thing, an entire year without much warmth?  I hope to be dead before the ice age arrives, given my body’s thermostat I am not sure I would even have a choice. Just when I think things are getting worse, they are perhaps getting better.

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Yesterday I met an old man named BaLa. In 2000 his wife of 18 years (“we didn’t ever sign papers or anything but we were as married as married is”) passed on and her name is Barbara. His name is Lawrence. Because he missed her so much he changed his name to BaLa. It pleases him when people ask him about his name because it brings up the subject of his wife.

Bala didn’t have children by choice. He said he decided at 17 that he didn’t wanted to contribute to the increasing rates of world population. “Now that I am 73—but my spirit age is only 7— I can be honest and say I just didn’t want the responsibility. The world gained more people. I only lost,” he shared. Then he added, “But don’t get me wrong, I had many fun experiences too. I don’t have much to show for them but I did.”

I told him it’s okay. Probably how it was supposed to be for him. He replied, “Things are supposed to be a certain way only to an extent. Most of the things are choices. Life is a series of signs and choices.”

I told him he had lotsa lotsa  hair. He cackled and said, “But so do you!” I laughed. I do. Lots. And I am not known for managing it ‘neatly.’ The irony struck me. I wondered how I would look with all silver hair one day! Can’t cover the greys to find out.

“Life is short. Make fun,” Bala said.

“Make fun? You mean have fun?”

“No. Make. You have to make fun. There isn’t a factory where fun is being made just for you. You make fun,” Bala replied. Then added, “But try not to make fun of people too much!” This made me laugh out loud. Bala shared my sense of humor.

Bala told me that 40 years ago rent near Washington Square Park was only a few hundred dollars. I told him I would be as happy as him if I could live in NYC without worrying about rent. He told me I could. He wanted to share a secret with me: “Just become a crazy person. Only you and those you love will know that you are not really a crazy person. But they—you know all of these people running high rents and the government that is helping corporations—they will think you are crazy and would be left with no choice but to accommodate you somehow.”

I stared at him.

“But you are not crazy!” I exclaimed.

“Of course I am not crazy. But if you are not willing to live on society’s terms, in this system that is sucking people’s spirits, of course you are going to be considered crazy. Might as well have them pay for it.”

I smiled. I noted the idea for a short story, perhaps a thread in the novel, and thanked him for his time.

As I was walking away he said, “You are not wearing shoes.”

I informed him that in fact I very much was wearing shoes but earlier. I had left them in the park area and didn’t feel like putting them on when I walked over to talk to him after I had spotted him glowing in the light.

He made me laugh when he said, “Sounds pretty crazy to me!”

Bala also said that everything in life is a sign but the choice as to what the signs mean is always up to us. Divinity manifests itself in patterns.

Often we are so busy pursuing some idea that we hold so very dear and just can’t see beyond that idea that we don’t see the patterns for our unhappiness or dis-ease.  The idea can be a person, friendship, location…

Our mind’s attachment to how it thinks things should appear is humorous almost.

I am grateful to have met Bala and wanted to share his energy in this space for all those who stop by.

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This morning I was placing some books from my desk onto the bookshelves in the living room. I was frustrated by not finding enough space. How many more bookshelves do I need?! In order to create and rearrange the space I pulled out a few books. One of them—as it often happens with all those who love books!—fell open.  It was Divine Beauty by John O’ Donohue.

The passage awaiting on the floor was:

There is poignancy in beholding the beauty of landscape: often it feels as though it has been waiting for centuries for the recognition and witness of the human eye. In the ninth Duino Elegy, Rilke says:

Perhaps we are here in order to say: house
bridge, fountain, gate, pitcher, fruit-tree, window…
To say them more intensely than the Things themselves
Ever dreamed of existing.

How can we ever know the difference we make to the soul of the earth? Where the infinite stillness of the earth meets the passion of the human eye, invisible depths strain towards the mirror of the name. In the word, the earth breaks silence. It has waited a long time for the word. Concealed beneath familiarity and silence, the earth holds back and it never occurs to us to wonder how the earth sees us. Is it not possible that a place could have huge affection for those who dwell there? Perhaps your place loves having you there. It misses you when you are away and in its secret way rejoices when you return. Could it be possible that a landscape might have a deep friendship with you? […] During its millions of years of presence perhaps it was also waiting for us, for our eyes and our words. Each of us is a secret envoi of the earth.

[…]

Our neon times have neglected and evaded the depth-kingdoms of interiority in favour of the ghost realms of cyberspace. Our world becomes reduced to intense but transient foreground. We have unlearned the patience and attention of lingering at the thresholds where the unknown awaits us.

How very natural for us to take photos on Instagram or whatever medium of what we see and want to share? How very natural of us to write blog posts about where we live and what we see? How very human of us to want to see natural beauty (not the manufactured kind) and share beauty?

Yet how very human of us to ruin this wonderful opportunity to share so easily because of our egos? Who is sharing what I like? How many likes? How many retweets? How many page hits? Even those who say they don’t care do. How very very sad!

The biggest tragedy is thinking one can experience beauty behind a desk or a smartphone. You have to get up, go out, make fun, meet some Bala in your corner of the world.

How can we share beauty without the O’Donohue-cyberspace dilemma?

I propose just sitting with one’s intention in stillness before proceeding. There is no over-thinking when you meet Stillness and your intention is crystal clear.

I have a feeling the Bala in your corner of the world has as much to offer as the one in mine. Maybe you want to keep him to yourself. Maybe you want to share him with your corner in cyberspace.

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