Life is this simple: We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and the Divine is shining through it all the time. That is not just a nice story of a fable. It is true. -Thomas Merton, quoted in After the Ecstasy, The Laundry, by Jack Kornfield
When I was in counseling last year, my counselor would give me homework.
One of my assignments was to stop all the Doing in my faith walk – the Reading, Praying, all the activity, and just rest in God’s presence.
I couldn’t do it.
I did try.
I would sit, but moments later I would be up again, to write something down, put something away, fix something that was crooked, to trim my nails, anything so that I didn’t have to be alone with my thoughts.
I mentioned earlier I’d brought two books on my trip to the Netherlands. The second one was a bit of a last minute, surprise choice for me. Not long before I left, the Chaplain and I were taking one of our evening walks past one of the Little Libraries that dot our city.
As we sometimes do, we stopped to look inside. I’d actually brought books with me to put into the library, another way of losing weight before the trip. I hadn’t planned to bring any back home.
Then, I saw Tuesdays With Morrie, by Mitch Albom. I knew it was a classic. I think it’s common high school lit reading. I’d never read it. The talk on the cover of life lessons was attractive to me. The slim size of the paperback appealed to my traveler’s sensibilities.
I tucked it in with a couple of other books I’d chosen, and we went on our way.
After the trip, I felt like a different person. I experienced total relief from the stuck feeling, social anxiety, generalized anxiety, and had a feeling of inner worth and peace that went to my core. The difference was immediately noticeable to the others in the group.
As the rest of the retreat went on, and we had opportunities to share our experiences with one another and continue to practice meditation, mindfulness, and other activities to help us remain present. I found that I could sit still without restlessness. I could meditate with a clear head. I could fearlessly make eye contact when I chose to. This is a big one for me – I used to fear that if I allowed someone access to that window into my soul, they would see something ugly or unloveable.
In the information we received ahead of time, we’d been asked to bring something – art or music – that we could share with the group.
There was some muted conversation at the shop where our group met up as the women tentatively felt each other out. We met our retreat facilitators (two were there to meet us, two more were already at the retreat getting ready for our arrival), who told us the plan for catching our taxi back at Centraal Station’s kiss and ride (love that name).
Our facilitators already had a relationship with the shop. We individually went up and told the woman at the counter we were with the group, she gave us the right type and amount of mushrooms, and we bought our truffles.
I had been so focused on getting to Amsterdam, on getting to that shop on the right day at the right time, that I’d spent little time studying the retreat schedule beyond our meet-up. This ended up being a gift – it kept me in the present and didn’t allow me to worry too much about what would happen next.
The next phase of my trip was going to be a psychedelic trip, packaged in a retreat setting surrounded by practices and activities designed to help each of us get the most out of the experience.
Remember that section of Craigslist? Where you can… I don’t know, supposedly find someone who you felt connection to but never actually exchanged numbers with? I remember one night I idly scrolled through the posts, fascinated by the display of humanity.
It reminded me of my coming of age years before cell phones when things like that really happened. You could meet a friend or a crush, and then never have a way to find them again.
I was reminded of it again because of my oldest. Last year, his Spanish teacher was a dear Jamaican granny of a woman whose room was full of empowering posters. She clearly had a passion for teaching and the best interests of her students at heart. Then she abruptly left that November.
