As I got to the top of the stairs the other morning for practice, there,
lying just beyond the reach of the door to the yoga studio, was a homeless
person rolled up in a blanket too thin for November's early morning air and
fast asleep. In the years that I have practiced at this studio, I have, upon
occasion, seen other homeless people slumbering near the entrance, their few
belongings piled neatly beside them, socks tucked down inside their shoes.
Always, I wonder what it is that draws them to this particular entry way. The
answer is not so difficult to imagine. At the top of the stairs is a generous
landing, buffeted by a short wall on all sides, except, of course, where the
stairway leads to it. Here, then, is a small, somewhat hidden sanctuary where a
person could sleep undisturbed, or as undisturbed as someone is capable of
sleeping when living out on the streets all day.
I cannot imagine it. Me, who has a difficult time of it on the rare occasions I have to sleep alone in our home, a roof over my head, a door I can close and lock, and a refrigerator not far away filled with a ready meal when I should need it.
What I am able, however, to imagine is how terribly easy it is to become broken. Our vulnerability is matched only by how steadfast and courageous we might be. I know better than to hurry past those sleeping at the studio door, my mat slung across my back, my thoughts traveling in that early hour toward my practice session ahead, without offering two prayers--one of intention for this sleeping person I am meant to witness, and one of gratitude not only for helping me to see, but for all that I have been given. In her book Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott writes that there are really only two prayers. One is "Please, please, please," and the second is "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I cannot tell you how often I have worn out both of them.
Eugene Debs, an outspoken leader of the American labor movement at the turn of the last century, ran against Woodrow Wilson in 1912 as the candidate for the Socialist Party. Debs won almost 1 million votes--almost six percent of the popular vote--in that election. Part of Debs' campaign platform during this election was the following:
"As long as there is a lower class, I am in it.
As long as there is a criminal element, I am of it.
As long as there is a soul in prison, I am not free."
Debs became a "criminal" and was sent to prison several times for both his work as a union leader and as an outspoken critic of the first World War. Kurt Vonnegut proudly extols Debs' work and worth as a human being in what would be Vonnegut's last book A Man without a Country. Like Vonnegut, Debs was a Hoosier, someone who hails from Indiana, "one of the great fresh water people," writes Vonnegut, indicating a proximity to the country's great lakes versus one of its two great oceans. Vonnegut draws parallels between Debs' campaign platform and the "platform" of another celebrated revolutionary, Jesus Christ. To Vonnegut, Debs' commitment to the common man ran alongside the teachings contained in Christ's Sermon on the Mount in which Christ delivers the Beatitudes. The Beatitudes teach that the downtrodden and the unfortunate are to be seen, recognized and blessed. They, too, Christ insists, have a right to be joyful. Many hundreds of centuries after Christ, Debs wrote, "Yes, I am my brother's keeper. I am under a moral obligation to him that is inspired, not by maudlin sentimentality, but by the higher duty I owe myself."
I remember learning the Beatitudes as a child in Catholic school, and I did my best to identify with all to whom Christ extended his blessings, attempting to decide whether I should be meek or poor, merciful or pure in heart so that I might see God, or inherit the earth, or be comforted, or, indeed, be called one of God's children. Of course, as a child, I was not meant to see too far down the road. I did not know that life would, in time, acquaint me with many of its inherent difficulties, challenging me to persevere through adversity in order to savor its equally inherent, but opposite--and, yes, sometimes all too fleeting--blessings. I am suddenly reminded of the lyrics to Jane Siberry's haunting song "Calling All Angels," featured in the Wim Wenders film Until the End of the World. Siberry offers a deeper understanding of Christ's Beatitudes, and the tension we must endure--pilgrims all--to live out our lives upon the earth.
Oh, and every day you gaze upon the sunset
With such love and intensity
Why, it's ah, it's almost as if you could only crack the code
You'd finally understand what this all means
Oh, but if you could, do you think you would
Trade it all, all the pain and suffering?
Oh, but then you would've missed the beauty of
The light upon this earth and the sweetness of the leaving
Last year, another early morning found me in my car making the drive to my yoga practice. I pulled up to the corner of a large intersection to stop at the red light before making my right-hand turn when an older gentleman suddenly approached my car and tried, desperately, to open my passenger door. Needless to say, the man scared me with his abruptness. But I told myself to roll down the window to find out whether he had had an accident and was in need of help. As I rolled the window down, he insisted that I open the door to let him in. I hesitated, but eventually I did unlock the door. He, on the other hand, did not hesitate at all. He sat right down and began talking to me as if we were picking up a conversation that had been interrupted. After a few attempts on my part to make sense of the situation, I quickly realized that this gentleman had left his home for an early morning walk and was unable to get back home. He seemed to be suffering from some sort of dementia. While I was a bit shaken, I did my best to talk with him, trying to follow the thread of his conversation with me as he gave me directions to take him home. I delivered him safely home, and he thanked me profusely. He even had the where with all to ask me where I had been headed. Then, he kindly redirected me so that I could save some of the minutes I had lost in this more urgent errand.
So, yes, it is true what Eugene Debs wrote. "Yes, I am my brother's keeper." This, too, is my practice. Sometimes I do not have to unroll my mat to learn about the posture I need to master, today, to live in this world. Sometimes, I am lucky, I am, indeed, blessed enough to recognize the kingdom of heaven right here in front of me on the landing at the top of the stairs.
I cannot imagine it. Me, who has a difficult time of it on the rare occasions I have to sleep alone in our home, a roof over my head, a door I can close and lock, and a refrigerator not far away filled with a ready meal when I should need it.
What I am able, however, to imagine is how terribly easy it is to become broken. Our vulnerability is matched only by how steadfast and courageous we might be. I know better than to hurry past those sleeping at the studio door, my mat slung across my back, my thoughts traveling in that early hour toward my practice session ahead, without offering two prayers--one of intention for this sleeping person I am meant to witness, and one of gratitude not only for helping me to see, but for all that I have been given. In her book Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott writes that there are really only two prayers. One is "Please, please, please," and the second is "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I cannot tell you how often I have worn out both of them.
Eugene Debs, an outspoken leader of the American labor movement at the turn of the last century, ran against Woodrow Wilson in 1912 as the candidate for the Socialist Party. Debs won almost 1 million votes--almost six percent of the popular vote--in that election. Part of Debs' campaign platform during this election was the following:
"As long as there is a lower class, I am in it.
As long as there is a criminal element, I am of it.
As long as there is a soul in prison, I am not free."
Debs became a "criminal" and was sent to prison several times for both his work as a union leader and as an outspoken critic of the first World War. Kurt Vonnegut proudly extols Debs' work and worth as a human being in what would be Vonnegut's last book A Man without a Country. Like Vonnegut, Debs was a Hoosier, someone who hails from Indiana, "one of the great fresh water people," writes Vonnegut, indicating a proximity to the country's great lakes versus one of its two great oceans. Vonnegut draws parallels between Debs' campaign platform and the "platform" of another celebrated revolutionary, Jesus Christ. To Vonnegut, Debs' commitment to the common man ran alongside the teachings contained in Christ's Sermon on the Mount in which Christ delivers the Beatitudes. The Beatitudes teach that the downtrodden and the unfortunate are to be seen, recognized and blessed. They, too, Christ insists, have a right to be joyful. Many hundreds of centuries after Christ, Debs wrote, "Yes, I am my brother's keeper. I am under a moral obligation to him that is inspired, not by maudlin sentimentality, but by the higher duty I owe myself."
I remember learning the Beatitudes as a child in Catholic school, and I did my best to identify with all to whom Christ extended his blessings, attempting to decide whether I should be meek or poor, merciful or pure in heart so that I might see God, or inherit the earth, or be comforted, or, indeed, be called one of God's children. Of course, as a child, I was not meant to see too far down the road. I did not know that life would, in time, acquaint me with many of its inherent difficulties, challenging me to persevere through adversity in order to savor its equally inherent, but opposite--and, yes, sometimes all too fleeting--blessings. I am suddenly reminded of the lyrics to Jane Siberry's haunting song "Calling All Angels," featured in the Wim Wenders film Until the End of the World. Siberry offers a deeper understanding of Christ's Beatitudes, and the tension we must endure--pilgrims all--to live out our lives upon the earth.
Oh, and every day you gaze upon the sunset
With such love and intensity
Why, it's ah, it's almost as if you could only crack the code
You'd finally understand what this all means
Oh, but if you could, do you think you would
Trade it all, all the pain and suffering?
Oh, but then you would've missed the beauty of
The light upon this earth and the sweetness of the leaving
Last year, another early morning found me in my car making the drive to my yoga practice. I pulled up to the corner of a large intersection to stop at the red light before making my right-hand turn when an older gentleman suddenly approached my car and tried, desperately, to open my passenger door. Needless to say, the man scared me with his abruptness. But I told myself to roll down the window to find out whether he had had an accident and was in need of help. As I rolled the window down, he insisted that I open the door to let him in. I hesitated, but eventually I did unlock the door. He, on the other hand, did not hesitate at all. He sat right down and began talking to me as if we were picking up a conversation that had been interrupted. After a few attempts on my part to make sense of the situation, I quickly realized that this gentleman had left his home for an early morning walk and was unable to get back home. He seemed to be suffering from some sort of dementia. While I was a bit shaken, I did my best to talk with him, trying to follow the thread of his conversation with me as he gave me directions to take him home. I delivered him safely home, and he thanked me profusely. He even had the where with all to ask me where I had been headed. Then, he kindly redirected me so that I could save some of the minutes I had lost in this more urgent errand.
So, yes, it is true what Eugene Debs wrote. "Yes, I am my brother's keeper." This, too, is my practice. Sometimes I do not have to unroll my mat to learn about the posture I need to master, today, to live in this world. Sometimes, I am lucky, I am, indeed, blessed enough to recognize the kingdom of heaven right here in front of me on the landing at the top of the stairs.
Thank you for this...
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