Wanting:

It was an endless thirst.

Unable to quench my thirst;

I cured myself of the need to drink.

Now, I wish that I could be the water.

I’ve just returned from a pleasant Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey, all of the delicious fixings, and a virtual free-fall from thousands of feet up, to the cold, hard earth. Ouch!

To be clear: I did not jump out of an airplane. I never have jumped out of an airplane. But, I did contribute stuffing, squash, cranberries, and pumpkin pie to the meal. That’s got to count for something.

I spoke little, as usual. They think that I have nothing to say. Not true. I have plenty to say. But, what I would say, they wouldn’t understand.

When I did speak, I‘m pretty sure that I was misunderstood. When it was my turn to state: “I’m thankful for:……..” I said that I was grateful that we live where we do. They thought that I was making some kind of a flag waving political statement. I intended the opposite. With compassion I recognize that there are many in the world that can not enjoy such a luxury as a Thanksgiving feast. With humility I recognize that we ourselves may not always be so lucky.

Post-turkey they listened to my brother tell stories of his “adrenaline junky” activities with great interest, and with no apparent skepticism.

I entered the conversation briefly to offer some comments regarding the relative danger of rock climbing versus skydiving:

“I listened to an amazing podcast this summer about a woman who was skydiving and her parachute didn’t open. She survived, and so did the instructor on her back!“

I was told that a person could not survive such a fall. I must have it all wrong.

I rudely began searching Google on my phone at the dining table in order to prove that I wasn‘t the imbecile that they thought I was. But, I couldn’t find the particular incident that I was speaking about. Instead, amazingly, I found that there are MANY people that have survived parachute malfunctions.

The conversation moved on to bungee jumping without me. Fine. It was more rewarding for me to contemplate how it can be possible for a person or a nation to survive a fall from great heights, than attempt to prove the validity of my comments to a table full of skeptics.

Survival without a parachute? It seemed reason for optimism. Maybe?

As conversation droned on, I imagined how it might feel: The realization that the parachute that I had always relied on wasn’t going to open.

I was hurtling toward the earth with the wind ripping at my hair, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and my heart pounding in my temples. It must be simultaneously terrifying and peaceful to be falling alone through the beautiful blue sky with fluffy cotton ball clouds toward sun dappled fields below.

I imagine that I overcome the initial desire to poop my pants (I brought extra underwear, just in case) with a bit of a cocky smile. After all, the terror of falling from the sky or from an election gone awry is a sham. The parachute and democracy will always have my back.

They will. Won’t they?

I’ll always land softly in the green field dappled in sunlight.

I will. Won’t I?

I pull the apparent ripcord, and suddenly everything is not as it seemed.

Instead of the familiar, gentle, yet strong bulk of the silky parachute, the box of Oreo cookies and spare underwear that I carefully packed earlier that morning tumbled out of the backpack.

I am momentarily distracted from my impending doom as I desperately attempt to grasp at the familiarity, luxury, and safety of the Oreos.

Damn! They were the new lemon flavored ones too!

Hopefully, in this situation I would wrap all of my half-learned lessons of the Buddha into a few moments.

How better to teach myself about karma than to unnecessarily jump out of an airplane? How better to appreciate my own impermanence than to jump out of that airplane with Oreos and underwear instead of a parachute?

Hopefully in this situation I would still see beauty in the blueness of the sky and the sun dappled field.

Finally, I hope that I would find humor in the situation and laugh.

“Laughter is the best medicine.“ And, it’s probably best to be relaxed at the moment of impact.

Practical advice: Land feet first. It’s the only way to survive (according to the podcast).

Regaining consciousness momentarily: Are those my lemon flavored Oreos that the paramedics are munching on as they wheel me to the ambulance?

I gesture to the closest paramedic. He leans down close so I can speak in his ear, only to be misunderstood once again. “Have you seen my underwear?”, I wheeze before losing consciousness again.

Parachute, backpack, they kind of look the same. Don’t they?

Looks can be deceiving.

Someday maybe this middle-aged father of two will lead the post-turkey conversation with tales of their own adventures: “Did I ever tell you the story of how I became a non-binary asexual Buddhist?”

But, they wouldn’t understand.

Would they?

Blaze with compassion.

Radiate loving kindness;

Like light from the sun.

Warm every soul.

Love unconditionally.

Cast none in shadow.

Fear, hatred, greed, doubt:

These weeds wither in your light.

Peace and joy prevail.

In your garden, wet by tears;

Insight blooms from seeds of pain.

Like soothing moonlight;

In your glow, suffering fades.

Only love remains.

Today we visited the birds in the Buddha bush.

There is a particular bush (a small coniferous tree really) about 30 yards from the path where I walk my dog.

During the cooler months the sparrows like to congregate in the bush. When the birds are in there, all chirping at once, it’s so loud that we can hear them clearly from the path.

“The birds are in the Buddha bush“, I’ll say, and we‘ll take a detour to pay them a visit. The foliage of the bush is so dense that we can’t see any of the birds, even when we’re standing directly in front of the bush. It sounds like there must be 50, or maybe 100 of them in there.

To my untrained human eye, there are many other, very similar bushes nearby. But, the birds always pick this particular bush. Their choice is remarkable to me, because at the base of this one particular bush the owner has arranged a collection of Buddha figurines. It’s the only bush with the Buddhas, and it’s the only bush with birds.

It seems that even the birds know that this is a place of peace.

Stop. Listen. Smile. The birds are singing outside. A square is still a square.

Or, maybe it’s raining today, and even the sad mourning dove has taken cover in its nest, and is silent. In that case: Stop. Listen. Smile. A steady rain is falling on the roof. A square is still a square.

Or, maybe it’s 2AM and it seems that all of the rest of the universe is sleeping, except us: Stop. Listen. Smile. Hear the beautiful silence. A square is still a square.

Or, maybe………

It occurred to the child who had become an adult, then a child again, as it stood alone in a darkened field, that there was absolutely nothing between itself and the moon above, or between itself and that distant star, or that one, or that one over there.

Like many of the perceptions of this middle-aged child, the simultaneous closeness and vastness of the universe was both empowering and humbling.

An undeniable fact: A square is a shape comprised of four straight lines, all of equal length. But, that‘s not all. All four angles within this shape must be ninety degrees.

An unalterable choice: Within the realm of my control, which consists primarily of my thoughts and actions, compassion and gratitude are as undeniable as the four equal sides and angles of the square.

Tomorrow I will draw a square. Tomorrow I will speak externally with words, and internally with thoughts of compassion and gratitude.

I will be grateful for the people in my life, and grateful for all that they have given me. I will look upon them with compassion.

Even if I can not understand their words or actions, I will understand that we all travel separate paths. My words or actions, or theirs, are heavily influenced by that which we have experienced.

I must carefully choose my words and plan my actions, lest the negative experiences of my past get the best of me. Compassion requires that I assume that others have not done the same.