“You’re not
the only one.” That’s what he was really
saying. Your shit isn’t special, but it
is important. The fact that I’m here
listening to this guy is another cosmic joke the Universe is playing on
me. The more I learn, the less -- it turns
out -- I know. So I start all over again
like I’ve done so many times before.
Beginner’s mind. Never done. Always searching for that elusive “more.”
See, that’s
the thing. In this day and age,
everyone’s an expert. Maybe it’s the
money, but they all sound like they’ve got it down, all covered. But not here.
Not with this man. What ever
happened to that almost extinct species, humility? It was shut away long ago in a zoo pen, so
forgotten they’ve stopped locking the gate, assuming it doesn’t have the will
to step out again.
But in this
room, it does. It has taken a bold step
beyond the threshold and has found its quiet but powerful voice once more. I hear it in his voice. He is a Lakota chief, a medicine man, a Sun
Dancer. I feel it in his presence. I see in his eyes a life that has died a
thousand deaths, has made a thousand sacrifices. And with each new rising, his light, his fire
grows brighter.
You don’t
trifle with this man, and yet he loves you.
Unconditionally. Failure is not
an option because it does not exist.
It’s all just a bunch of do-overs, hard fights before the glorious fall
into the peonies’ folds, soft pink and white.
Relishing that fall, relishing that bottom. I have a fantastic excuse now to do nothing,
to lie naked, to cry my eyes out, to just be.
Just breathe. Just come to a dead
stop and smell those flowers another day.
