spilling what we carry

an experiment in yes

My friends, these are warm days.

Last night, 10 pm, I stepped onto the porch to be engulfed in a mug of primordial ooze. Wet, warm, thick, and deep. Here is the beginning of the world; here is a new moment; here is metamorphosis, too. In the air and inside us, hot is hot and it reforms us. Well-digested anger leads to appropriate action. Envy understood guides us to new possibilities.

Either way, isn’t it funny how a concept of heaven or hell precedes the way we watch the world take shape?

Here’s my glimpse of heaven.

The night air was so full of swelter that the frogs and the cicadas had to take turns. Their usual symphony became movements in parts. First one, then the other, then a pause as the ooze returned the space to silence. Another moment, and space expanded into sound. Frogs, cicadas, quiet. Expand, contract. The song of the earth beneath my hot, bare feet. And I had no noise to make but I felt like the tiniest pipe of an organ, just an exhale to add. Even that was never really mine.

What a comfort to remember those things we never created.

What a comfort how they’re always waiting for us.

Last week, I wrote about gathering the small, good things.

a little something

Today, another encouragement. Let’s acknowledge whatever is happening, just as it is. And let’s observe how we accept. And how we resist.

I offer the small, good things first because they always exist. Like the things we never created, they arise in our awareness when we choose to recognize them.

So, when the mirror breaks, or the car needs a new tire, or the neighbors are flying the wrong flag… even then, the small, good things await us— maybe a friendly smile, a baby laughing, blood cells making their way, or those crows hollering like you’d like to holler but isn’t it nice they do it for you? Will you remember these good things?

When we’ve practiced gathering small, good things for a while, and we’ve felt the delight of their presence, we might let them soothe us a bit when difficulties happen. Because they’re sure to happen. And when they do, we mostly want them to stop but they mostly don’t. And the word for this is resistance, which is the opposite of acceptance.

We only know peace when we offer acceptance.

we spill our ooze and life grows brighter.

But first, we need to identify our resistance.

A wise guy once told me that we can only spill what we’re carrying. At first, I took this to suggest that I better tread carefully with my treasures. Later, realizing that my treasures would expand and contract like sound in the primordial ooze, every breath, the universe, and the flickering of life throughout it, I understood what I would spill is what I must spill.

At least, if I intend to walk my path lightly.

So, the first task of acceptance is noting what we’re resisting.

Often, I’ve observed in myself, this becomes visible in the ways I misbehave. Like this: the world offers up an opportunity I’m not quite ready for and I might cower a little. Or, someone is mistreated and I might want to mistreat the abuser right back in thought, word, or even action.

That’s just a bit of stuff I’ve carried. Let’s call these two traits by their names: uncertainty and indignation.

I’ll be honest with you. I don’t dislike myself for these traits. They’re just the residue of experiences I’ve had in this life or others.

Uncertainty? Well, I spent a lot of time by myself as a kid and my belonging-gauge isn’t always perfectly calibrated. I don’t carry this one too heavily these days but I might find smudges of it here and there. It bothers me about as much as dirt under my nails. Which means, it makes me sigh with appreciation. Here’s proof of the ways I’ve played in the mud. Here’s the mud that’s sustained my growth.

And indignation? This one defined an early life purpose. I was a kid like Howard Beale. You know, from the movie, Network? I was mad as hell and I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I spilled that one pretty well through my years in social justice. I fought and fought the way things were. And then I couldn’t take myself anymore. What remained was a deep compassion for the pain and an abiding respect for the way we persevere through it. So, I may not misbehave when indignation arises. Instead, I accept it. I know the contours of it without picking it up to carry it a step further. I also know what my right action is: fierce love, respect, and faith in our growth.

This week, I encourage you to consider what you carry a little heavily. Look at your misbehaviors— your little tantrums, your strong NO’s, your plaintive ‘why me’s?’ Those point the way. Instead of plowing ahead through whatever is happening to provoke the misbehavior, stop and observe what’s pouring out of you.

What are you spilling to make space for the peace always waiting for you, for the divine always ready to nourish you?

Whatever is happening that you prefer to resist is grace trying to tip you enough to spill.

So, spill.

And admire your strength for carrying so much for so long.

Now, see what flows through you when you choose yes instead of no.

Here comes difficulty. It’s never far off in this expanding and contracting universe, is it? When we say yes to its coming and going, we realize how our response is just another piece of it. Another yes. Another bit to spill. More space to be filled with the peaceful moment.

Eventually, I promise, we might even enjoy the challenge for the ways it asks us to dance.

Will you dance?

I love you.