I pull myself back from a ranting session
regarding the conditions of this country, walk into a room full of people, and
find a soft fluffy cushion.
With a groan, I gently lower myself onto
the floor—it used to be so easy, but I cross my legs at the ankles and sit
entranced by the people in the room who spark like exposed electrical wires.
A hardwood floor buffed to a golden shine creates a
frame for the soft, fluffy, beige rug spread at its center. A beautiful
fragrance drifts past me, and I look to my right where a crystal vase of Star
Gazer Lilies sits on a credenza against the wall. Besides that one piece of
furniture there is no other except a few folding chairs and cushions. Every
person has a beverage of their choice, coffee, tea, water, or vino, sitting
beside them on absorbent coasters. The air becomes as charged as the people when
folks introduce themselves and share what they are into. There is a machinist
in the bunch, a physicist, a painter, a seamstress, and a mother glowing with
love after the birth of long-awaited twins yet enjoying her evening out.
There are writers in the group; some write articles,
or books, and some journal only for themselves. Others express that they detest
having to write anything, even to the extent of getting in trouble with their
boss for late emails. A professional glass blower is nursing a burnt hand while
saying glass blowing is his calling. He feels transformed while doing it and
hopes to continue into old age.
Others murmur that they, too, feel joy while doing
some creative endeavor. Even the chemist who finds that growing fungi in a
petri dish never ceases to amaze him.
The glass blower mentions that there is a
stained-glass window in a Cathedral in France, where images in the glass look
like sign waves of music.
“Could that be a recording?” someone asks.
Another suggests that secrets such as Leonard Di Vince
painted on his canvases might be embedded in the glass, and the room sparks
with enthusiasm about some of the mysteries scattered about the earth.
I’m sure the Muse is outside the door listening and
waiting for a lull so she can come in and whisper in the ear of each
participant.
Someone mentions a documentary they had watched, “How
to Find Joy in A Troubled World” which brings the room down a bit, but when
someone suggests we watch it, and we all eagerly sit up and turn our attention
to the television the hostess wheels into the room.
For the next 90 minutes, we all sit transfixed as we
watch a Buddhist monk, the Dalai Lama, and the Christian Jesuit Archbishop of
South Africa, Desmond Tutu, tease each other, laugh and joke like two
ten-year-old boys, and refer to each other as their “spiritual brother.”
Archbishop Tutu even gets the Dalai Lama to jiggle in a supposed dance, and the
Dalai Lama leads a meditation. They eat birthday cake and laugh some more.
We end the gathering while everyone is musing or
laughing or crying, and although most people would prefer talking into the
night, it appears that luminous clouds have appeared beneath everyone’s feet,
and after hugging each other, we all agree to meet again, and we float away to
our respective vehicles with the refrain of two men singing in our ears:
“No dark fate determines our future. We
do. Each day and each moment, we are able to create and re-create our lives and
the very quality of human life on our planet.
“This is the power we wield.”*
*From The Book of Joy by the Dalai Lama and
Archbishop Desmond Tutu, narrated by Douglas Abrams
P.S. I am continuing with this Newsletter, and posting it on Substack. You can read them there if so inclined. No fee, just a sign in--which would help my site of course. Thanks for reading. May the Muse be with you,
