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| Subject: The Gilft of the Common | |
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Author: the songman |
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Date Posted: 01:35:59 01/22/08 Tue The Gift on the Common 20 years ago On the Common Oh man, I’m late, can’t be late. My lunch time rendezvous had evolved into the most important aspect of my insignificant life. No, I wasn’t having an affair. My meeting was completely out of character, my suit and tie out of place, but here I was, running to be on time. For the last three weeks I’d been sharing a park bench with a strange old man. Quite frankly, we were true opposites, approaching life from diametrically opposed directions. I was out to conquer the world; dressed fine to the nines, climbing the ladder of success two rungs at a time. Nothing could stop me. He on the other hand hadn’t shaved in days, wearing clothes tired and worn, always the same shoes. Yet, he emanated a certain peace which I could not quite understand, and at the time envied. He cast a shroud of mystery. I was intrigued. How could one who appeared to have so little, be so peaceful? I had everything the world of material could offer – nice car, big boat and a fancy house – all paid for. But, I did not have peace. When I would ask him, “Where he lived?” He simply stated, “Here and now.” Confused, I’d query, “Here in the park?” And with quiet simplicity he’d respond, “Yes, now I am in the park.” Everyday at the conclusion of our lunch I’d ask, “Will you be here tomorrow?” And he would respond, “I only know now.” He had a relaxed, easy smile and spoke with a calm confidence; a voice free of worry. From my perspective he had little to worry about except for a roof over head, a place to sleep, and maybe a meal – the minor considerations in life. The only possessions he seemed to have were those which he claimed lay in his heart – ‘the greatest possessions of all’. How can they be lost? He spoke of a truth which was encompassed by acts of kindness and love. He stressed the importance of touching others, the only real way to experience the spirit and walk in the light. I could only scratch my head and wonder, spirit – light? He taught giving and receiving were one in the same; to be rich one must give richly. That made no sense! He spoke often about the world of separation we lived in, calling it a dream, a dark illusion. How the mask of our egos attempted to hide the truth of unity. He would remind me the only thing that was real was the present moment; to live outside of it was to participate in the dream. He’d point out how the energy of The Creative flowed through everything, uniting us; and all around us as one. He attempted to explain how darkness, suffering and pain were not real. Stressing light will always dispel the dark, and cast away all that is untrue. He would expound on the importance of our thoughts and how truly powerful they were; energy fields capable of shaping our world. Smiling, he would remind me, love is the only truth from which we all extend and truth has no end, it is eternal. I struggled with the words he spoke, constantly objecting, point – counterpoint; a confused effort to prove he was wrong. My way of life was at stake! What he spoke of could not possibly be true. Yet, the peace and comfort that flowed from his heart kept me coming back, day after day. And in all reality, I could not prove he was wrong. The old man spoke with a certainty of knowledge which I just could not refute. In the end, there is no arguing against the truth. The last time we sat together I offered him my lunch. It was the first time I had offered him anything other than my company. He humbly accepted. We slowly ate in silence. When we were done, he handed me a book, worn, slightly torn, well used. He turned, looked me in the eyes and said, “The Creative is your inheritance. Share It well.” He got up and walked away. I never saw him again. Now years later, day after day, I sit peacefully smiling on that same park bench. Enjoying life, alive with hope, patiently waiting; wearing clothes tired and worn, waiting to share lunch with…. someone. The present I sit gazing at the black metal benches scattered around the common; each its own separate world. Small isolated islands, straddling the rivers of paved paths, adrift in a sea of human emotion. An old man, weary in years, sits alone lost in his thoughts of yesterday, engulfed by his loneliness of today. The days of his life, sharply etched lines scratched deep upon his face; each a story begging to be told, bereft of ears willing to listen. A homeless drunk lies sprawled across another, castaway by society; restlessly caught in a desperate attempt at sleep and recovery from last night’s battle with liquid sadness. His torment, a never ending war to wash away the nightmares of years long past; jungles, gunfire and napalm, lighting the night sky – the smell of death. A rigid uptight businessman sits dressed in his suit of armor, nibbling at his sandwich, trying to fill a hunger his sandwich cannot feed. Is he wondering about his job, or his wife’s most recent ‘younger man’ indiscretions? An unseen police car weaves through the city streets wailing its song. Another crime, another accident, another attack upon ‘the we’ has unfolded – somewhere. A car skirts the edge of the common spewing rap loudly, announcing its presence, volume to the max, crying for just a little attention. Look at me, look at me, please someone…….. look at me. It’s a beautiful fall day. The sun shines full and bright in a cloudless sky, chasing the morning chill from our hearts. A faint smell of a local restaurant’s fares, lingers on the light breeze; a delightful reminder of the many flavors life offers. Pigeons scurry in a frenzied bob-bob, bobbing, surveying the common lawns, a feathered quest for meager morsels, leftovers from yesterday’s lunch. Walkers, walkers everywhere, burning last night’s calories or the workday’s frustrations. A young couple guiding a stroller argues over money. Lost is the love that joined their lives, squandered on last night’s poker tables. The babe in the carriage, sleeps, unaware of the carnage taking place behind him; not worried of the future which lies ahead. Doctors, nurses, lawyers and their clients; crisscrossing, walking talking on their way through the common. Two unisex lovers gaze into each others eyes, alive in the moment, without a care in the world. The far side of the common is populated with a grove of ancient trees, the eyes of time; filled with restless birds ready to take flight in fall’s migration. A young man breathlessly races across the common, dodging trees, in a hurried flight with two police officers giving relentless pursuit. Our homeless drunk, unaware of his perch, rolls from his bench and hits the ground. ‘Incoming’, as he attempts to escape the vivid scenes of an after dark mortar attack which has come to life in his dreams. Helplessly, he makes no attempt to get up. Across the lawn a man plays guitar. He sits alone, strumming, smiling, and singing. His voice flies on the wings of angels to my ears. I sense the possibility of a joyous gathering. An empty island lay beside him, a black metal bench, silently beckoning my name. Maybe it’s time to go share lunch with someone. I grab my book, worn, slightly torn, pick up my lunch, and head over. Man, it’s a beautiful fall day. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |