Today, Carolyn joined me writing at a coffee shop – a different one than I usually go to. This place is big and airy and gorgeously appointed, full of rich dark woods and kitschy curios arranged with fastidious care. Inside, it feels like the set of a Tim Burton movie. And, rather gloriously, its big outdoor tables are shrouded in the shade of tall, stately trees. It’s the perfect coffee shop, really.
Unfortunately, as we sat there, three silver-haired, athletic-looking men at the table just to the left of ours were talking incredibly loudly. They were maybe in their early sixties. Serious cyclists or runners, from the look of them. They were arrayed in varying degrees of lordly man-sprawl. Lots of fingers interlaced behind heads and spread-eagle legs. The discussion they were broadcasting to the neighborhood was about boats and boating. Engine sizes. Customizing options. The best lakes upon which to boat.
Carolyn and I marveled at the startling volume of their speech. At one point I said to her, “It’s like if I were talking to you BUT I WAS TALKING THIS LOUDLY!” I shouted those last six words. She punched my arm, laughing, and said “Shhhh.” But it actually was the exact same volume with which they were bellowing at each other/the block.
I pride myself on my distance-appropriate, environmentally-sensitive volume of speech. It’s really a thing to behold if I do say so myself, almost like a superpower. Plus, I think of myself as a freakishly skilled listener, a veritable Michelangelo of attentive little head nods and appreciative “mmmm” sounds. Plus I’m superb at narrowing my eyes significantly because that thing you just said evoked such deep reflections in me. All of which might be me protesting too much, suggesting that I harbor, somewhere within, my own white, older-middle-aged, silver-haired, loud blowhard, secretly waiting to be unleashed.
Two other small things happened today while we were at the coffee shop. One: When I was standing in the socially-distanced line to get Carolyn’s and my beverages, this very large lady exited the coffee shop through what was supposed to be the entrance only (huge signs told people to leave through the other huge door). She had to push very close to those of us who were waiting in line, a real faux pas in covid-19 times. As she wove her way through us, she said, “I don’t think I’m doing this right,” and a wave of affection toward her washed through me.
“We’ll survive,” I said to her jovially, and I wished many blessings and good things for her.
Two: Later, as we sat at our table merrily writing, the table to the right of ours became occupied by a lady talking bitterly and heatedly to herself for over an hour. She was not on a phone. I felt great fondness toward her, and sadness for her suffering, and I silently invoked the imponderable blessings of my Guru to touch and hold her heart.
Later that afternoon, as Carolyn and I did our kettlebell workout, I thought about the lady who exited the coffee shop wrong and about the lady muttering to herself and about how I had not invoked any love, blessings, or good things for the three men in their sixties spread out all over the chairs and talking loudly about their boats.
Here’s some Dharma of my Guru that this reminds me of:
“In the Way of the Heart each one is responsible to bless all others, therefore, as my devotee, bless everyone and everything with every action, every thought and every breath. It is not possible to bless another by presuming a position of superiority for yourself or inferiority on the part of another. To bless another one must worship and acknowledge that one in his or her true form, inhering in the Divine Reality, present as an expressive manifestation of the Divine Being.”
-Avatar Adi Da Samraj
Looking for a fine and practical blessing you could give right now? Why not subscribe to this very blog you’re reading right now!