So I do. I go higher and reach for my spirit. And the view from there is all I need to do the right thing.
Reach higher,
Reach for your soul.
—RUMI
(Billboard sign on boardwalk at
Venice Beach, Los Angeles)
THIS, TOO, SHALL PASS
I felt a little bad when AARP, The Magazine started coming in the mail. It arrived spontaneously one day as if to announce “You’re old! Think retired! Think golf! Think death!” And it kept on coming, bimonthly, in case I might forget. Then, in its spring 2006 issue, it featured an interview with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama of Tibet. This was good news. I didn’t mind being part of the AARP gang if the Dalai Lama was on board. Seeing his blissful, smiling face on the cover seemed so incongruous that it was perfect. So was the interview.
AARP: When you have negative emotions, what are they?
The Dalai Lama: Anger. Jealousy. And some feelings of hopelessness.
Hmm, I thought. If even His Holiness has moments of anger, jealousy, and hopelessness, I don’t have to feel so bad when I do too.
And then it got even better. He used his Buddhist logic to explain why you can’t feel hopeless for long:
If some bad things come and remain forever, there is a certain reason to feel hopelessness. But this doesn’t happen. Things are always moving, always changing. If we envision that, there is no reason to feel hopeless.
So. There you have it.
And if I ever need proof of the changing flow of life, all I need do is read my old journals:
February 1: I’m so depressed, everything looks bad, I’m angry at J., can’t see my way out . . .
February 2: Oh thank you, Great Spirit, for this wonderful day. I feel blessed, I love J., life is good . . .
Truth is, all things are passing, even hopelessness, and when you remember that, it helps it pass sooner.
But if you’re like me, there’s still a problem. When lost in darkness, I tend to forget that dawn is coming, or there’s light in the tunnel, or any other helpful saying. There’s something about hopelessness that just feels . . . well, hopeless.
Then I read a story about King Solomon that kind of went like this:
One day the king was feeling very down. He gathered his ministers and said, “Whenever I feel happy, I’m afraid it won’t last. But when I feel sadness, I fear it won’t end. Find me the answer to this suffering.”
His ministers scattered throughout the country, searching for the wisdom or magic that would ease the king’s pain. Finally, one of them met an old jeweler who carved on a simple gold ring the Hebrew inscription “gam zeh ya’avor”—this, too, shall pass.
When the king received the ring and read the inscription, he knew it was magical. For his sadness turned to joy, his joy turned to sadness, and then both gave way to peace and surrender.
Good enough for King Solomon, good enough for me. I bought a ring with one stone to remember: “This, too, shall pass.”
And sooner or later, it always does.
POCO A POCO
After writing thirty-some stories for this book, I got stuck. Sure, I had more recipes to share, but no stories to make them come alive. Great, I thought, just what people need, another “Do This” list of spiritual advice that would sound a million times better coming from the Dalai Lama than Rivvy Neshama (“Rivvy who?”). Fortunately, I had lots of ways to procrastinate and avoid facing just how stuck I was.
But the day of reckoning came: I had put aside four hours to write, and maybe I would have (really) if my computer hadn’t suddenly gone black while making sounds like a vacuum cleaner. I was also in a jealous, edgy, angry mood, not the best place for writing a book on sacred living.
Later, my friend Ellie called and we shared updates on our lives. I sadly mentioned the book and being stuck, cut off from the flow.
“Don’t lose faith,” she said. “Inspiration comes and goes. Just take it poco a poco. Your life will show you what to write.”
“Poco a poco,” I said. “Little by little . . . step by step. That’s one of them!” A recipe I wanted to share. That if you resolve to do something but have trouble doing it, or feel overwhelmed and don’t know where to begin, or you’re lost in darkness and can’t find the light . . . not to worry. Just keep the faith and move forward, one step at a time.
When I was a kid, we played endless games in the alley behind my house. One of my favorites was called Mother, May I? You would ask the leader, who stood on a chalk line far out in front, “Mother, may I take two giant steps?”
If the leader said no, you could ask to take “ten baby steps” or “three scissor steps.” And the first one to reach the leader won.
I don’t remember the rules exactly, but I do remember this: It didn’t matter so much what kind of steps you took, so long as you kept moving forward, little by little, until you finally reached the line. And the nice thing was that everyone got there, sooner or later. The game didn’t end until they did.
Part Two
THE SUN IS RISING
Open to the dawning
of a brand-new day.
HELLO TO THE SUN
I once spent a week at an ashram in the Bahamas. The worst part was being woken at 5 a.m. to chant outside on the chilly beach. The best part was being woken at 5 a.m. to get to watch the rising sun.
So there I was, sitting cross-legged with some fifty other seekers, chanting Hare Krishna and shivering in the cold. I watched the dark sky grow grayer and lighter and then, more pleasingly, pinker and brighter. But where was the sun? Seagulls were calling, the sky was changing colors, and I’m thinking, What’s going on? By the time the sun
