One Word Gravestone

What would you have engraved on your headstone if, in addition to your name and the dates of your birth and death, you had only one word?

By James de Mers on Pixabay

Okay two words? What is a thought or inspiration or vision you would like to leave behind? What would be your one-word, non-material legacy?

As I considered these questions, of course I came up with more than one word! When I accepted the challenge of one word, it emerged from my heart with both ease and surprise: Generosity.

By Wagner on Pixabay

My parents and grandparents embodied generosity. They taught me the joy of giving from the heart to the people and causes they valued. I want to carry that legacy forward to my descendants and to whoever might see the gravestone—the passersby who are visiting other graves and reading the words on the headstones. What wisdom could we elders leave ‘carved in stone’?

I sat with this one word, and deeper inner exploration followed. I somehow connected with an ethical work of some tradition. (Sadly, I didn’t make a note of it, so I can’t quote it exactly.) It enumerated three main categories of generosity:

giving of one's wealth,

giving of oneself physically,

giving of one's wisdom.

It is this last category that, of course, caught my attention. While the first two are great gifts, the last is a treasure. I found myself asking many questions inwardly about my own generosity over the decades of my life, and what wisdom would I bequeath. In a sense, it was a life review through the lens of generosity.

In addition to my one-word engraving, I would leave to my descendants this list of questions I asked myself in the hopes that they are inspired to explore generosity. The list might be part of an ethical will/legacy letter that is attached to the legal documents.

How generous have I been in my listening?

How generous have I been in sharing my time?

How generous have I been in sharing my love?

How generous have I been in sharing laughter and joy?

How generous have I been in my tears and sorrow?

How generous have I been in friendship?

How generous have I been in my commitments to the world?

How generous have I been in my empathy?

How generous have I been in opening to others’ opinions?

How generous have I been in standing my ground, standing in my power?

How generous have I been in telling my truth?

How generous have I been in my ability to respond?

How generous have I been in modelling self-care and self-love and self-compassion?

How generous have I been in modelling integrity?

How generous have I been in modelling patience?

How generous have I been in modelling compassion?

How generous have I been in expressing anger?

How generous have I been in expressing courage?

How generous have I been in expressing kindness?

How generous have I been in expressing my essence?

Beginner’s Mind

The great Zen master Suzuki Roshi advised us to cultivate beginner’s mind. By that he meant approaching each moment with curiosity, with awareness, and without judging it, without ideas about how it should be, without the need or desire to control it.

By Hans on Pixabay

In looking back over the decades gone by, I am more certain now than ever before, that I have no control over what happens, though the illusion of control continues. Certainly, if I were in control, there would have been no pandemic. There would be no climate emergency, no racial inequity, no gender bias, no financial hardship, no ageism.

I am not in control of those events and relationships.

I am in control of how I respond to them and how willing I am to engage with them and to transform how I am, how I live. I am in control of my commitment to change, to harmony, and to love. I can approach each day, each breath, with beginners’ mind when I engage with an open heart.

The illusion of control came very clear to me at a young age when I heard the fragments of my parents’ story as holocaust refugees. And yet, I believed I was in control of my life.

The illusion of control came very clear to me as I demonstrated against the Viet Nam war, or the right of women to have control over their own bodies, and yet, I believed I was in control of my life.

The illusion of control came very clear to me as I succeeded and failed in various career choices, and yet, I still believed I was in control of my life.

The illusion of control came very clear to me as I fell in love at 72.

I no longer believe I am in control.

By Ben Kreckx on Pixabay

Lessons of Failure

The old adage tells us we learn from our mistakes. We also learn from our failures. In our many decades of life there have been more than a few. One of my most dramatic, and most important, was in high school. I was set to progress to the University of California, however, algebra and geometry proved to be huge stumbling blocks.

If i didn’t get a passing grade I would not be admitted to the university. Pressure from my family was enormous, weighing heavy on my adolescent shoulders.

By Gerd Altman on Pixabay

A grade of D in the algebra course set the course for future failures. A private tutor was engaged. Once each week for the next school term I struggled to understand. I wept bitter, angry tears. I knew I was not stupid. I simply couldn’t understand the foundation of it all. Somehow though, with encouragement from the tutor, I managed to pass with a C grade.

Relief. No black mark on my record.

Then came geometry….even less understanding. I simply couldn’t see and comprehend the shapes, the formulae, the relationships. This led to another D grade. The same tutor sat with me. Then came six weeks in summer school, ruining a perfectly beautiful summer, usually spent on a Southern California beach. (We didn’t know much about skin cancer then.)

Another D grade appeared on my report card.

The next term came and I saw the same geometry teacher, much to my chagrin and dread. Week after week, for the whole of the next term, the same tutor appeared at my desk. I felt increasing humiliation. I wept more bitter, angry tears. But there was no turning away. I simply had to receive a passing grade. I wanted desperately to go to university.

By Gerd Altman on Pixabay

Again, somehow, I managed to pass with a C grade.

Again, no black mark on my record.

When the acceptance letter arrived from the university I wept again. This time, the tears were triumphant. I did it!!!! I persevered through shame, missing out on summer holiday, struggle with pencil and paper. (no laptops then.)

I learned i had the strength to continue, to reach for what I was called to do, to trust that it was possible. These days we call it resilience, a quality shown often in the life of elders.

“Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.
”

— Jelaluddin Rumi

To revere…to hold as sacred…to respect….to honour

By Amelsegre on Pixabay

Years ago, when I was training to become a OneSpirit interfaith minister there was a lot of discussion in the group around the title ‘reverend’—some of it heart-rending, some of it joyful, some of it blazing in anger. We all received that title upon ordination (yet another contentious word!). Each of us could choose to use it or not.

The discussion covered a lot of ground. Some of us were brought up in faiths where the title “Reverend” doesn’t exist. Others who grew up acknowledging that title no longer felt connected it. Yet others, who had abusive relationships with people using that title, most certainly didn’t want to own it.

What to do? How to resolve this dilemma?

The lead tutor on the training asked us to turn our thinking around. What does it feel like to hold that word to mean “the one who reveres” rather than the “one who is revered”?

That question lead me, along with my classmates, to contemplate the very question of what do we revere. What do I respect and honour? What do I hold sacred? What can I revere in each day, in each breath? Does something have to be designated as ‘holy’ in order to be revered? Can I revere the mundane, the ordinary, the usual?

By Chris Liu on Unsplash

My heartmind turns to nature each time I contemplate this question…a leaf falling from a branch in autumn…a bud bursting into flower in spring…the cry of a gull…the bounding of a puppy…the grandeur of mountains…the pristine flake of snow…sound of the sea. These all I revere.

My heartmind also turns to the ordinary events and objects of daily life…a handcrafted bowl…the smile of a passer-by…the joy of my lover’s kiss…the aroma of brown basmati rice…the comfort of a sofa…the warmth of a winter cardigan…the gift of friendship…the miracle of my ageing body.

These all I revere.

In this way, I am reverend.

In this way, all who revere are reverend.

Super Power

Those of us who write, either for a living, like novelists, or for fun, like me, often need a bit of a kick in the behind to get the creative juices flowing. In the writers’ world these gentle nudges are called ‘prompts'. Recently, when I was a bit stuck I found a prompt that read:

You wake up today with the superpower of your choosing.

This is what emerged.

Today I am 77 years and 186 days old. I have just woken up from a restful, deep sleep knowing I am different from the day I was 77 years and 185 days old. I have been granted a super power. I no longer know myself as I was, nor do I know who I am to be. I only know that I can now change the world with this shiny new superpower.

Having the power to change people into kind, compassionate and loving beings is almost more than I can handle, more than any one person can handle. Yet, I know that I can, for the gift of this super power is now mine. I know that this change in human beings is a change in evolution, a change in consciousness. Like mycelium that connects trees, this shift to kindness and compassion will reach everyone through our interconnection.

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Where to begin? Begin with myself. Checking in I notice that with this super power anxiety has fled, fear of ‘the other’ has fled along with any sense of alienation and isolation. I belong. We all belong and I have the power to open this awareness to everyone. I don’t know what to do next…

I seek help. I write to the Dalai Lama. He will surely help me.

I write to all the spiritual teachers I know of. One of them will surely help me.

I write to all the networks of consciousness I know of. Someone there will surely help me.

Will they believe me? How can I prove to these highly evolved people that I now have this super power? Because self-doubt has fled, I know they will. My voice speaks not from madness but from truth they recognise.

The Dalai Lama responds. He has said the his religion is kindness. He knows this unexpected superpower is true. In his wisdom he cautions me to move slowly, with intention and love. He will help me. He will speak to those who can, almost covertly, help to make the change that is needed. I’m not sure what he has in mind. I can only trust, knowing I am not alone.

I sleep again and awaken at 77 years and 187 days knowing the world has changed over night. By simply activating the superpower it has happened. We now live in a world of kindness. We now live in a world of compassion where suffering is relieved. We now live in a world where difference is celebrated. We now live in a world of cooperation and caring. We now live in a world that honours all beings.

I know that I when I surrender this body the work of my super power has been done.

I wish us all the superpower of our choosing. And that we live each day into our elderpower.