So Many Kinds of Things We Don't Need

. . . and all of them making a noble attempt to plant themselves on American soil. I can see it will not last. When I go with them to the grocery, they are boggled and frightened and secretly scornful, I think. Of course they are. I remember how it was at first: dazzling warehouses buzzing with light, where entire shelves boast nothing but hair spray, tooth-whitening cream, and foot powders . . .
"What is that, Aunt Adah? And that?" their Pascal asks in his wide-eyed way, pointing through the aisles: a pink jar of cream for removing hair, a can of fragrance to spray on the carpet, stacks of lidded containers the same size as the jars we throw away each day.
"They're things a person doesn't really need."
"But, Aunt Adah, how can there be so many kinds of things a person doesn't really need?"
I can think of no honorable answer. Why must some of us deliberate between brands of toothpaste, while others deliberate between damp dirt and bone dust to quiet the fire of an empty stomach lining? There is nothing about the United States I can really explain to this child of another world. - Barbara Kingsolver in "The Poisonwood Bible."

Day 319. That is an exceptionally long quote, but it powerfully spoke to me when I read it last night. I have promised myself I will stalk Barbara Kingsolver only by reading and reflecting upon her writing. Otherwise, it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility to discover me lurking in her hedge, peering through a window to catch a glimpse of her genius in person. Let's just say I am a fan and leave it at that. However, if an anonymous copy of a novel manuscript appears in her mailbox about a year from now, don't eliminate me as a suspect . . .

This blog will not contain a tiring tirade about Unequal Distribution of Wealth. At this time of year, the explicit brazenness of that particular Truth bellows its existence with every flick of the channel and touch on the IPhone. Instead, I simply want to, once again, type the words Mindfulness and Compassion. Those concepts can be equally daring and valiant.

After using my breath to silence the Monkeys last night, I quietly sat on my cushion, peacefully resting with the words I had recently extracted from Kingsolver's book. I resisted distractions from the Primate choir loft - a challenging task indeed, as they had resorted to snappily caroling the theme song from the B.C. Clark Anniversary Sale. I received one of those precious zazen sessions when Self shifted to the periphery, and non-Self floated about in beginningless time. Original Nature ensued, nestled snugly in Reality's womb. Fleetingly, the Monkeys quit singing and my neurons quit exploding at electrifying speed. An endearing page from the Zen Calendar wafted across my consciousness: "In your heart, you already know."

In our hearts, we All already know. We sense the Reality of having and not having, and it points resolutely to Right Action. If I turn the commercials off and direct Mindfulness outwardly, I perceive countless acts of compassion and loving kindness. Towards others and ourselves. We're figuring it out. We're tramping around on the cusp of Reality. We know what we really need, and it isn't being advertised on television. Like David Whyte reminded me: "It is all there waiting for you." For us all.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc