The Middle Way
Zen Spot #244 - Mindfulness, meditation and disappointing a sister October 28, 2019 09:09
We enjoyed listening to Anita Baker. Perhaps another dozen bitter-syrupy 80’s recording artists were counted among the stable that we fearlessly and unapologetically enjoyed in front of both of our spouses. Her husband used the word “schmaltzy” to describe our taste.
It felt like a pejorative coming from a man who has nothing bad to say about anybody. Brilliant writers can sometimes twist words in a funny way and I often deserve to be put in my place, lovingly. Perhaps it was my unapologetic penchant for going to 11 with Van Halen.
Strength and faith
She deserves unwavering love from everybody. A kind soul to the depth of heaven's brilliant white abyss, her inner monologue authors schmaltz — among authoring works along the continuum of human emotion — and that’s why he loves her. A rare comfort pervades my world knowing these friends exist too far away.
She sees the monster inside me and, at the same time, doesn’t. Schrodinger’s cat. I care so little about what other people think of me. Her opinion matters.
The gift of a compass
It doesn’t appear that she’s ever made a bad choice. Guided by a chosen and nurtured gyroscope that keeps her on course, she suffers a little more than the rest of us, with dignity and compassion and kindness.
A sibling throws you a lifeline
To drown, having chosen to throw one’s compass away, piece by piece, must be hard to watch. Not all choice, but mostly, the sibling's guidance system never worked. Perhaps it’s not the gyroscope but, instead, the spacesuit leaking air through a pin hole. It took years to learn that neither fact matters. We’re all dying anyway.
I was drowning, she was on the boat. Tossing the life ring was not even a choice.
Never know the disappointment
I threw the ring back in her face not long after I got on board. An 85 mph fastball once left the tips of my fingers. Her nose was broken. More than the blood, the disappointment must have been staggering. Accountable for all, I am. Reasons have no place.
All. Metaphorically. The throw and the broken nose. I would never hit a woman or a child. A bruise on a man heals. A soul turned black and blue may never fully become white again.
We will never speak of the act, because I know, intuitively, that words, as important as they are to her , and me, are useless against a soul bruise. Instead, love, impossible schmaltz and time — astonishingly little time — have turned the part of her soul that I get to see, beige. An almost imperceptible beige. Beige, nonetheless, but everybody’s compass is at least a little broken.
Both of us throwing a prayer into the sky, at exactly the same time, from two places on the planet, as far apart as two people can possibly be, one in the dark of night, one in the beige of day, ignoring the space/time continuum, the prayers joined by those of everyone else praying, our prayers would find each other and listen to schmaltzy music.
Perhaps it is the schmaltz that allows me to be her brother.
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What are The Four Noble Truths?
- The truth of suffering
- The truth of the origin of suffering
- The truth of the cessation of suffering
- The truth of the path to the cessation of suffering
What is The Noble Eightfold Path?
- Right view
- Right intention
- Right action
- Right speech
- Right livelihood
- Right effort
- Right mindfulness
- Right concentration
What is a Dharma Wheel?