Aftermath
21 September 2008
Berkeley, CA
This morning I am sitting here with the word "aftermath". In a minute I need to stop and go look this word up. First, though, I want to sit with this word, and with this pen on this paper and watch what happens.
What is the "after" I am after here?
I am sitting here in the aftermath of all the worry of last week. All the disaster scenario planning. All the ways something would go horribly wrong, and I would be found out for the fraud I am.
And then - one by one - each domino failed to fall.
The car failed to break down on the way to the airport.
The plane ride failed to be difficult and problematic. (In fact it turned out to be quite enjoyable.)
The shuttle failed to drop me off at the hotel last (in fact I was first), and the clerk at the front desk failed to tell me that I was two hours early, and that there was no room available.
My debit card failed to be declined, even with all the other charges on it. (It seemed that my automatic deposit failed not to show up in my account just before I checked in.)
My listening training workshop failed to be a failure.
And so I was left with the aftermath that occurs when my worrying and fretting and Plan B-ing are all for naught.
Of course then there was the meeting with my client on Friday afternoon that I was dreading, and then turned out to be a valuable and important time for him. Another disaster that failed to materialize.
And now I am sitting in the aftermath of the koan seminar at PZI.
It is funny to me now when I think of that first dharma talk I went to and was so frantic about coming in late. This time I was driving up The Silverado Trail - taking time to pay attention to all the beauty in the vineyards around me - I knew that I would arrive at the meditation hall room late. Only this time I would not be coming in as a stranger would, all awkward and catawampus.
When I arrived, the group was already sitting in meditation. There was a chair right there in the back waiting for me. Actually the chair was just there. And then so was I. John saw me and smiled. I can remember even now the feeling of belonging in that moment.
The koan, like each one that John presents, felt as if it had been cooked up especially for me.
Such a remarkable moment when I heard him say that while I was settling into what was now my chair. So much of my attention of late has been on my hands. The impact that this beginning to take care of my hands has on the rest of me. This newfound, deeper awareness of choice all around me - even in the smallest detail. Allowing my nails to grow without biting them, the shifting awareness of my relationships, the way I am living my life. It is all the same.
At one point John asked: How do we live with the gaps between ourselves an everything else? Until he asked that question it never quite occurred to me that this gap is something we could live with. Then of course it occurred to me that I have been living with and in this gap my whole life - sometimes quiet happily.
So now I have just looked up this word I've been sitting with, my companion on this morning's journey that is this entry - this word, aftermath. The word is fairly old (1523), and originally meant a second crop of grass grown after the first crop had been harvested. The -math comes from an ancient word, mÆd´, which means mowing.
Without my conscious awareness it would appear that this word was guiding me all along as I went about mowing the grass a second time. This is a wonderful reminder that harvests are not just single, stand-alone events. There is the aftermath, the second harvest.
In this moment I am aware of how grateful I am for both harvests - the harvesting that I have done this weekend, and now the aftermath. It is all good.
