The Only Life You Could Save

Tonight I am feeling so grateful for my day:
Thank you to Casey for sharing your
sweet little boy, Blake, with me.
Thank you to Blake for falling asleep in my arms.
Thank you to my friend, Mark, for taking me
to the Cedar Sangha meditation group.
Thank you to my husband for your tenderness and humor.
Thank you to my little cat for purring
so enthusiastically while snuggling on my lap.
And thank you to Mary Oliver
for poetry that speaks to my heart.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

This evening Mark told me that one way to think of meditation is to imagine a king or queen holding court. All the thoughts and feelings that arise are subjects who have come to court to be heard. If you send them away, imagining that the work of meditation is to make your mind be quiet, they will feel slighted and yell even louder. On the other hand, if you listen to them with understanding and empathy, they will soon quiet down and you will find your court very peaceful.

What I noticed while meditating was how foreign stillness felt. I move through my life with a lot of momentum, and that feels good most of the time . . . safe and purposeful, even powerful. But it is not sustainable. That momentum requires me to continually disregard those parts of myself that have come to court to be heard.

How can I possibly nurture others until I "save the only life I can save," my own?