At the Gratitude Meeting

We'll all get there eventually, right, yogis?

For savasana at the end of my weekly yoga class, I frequently read a poem or other passage to the supine assemblage in our sangha. I select these rather haphazardly; sometimes it’s a Zen-ish piece on being one with the universe, other times I am in more of a playful mood. 

This past Wednesday, in the face of our collective national angst over the upcoming election, and a heavier-than-usual list of prayer concerns (with which we always begin our practice), I decided to go for the funny. I found a terrific poem by Paul Hostofsky, “Late to the Gratitude Meeting.” It begins:

 

The guy in front of me in traffic
is letting everyone in,
waving at the cars like a policeman
or a pope--
and I really have no patience for all
the indulgence
and magnanimity at my expense

because I'm late for the gratitude meeting,
which is only an hour long.
And if I miss the first ten minutes
of silent meditation I'm going to scream,
because it's my favorite part and because
it helps me remember to breathe.
And I'm going to throttle this guy…

Ironically, as our friend continues to seethe, he is completely mIssing the fact that his actual gratitude teacher is that other, serene driver, generously waving people on.  Ha ha! What a dunce!

 

Except that dunce is usually me.

 

How often do I tick off the to-dos like a madwoman, oblivious to the multitude of Life Lessons that are right there, free for the learning? And even when I am cognizant of those golden opportunities, I’m too busy thinking about how I will use them in my writing. I’m walking through beautiful Hershey Gardens with my future daughter-in-law, taking endless photos of the flowers and butterflies (for my blog? My newsletter? That piece I’m working on for the spiritual magazine?) “Pix or it didn’t happen”? But it did happen, and I didn’t allow myself to just relax and experience it. I don’t trust that the learnings will sink in without my ultra-efforts to capture them for posterity. And, parenthetically, will I ever again look at most of the zillions of iPhone pictures I’ve taken? Will my survivors save them, or will they (much likelier) dump them all? 

 

Clearly, I need to change my focus (and not camera focus either). As I write this, it is very early Sunday morning. I am alone in Patrick and Ashlyn’s kitchen. Out the window, there is an awesome cloud formation in the shape of a big fish, its “scales” tinged with sunrise light. Those well-known Sunday Scaries have not yet arrived. The challenges of the week ahead are still a comfortable distance away. Can I jettison all those to-dos for once, and replace them with thank yous?

 

On this journey we undertake together, we'll all get there eventually, right? I sip my cup of coffee, savoring this brand new day. And I pray, right now, that I’m not too late for the gratitude meeting that is my life. 

Hello, Sunday!