I. Slow Down

Thomas Merton identified rushing as a most fundamental form of violence in our society, especially for those working for social change. He wrote:

There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence, and that is activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of this innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone and everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.

I reflected on this as I walked through unfamiliar neighborhoods south of San Francisco. I found myself walking along MUNI lines, trains buzzing by me periodically. “How much easier it would be to just hop on the train,” I thought to myself. “Am I trying to make some point to myself or others? What am I seeking to accomplish by walking five days over a distance that would take a few hours on public transportation? Am I trying to impress someone, or advocate some cause?” The doubtful thoughts washed over my mind in one quick burst.

And just as quickly I knew the response: it would be easier to take the train, and perhaps that’s just the point. At a fast pace, it is easy to move from point A to point B and gloss over what’s in between — the ugly facades, the hidden beauties, the difficult truths. My practice was to be with the in between, and whatever discomfort or surprise or boredom arose in me along the way.

II. Listen 

On a walk like this, how do I know what to do? Whether to stop and talk to this person or keep walking? This way or that way? What pace? What neighborhoods to pass through and who to look in the eye?

From a goal-oriented perspective, these questions are easy to answer, based on what brings one closer to the goal. But when the goal is loose and simple — just walk, and eventually end up at a house to sit in silence with friends — then the process itself becomes the guide.

From my experience, this goal vs. process orientation is very subtle. A couple times when I didn’t have a precise map for a location, I stopped to ask where major streets where, to get my bearings. The initial answers would be short — “Oh, so-and-so street is that way.” And then my direction giver would be kind enough to inquire further as to where I was going. I would often answer that I was heading down to South Bay. Then, also out of kindness, I believe, they would invariably suggest faster routes and “short-cuts.” Yet getter somewhere faster wasn’t my orientation.  Do we have space for non-destination ways of acting in our culture?  (I’m reminded of Gandhi’s response to the well-known moral quandry: “do the means justify the ends?” He answered that means are ends in the making.)

To listen to that process orientation, versus the get-it-done mental conditioning, is an ever-recurring challenge. It took me much of the first two days to settle into the process of walking, while my thoughts rattled about, eventually quieting down so I could listen in a different way.

That sort of listening strikes me as a non-rational process, in addition to non-destination-oriented. Or a more positive framing, as some friends recently remarked, might be subconscious competence. Ken Wilber calls it transrational, which includes rationality as well as the more-than-rational part of ourselves.

How do we ever know what to do? When exactly is the moment of knowing? Is it when a specific thought arises? A precursor sensation? Something even before that?

III. Serve

I believe that to truly serve is to live one’s gifts, and I’m learning that service, like running and playing instrument, deserves practice along the way to discovering what the essence of those gifts are, and how to deliver them. There’s not much else I can say here, so I’ll just include a couple of those practice stories.

A story:

Couple days in, I walked by a gigantic wild blackberry bush, stretching for at least 50 feet. After I had my fill of sweetness, I thought to pick a bunch more to take with me.

Less than an hour later, walking — on a rare occasion — on the shoulder of a road without a sidewalk, I was surprised to see another person walking towards me on the shoulder. I was unlikely to be there; seemed even more unlikely to find another pedestrian there at the same time.

She was carrying a pair of shoes in her hand — also a strange sight. But she was also wearing shoes of her own, along with baggy pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Huh. I decided to at least say hello as we walked by each other. But before I could she spoke up first.

“Do you know Paul?!” She asked excitedly, almost desperately. This was getting more interesting by the second.

“I don’t know Paul…” I started, searching for some context.

“Oh…” She replied, disappointed. “I’m trying to get his shoes to him,” she said, seeming to doubt she would be able to. And she started walking on.

“But do you want some blackberries?” :) I piped up before she could get too far, not sure if the question would sound weird.

“I love blackberries!” She turned around, shifting moods.  Delighted at her enthusiasm, I opened the small plastic bag filled with plump blackberries and invited her to take some.

“Oh but I don’t have anything to carry them in,” she wondered aloud. Short pause.

“I know, just take the whole bag!” I offered.

“Really?? That’s great, I can make blackberry pie … oh then I’d need to get some crisco,” she rambled excitedly.

Then she paused, and looked up at me. “Wait, why are you being so nice?” she questioned, cautiously.

Again I’m caught off guard.  I shrug, as if to say it really feels quite natural from my perspective. “I guess many others have been nice to me,” I offer by way of explanation.

Suddenly she began to tear up.  In an instance, I was moved as well, realizing in a split second the unkindness she must have gone through to be moved so much by this simple act of kindness, and the grace I felt that she accepted my offering.

“And in a way, I’m just paying forward what others have given to me,” I continue, and think to offer her a smile card as well.

She wipes tears from her eyes as she talks about struggling to care for her mother with Alzheimer’s, keeping her mobile home down the street, and her homeless (and shoeless?) friend Paul that she had put up at her place last night. I also noticed a local hospital volunteer badge dangling from her neck.

“You don’t know what this means to me,” she says quietly.

We were standing on the shoulder of a well-traffic’ed road, so it was soon time to move on. She wanted to know more about me, though. Did I go to college? Where did I live? And my personal favorite: “So you’re just walking around out here like Forrest Gump?” :)

I didn’t think she would understand that I was walking for myself, out of my own need to slow down, and ultimately out of a deep need to contribute to life — and discern how to go about that in a skillful and authentic manner. But then thinking about Forrest Gump, perhaps she did get it on some level. When he was asked why he was running, didn’t he simply respond, “because I felt like it.” :)

And another story, this one about grapefruits :) 

In the midst of a materially rich neighborhood, an older man stood in the meridian between two busy roads. He held a sign that read something like “anything helps” and had a forlorn yet somehow at-peace look on his face. I was intentionally traveling without money, so that wasn’t an option to give, but another obvoius inspiration came to mind, which was to offer some grapefruits that I had earlier gleaned from a tree a few neighborhoods back.

From across the street, I made eye contact with the man and shouted across “do you like grapefruit?!” He didn’t hear at first so my friend who was traveling with me pulled one out, held it up and pointed at it, smilingly, as I repeated “Do. You. Like. GRAPEFRUIT?” :)

The man understood in a flash, and smiled and nodded. At the next red light, my friend and I crossed the street and offered a few grapefruits to the grateful man. It was a heartfelt connection, just for a moment. We all knew it wasn’t meant to solve any long-term problem there, but I sensed we all valued the human connection for that brief time.

But what struck me most was what happened just outside of our little interaction: as we scampered back across the street before traffic started to move again I caught a glimpse of the faces in the car windshields, waiting at the red light. This one woman in her car had the sweetest smile on her face that spoke of both sadness for the situation and happiness for witnessing that moment of joy. I think more than the interaction itself, that witnessing, that reverence touched me.

The telling of this story was inspired by Jerry Wennstrom’s iJourney post, with an utterly beautiful closing line: “With inspiration rippling through the collective, the heart of the world grows unalterably stronger.”

--------------

This story was reprinted here with permission. More from Nachya.