The Furious Spinner

"Life is so difficult, how can we be anything but kind?" —Unknown

I am sitting on my couch reading a magazine and drinking Zen tea. (Hot water.) Mario is upstairs working. Annie Lennox is singing to me. (Yes, still.) Outside, it is pissing down pouring down rain. (Yes, still.) We missed the hurricane force winds, and we are glad for that. I'm about ready to go to sleep and it's not even nine o'clock. I haven't been sleeping well. Last night I was looking for snakes in the dark and trying to keep the doors closed so that the lion and the tiger wouldn't get out and kill us all. A jaguar walked around the house as if she owned it. Which, perhaps, she did.

I go to the surgeon tomorrow, and I get nervous before I go, as regular readers know. I am back doing my mindfulness practices, though, and I expect my mind to get right soon. Doesn't mean I won't worry. Doesn't mean bad things won't happen. Just means I will be able to deal.

I'm reading an article by Zen teacher Sylvia Boorstein in Shambhala Sun. Regular readers also know how much I value kindness. I believe when we are kind we are acknowledging our kinship with one another. What happens to one happens to us all. I've started thinking of kindness almost as a form of surrender. If I just let go, if I stop trying to make things different—including myself and other people—kindness bubbles up within me, like someone has taken a rock off of a natural spring.

A month or so ago I had to be at a place where I was going to have a roommate. I didn't want a roommate. I have trouble relaxing and sleeping when I have a roommate, even if it's someone I know and like. Unless it's Mario. When I got to the place, I didn't have a roommate! I was thrilled. Later I found out my roommate had asked to be put in another room because she didn't want to bunk with me. I was hurt and pissed. What the hell had I done to her? But then, I realized she had given me exactly what I wanted. Why should I care how or why? I felt such gratitude, and my heart just melted. I silently thanked her and wished her a good time. I felt love and compassion for her. I was especially kind to her all weekend. This seemed to make a difference to her. She made pleasant overtures to me, and we ended up having a couple of very good conversations over the course of the weekend. I felt as though my kindness healed us both.

More recently, the wife of a man we know in town died. It was very sad. She was young (our age) and well-liked. Years ago I had worked with the man on a committee to try and come up with an Integrated Pest and Vegetation Management plan for our county. It was a terrible experience. On one side were four or five men who didn't believe chemical pesticides were harmful and who would be happy if the county sprayed more. On the other side were four or five women who kept trying to use logic and science to convince the men to at least curtail the spraying of pesticides. The men never compromised on a single thing. We figured out too late that the county had set up the committee just to keep us womenfolk busy while they did whatever the hell they wanted to do, which was spray, spray, spray.

The man was well-known and well-liked around the county. He had a degree in forestry, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with chemical pesticides. I felt since he was a scientist that he should look at the science and see the truth. But he didn't. After a while, I came to hate him. I didn't hate the other men on the committee. I just saw them as good old boys who were trying to stop the women from changing anything about their way of life. They didn't know any better. This man did. And I hated him. I couldn't be in the same room with him after the committee disbanded. I couldn't stand anyone to bring up his name. I wondered if he ever got sick if he would change his mind. I didn't wish sickness on him. I just wondered.

And then about three years ago, we learned his wife had cancer. She had worked in the forest, and one of the things she did was use pesticides. I still didn't like the man, but I was so sad to hear about the woman's illness. We all hoped she would get better and have a long and happy life. Whenever I saw her, even as the illness progressed, she seemed happy. She'd smile and wave. And I'd wave. She was usually holding hands with her husband as they walked around town. So I was waving at the man, too. After a while, I would wave to him even when he was by himself. I would say hello to him whenever I saw him. He'd smile and say hello to me. One day, or maybe it was over a period of many days, I suddenly saw him. He was just a man. Just a man doing the best he could. I realized I didn't hate him any more. I silently wished him health and happiness. I wished his wife would live forever.

She didn't. She died two weeks ago. It was sudden, even though she'd been ill. I felt so sad for the man. I walked down to the store and got him a card. I bought two cards that day. Two days earlier, I'd found out that the husband of a friend of mine had been hit by a logging truck. He'd been out walking his dog in the middle of the night, in the middle of the road. He had Alzheimer's, and that may have had something to do with why he was out so late at night. The truck hadn't been able to stop in time. I found out when I saw his name in the article on the front page of our newspaper in the grocery store. My knees nearly buckled. I ran home and called my friend. What could I say? I'm so sorry, and I love you. So I got a card for my friend and for the man who was not my friend. When I wrote the cards out, I felt deep love for both of them. We were kin, after all.

A couple of days ago, the man came into the library and thanked Mario for the card. He told Mario that it meant a lot to him to get the card from us. He held out his hand to Mario, and they shook hands. Then he left the library. I wish I had been there to see it. Two tall men of few words reaching out to one another. It was a moment of kindness. And healing.

Everyone out there, every person we encounter each day, has their own story, their own suffering, their own joy. We really have no idea what they are dealing with over the course of their day. Kindness is always a good choice.

My You Love in Beauty! (Is there any other way?)

Labels: community, love

2 comments

2 Comments:

I also remind myself that I don't know what's happening in people's lives when I see them behaving in ways I don't 'get'.

H.H. the Dalai Lama says his religion is kindness. If it's good enough for him...

p.s. - I'm writing you a letter.

By  Susan, at 2:06 AM  

Kim:
I've never commented before, although I've been reading for quite awhile. I had to comment on this post because you said it so well.

Coincidentally, I was thinking about kindness as I was Christmas shopping today. Shopping isn't my favorite thing on the best of days and sometimes holiday season can bring out the worst in shoppers. It helps to remind myself that we never know what's going on in someone's life to make them behave badly. I attempt to give everyone the benefit of the doubt when they do something that annoys me. Instead of getting angry, I try kindness. I love that it works for you too and that you shared it with us.

Duanea

By  Duanea, at 3:02 PM  

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