The Truth of Twelve and Thirteen

When I was eleven years old I was on my way home from Japan with nineteen other preteens and four chaperones. We were on the Armstrong-Hokkaido Salmonoid Exchange that my town offered to twenty students every other year. We had just spent nine days in Hokkaido learning about salmon and watching the same fish that had swam up our rivers in the spring make their journey to the opposite end of the world; we had a layover in the Tokyo-Narita airport before catching our plane back to Vancouver. We ate lunch as a group and then, after doing our number countoff to make sure no one had gone M.I.A., we were allowed to go with our buddies to do some last minute souvenier shopping- but told explicitly which floors to stay on and where and when to meet back as a group before catching our plane. My buddy and I ended up in the bowels of the airport exploring some fascinating Japanese shops full of Hello Kitty. By the time we realized that we had wandered far and had no idea where we were or where we were supposed to be, we had no time left to find our group. We spent some time trying to sort it out, but my buddy-no where near as cool headed in a panic as myself- was starting to freak out that we were going to be stranded in Japan. I was starting to get a bit worried myself as I pictured the countoff beginning and then coming to a halt at eleven... as twelve and thirteen were running frantically around the airport. Would they just eventually carry on without us, keeping a small silence until fourteen chimed up and the count continued seamlessly. Would twelve and thirteen grow old in the airport? Unless the plane wouldn't leave without us. Would they really wait? Could they stall a whole entire airplane just for us? Not likely. The problem was that no one spoke english. And we were eleven. Finally we honed in on the one white-guy, who was apparently from Winnepeg which made us feel good, and he looked at our bits of ticket and papers that we had. He found us a Japanese-man-in-a-suit to take us where we needed to go. As we headed back with our Japanese-man-in-a-suit to meet up with the group I realized we were no longer in danger of becoming airport orphans and we were probably going to get into a lot of trouble. As I looked down at my tourquoise-and-purple-velcro-band-digital Timex secured to my wrist, I came up with an idea. We could actually be on time, if we set our watches back about fifteen minutes. The only thing is that we both had to do it, and then just stroll up to everyone else as if it's no big deal. I mean if both of our watches said the same thing how could they blame us? So I conveyed my plan to my buddy and we frantically, yet subtly, set our watches back a matching quarter of an hour. 

We all know how the story ends. The chaperones were worried and we wouldn't have really gotten in much trouble because they were just concerned. However, we proceeded to lie blatantly to them and that got us in the bad books. The lies that seem so well thought out as a child, but to adults are more obvious than Freddy Mercury's love for men. 

I meant to recount this story briefly to begin to make my points about the merit of living a truthful life, however I have a hard time telling brief stories. 

Truthfulness is a beauty. I consider myself a very truthful person these days. As the story was meant to illustrate, I have not always valued truthfulness as strongly as I do now. Since the age of eleven it has been a slow but fruitful journey towards living a more and more truthful life. I can remember the two times that I have consciously lied (I say consciously because sometimes when I get carried away talking faster than I think I will lie unconsciously, but I will always immediately go back and nullify the false statement) in the past couple of years. Both times it was to make it look like I had not made a mistake, and both times I felt physically sick afterwards and had to go and fess up within twenty-four hours. 

Getting caught for lying is always worse than dealing with the truth, and if you are not caught in this world I am sure that God in all His justice will deal with you in the spiritual worlds to come.  

I had a lot of other things that I wanted to say about a more deep and philosophical truthfulness but my story was so long that I am going to pass on any more ramblings right now. In conclusion focusing on being truthful to others was not a difficulty for myself this week because that is something that I have focused on so much in the past that it is now in my nature. However, something that I did find some need to work on was being truthful with myself at all times. I don't think that that is an issue in my life at all, but not something that comes to me as naturally as being truthful with others does. In the Sacred Moments book there is a great Shakespeare quote, "This above all- to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man."

Abd'u'l-Baha has also spoken strongly about truthfulness. He says, "Truthfulness is the foundation of all human virtues. Without thruthfulness progress and success, in all the worlds of God, are impossible for any soul. When this holy attribute is established in man, all the divine qualities will also be acquired."

This weeks virtue is generosity. It is a good time to focuse on that in my life.

Raw Soul, Dirty Soles

Eight days- forty-three hours of work, six hours at the gym, four movies, eight showers, two hours of meetings, and countless cups of coffee- later, I haven't found many moments of 'reverence'. Reverence is something hard to find, especially when you are looking for it. 

I focused on the time that I always seem to have uninterruptedly to myself and made sure that I said my daily prayers every single night before I went to bed regardless of how late/early the

 time was or how exhausted I was. This isn't completely new for me, because since I turned fifteen (the age of spiritual maturity in the Baha'i Faith) I have been trying to say my obligatory prayers everyday; however there was something in making such a conscious effort this week, and not letting myself just slide into bed when it has become too late and I figure I'll just say it the next day anyways. This has become a dangerously easy habit to get into when I am coming home from work after one in the morning a few nights a week. So this week was really good, my daily obligatory prayer has become like... brushing my teeth. I can get into bed without doing it, but I will definitely get up five minutes later because I know I won't sleep anyways, or wake up feeling like I have little furries on my teeth- or perhaps my soul.

That was a great success. Reverence tho? I don't know. In the 'Sacred Moments' book, with the daily virtues in it, many of the quotes Linda Kavelin Popov has chosen had to do with connection to the earth when finding reverence. 

I connected to the earth very tangibly on April 16th. Toms Shoes hosted a Day Without Shoes. It is an incredible company with an admirable vision that I mentioned in my last post. I decided to participate in the barefoot day even tho noone else in this area was. I didn't really make a big deal of it, I just didn't wear shoes. Thank goodness the weather was warm and sunny! I really only got into one conversation about why I didn't have shoes on. Everyone else just 'wooted' about summer and gave me thumbs up. The ladies that I did talk to were at an autobody shop here in town. While I was waiting for an estimate on a friend's car we started chatting in the office when one of them asked about why I wasn't wearing shoes. 

I told them about kids in Ethiopia and other parts of the world that don't have shoes and get foot parasites and other 100% preventable debilitating diseases from the ground they walk on, and many of them aren't allowed to go to school barefoot. From there we talked about different places of the world and my travels and eventually the Baha'i Faith. One of the ladies of really interested and wrote down the spelling of the Faith and had a lot of questions. I love moments of spiritual connectedness with complete strangers!

It was fun to wear barefeet in a lot of ways, but at the end of the day my soles were beaten up from the cement and stones and fresh black pavement I had to navigate across outside another autobody shop. I can't imagine doing that day after day, regardless of the weather. Ouch. Buy Toms friends!

leaving the house with barefeeties

but with my Toms in my bag just in case

walking into town

driving 

checking out the damage after running errands

putting on my Toms for work

relaxing after a long barefoot day

Mortenson, Mycoskie, and me?

"In 1993 a mountaineer named Greg Mortenson drifted into an impoverished Pakistan village in the Karakoram mountains after a failed attempt to climb K2. Moved by the inhabitants' kindness, he promised to return and build a school. Three Cups of Tea is the story of that promise and its extraordinary outcome. Over the next decade Mortenson built not just one but fifty-five schools- especially for girls- in the forbidding terrain that gave birth to the Taliban. His story is at once a riveting adventure and a testament to the power of the humanitarian spirit."

I want to be a Greg Mortenson when I grow up. No, edit; I want to be a Greg Mortenson tomorrow, today, right now. There is too much suffering going on in our world to wait to become someone who has a positive impact, the time is now. However, no matter how hard my heart is tugged to go and help, the vision of making an impact on other peoples lives seems to grand for me.

I came across a copy of Three Cups of Tea rather flippantly at the new and used bookstore in town. I was in the store browsing to kill some time before my doctors appointment down the street. With no previous intentions of buying a book (especially one that cost $16.50) I picked up this soft covered book with a photo of three young Pakistani girls on the cover and took it to the till. I haven't been able to stop reading since then; even on the treadmill at the gym- which is actually a very difficult thing to do and resulted in two ripped pages. As melo-dramatic as it sounds, this book has changed my life. 

Equipped with a promise to a small village, extreme patience, perserverence, sacrifice and selflessness Greg Mortenson has offered countless villages in Northern Pakistan what their government was unable, education. It is an inspiring saga that started out so humbly, that it really proves how much can be done with such little material means. I doubt I will ever be awarded the Sitara-e-Pakistan, or build schools in such a remote and war torn area of the world, but there is something that I can do. I just don't know what yet. 

This week I have also learned a lot more about a shoe company that I have come to adore. Toms Shoes.

I don't need to iterate here what the website adequately explains, but I do want to give my praise and respect to the founder of this company Blake Mycoskie. His is another story about the change one person can make. Both Greg and Blake began their journey of service with such humility about their own abilities, and respect for the people who they wanted to help. I want to learn from them, and perhaps when I am able to humbly accept how little I have to offer, I will find the avenue that needs what little I have. 

This weeks virtue was respect- and from two strangers who I will never meet I have learned how respect for everyone that you meet, regardless of their condition and circumstances in life, leads to opportunities for service. I respect what they have done, but also the simple path that they followed to get there. With a strong rededication I am looking for that path of service in my life. 

white hair, wrinkles, and wisdom

I have finally met my teacher. She isn't who I expected -well in, fact I didn't even know that I was looking for a teacher. I see her only a few times a week, unfortunately, due to my busy schedule. We don't speak much and, when we do, we usually have the same conversation that lasts for about forty-five seconds. She has no idea who I am. I have to sit on her right side so I can yell into her good ear, and she has no idea who I am. Or that she is my teacher. Or who I am. 

I have started telling the other captives of the home that she is my grandma, and they smile and reckon that everyone needs a grand-daughter. They have no idea how badly some girls need a grandma. 

Florence Eleanor Strom is ninety-six years old. I promised her daughter that I would go and visit her as much as I could while she is on holidays in Ireland. Florence is hardly mobile, and only has a little bit of hearing left in her right ear. I said that I would and visit her, and I wanted to mean it, but I have never liked spending time around old people. Especially ones I don't know. Especially ones that I don't know all corralled together into one home, being held captive by their grand children's generation- but not cared for by their own grand children. But I wanted to keep my word so I decided that I would go and spend a couple of minutes with her whenever I had the chance; I wanted to be responsible, the virtue of the week drove me to do it! 

The first time I went, I found her in the dining room. She was at a table with another gentleman who looks like he belongs in NewFoundland and has a penchant for whistling repetitive tunes. They were ignoring each other. We went back to her room and had a nice visit. I felt really awkward for a lot of the time, but I realized near the end that after living for almost a century awkward doesn't exist anymore. Every visit now seems to follow the pattern of me finding her in the dining room and then we will go back to her room and sit on the couch. We will have some disjointed conversation and then I will say some prayers, she will say they are nice, and then I'll kiss her on the cheek. Then I ask her what her plans for the week are and she will say not much and I will ask her pencil me in. Then I will spend the time until I see her again looking forward our next visit. 

I don't know if it is all old people, or Florence in particular, who have the ability, without knowing, to teach some of life's greatest lessons. She has taught me what compassion in action really is. She has enabled my compassion to come to fruition. For the half an hour a day I can spend with Florence I am compassionate without distraction. It is impossible to enter a seniors home and not be overwhelmed with complete acceptance for the limitations on our physical existence. Florence may not be living a glamorous life but she can still crack a smile when telling me about her nickname (Flopsie) or express great shock and fascination and interest in my recent visit to India. Florence lives with a serenity of acceptance. 

Abdu'l-Baha said 

Let each one of God's loved ones centre his attention on this: to be the Lord's mercy to man; to be the Lord's grace. Let him do some good to every person whose path he crosseth and be of some benefit to him... In this way the light of divine guidance will shine forth, and the blessings of God will cradle all mankind...

In this way I have also learned about grace. And of course this week responsibility. The best thing about practicing and being so focused on being responsible is that I find that I am driven to action. If I am trying to be more responsible, it isn't a conscience thing for me, it is an action thing. Ever since I was young I have had a reasonably responsible conscience, but it is acting on everything that I know is right or I know that I should do that I need to get better at. I am solely responsible for the choices that I make in my life so I best make the right ones. That is something I have done a lot better this week than I usually do I think. 

The virtue this week is going to be respect *cue Aretha Franklin* and I am fully re-dedicated to my journey through the virtues because I know that I have Florence by my side and I know there is nothing she can't teach me.