I'm sitting at my local fair trade coffee shop this afternoon and doing my best to see it through the eyes of a traveler, a practice I committed to when I returned from living in South America for a month. What my traveler's eyes see is community in action. People are taking the time to chat about the particularly fine weather we're enjoying today. Several people greet each other by name, and people who don't know each other are making eye contact or offering a smile and a nod as they carry their steaming mugs to their tables. As a traveler, I think, "Wow, this would be a cool place to live!"
The reality is that I am not traveling. I actually live here, and I'm also part of this coffee shop community. The women behind the counter and I are on a first-name basis, and one of them gave me an electric blue insulated coffee mug on a morning that I'd lost my own. I was leaving for a winter expedition, and her gift kept me warm in body and spirit.
For several years, I was fairly convinced that my real life awaited me somewhere else, like a new pair of boots I only had to step into. I believed that I needed to find just the right town, in just the right geography and climate, to live a truly fulfilling life. I would meet more adventurous people, find friendlier communities to join, meet the most amazing partner who would be my kindred spirit and soulmate - all of these rewards awaited if I just picked the right dot on the map and went there.
However, it seemed as if life conspired to keep me here just one more month, one year at a time. A gem of a consulting offer would come my way. My sister had another baby. I met someone. My circle of friends widened. I started working outdoors with amazing people and students. "Just six more months..."
Today, watching my community buzz around me, I am startled awake. What's happening today in this place in this city is what I thought I'd find "out there." The kicker is that it was me who had to become right, not the other way around.
I just finished reading Jack Kornfield's book, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry. The book is the sum of dozens of interviews with spiritual leaders from many traditions about the business of living daily life after, or while in pursuit of, spiritual awakening. I was particularly struck by the stories of people who traveled the world, seeking out ashrams and gurus and teachers and monasteries in hopes of finding truth and enlightenment. I suppose I recognized myself and my yearnings in them.
One story in particular struck a deep chord in me. A man who spent many years studying meditation with various teachers in the States decided to travel to Asia in search of higher levels of teaching. He found his way to one particular teacher who was revered by many of the people he encountered on his journey. He was granted an audience with this master and allowed to ask a single question. He said, "I've studied for years with many wonderful teachers. I've been taught about compassion, love, nonattachment, and other ideals. But I have not heard anyone teach about grace. Tell me, what can you teach me about grace?" The master threw his head back and laughed. He replied, "You tell me that you are a healthy, well-off man living in the beautiful city of San Francisco, and now you are able to be here in India, in a welcoming community of fellow seekers. What can I teach you of grace? You are, and have been, knee deep in grace!"
So I sit here, sipping my pineapple guava juice and eating the daily special made by the hands of people I've known for years, awakened to the fact that I, too, am knee deep in grace. I didn't have to roam the world to find it. I just had to look around with eyes that have learned to see.
