In Manhattan a grocery store owner hands out free produce. A few blocks away a restaurant owner cooks up the food he has on stock, arranges it on tables set up in the street, and serves it free of charge. In Hoboken a woman in a neighborhood with electricity mobilizes her neighbors to put electrical boxes out onto the street and invite those living in darkness to recharge their cell phones and computers there. National Guard troops venture up on roofs and down into dank basements to rescue dogs and cats. Younger people climb up dark stairwells to check on elderly neighbors.

 

As residents of New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut begin to get their bearings after Sandy, those who have a little bit more are reaching out to those who have much less. It's often like this in an emergency. We cease to become the small souls muddling through a gigantic world that we often see ourselves as and become instead large, inventive, and brave. Those of us who go to pieces when the computer crashes suddenly discover in ourselves reserves of resilience and a clear sense of what needs to happen and how to get the process going. As Scott Simon said on NPR's Weekend Edition Saturday morning, "When the going gets tough, the tough get generous."

 

We never know how we'll behave in a crisis. It takes one to teach us that hard lesson. But stories about the courage of others are important, because some part of us stores them up for future use. We tell ourselves: "That was a wonderful act. I'm going to remember it. One of these days I may need to borrow from it, or from the generous spirit behind it."

 

If you got punched by Storm Sandy, may you receive--and give--many acts of beauty and generosity in these hard times. They will come if you open yourself up for them. Really.

 

And if the storm left you untouched and you long to do something to help those who haven't been so lucky, why not be on the lookout during the next few days for opportunities to give beauty and generosity to others in your own home place. Go a little bit out of your way to do so.  

 

* Stop and help somebody in need, even if you're running late.

* Be kind to somebody who's homeless or confused or lonely.

* Call someone you used to be close to and haven't talked to in a long time and tell them what you appreciate about them

* Write a member of your family a letter. Write it by hand.

* Pet someone else's dog.

* Pick up litter in front of a neighbor's house.

* Go right now and give somebody you love a hug.

 

 

National Guard troops rescuing a dog from a Hoboken, NJ building flooded by Superstorm Sandy. Photo by Craig Ruttle, AP. 

 

 

A couple of weeks ago my meditation teacher said, in the midst of a class on another topic, "Your body knows nothing of being a victim."

 

On the way home, I thought about that. I would never have described myself as a person inclined to victimhood. I see myself as forceful, creative, open to change. Yet I realized now that my body does often perceive itself as a victim--usually not of people but of circumstances. If my computer crashes, I get angry. If I'm late for an appointment and get stuck in traffic, I rage at the Great Wall of Obstacles that now gloats at having outwitted me. Although I am one of those people who's good in crisis, in ordinary life I want the world to go smoothly for me, and when it doesn't, I'm offended. Ever since I realized that, I have informed my body that, henceforth, it never needs to know anything about being a victim. It hasn't quite gotten the message yet, but together with mindfulness, meditation, and catching myself as often as I can, my body and I are learning.  

 

Photo of Rock Climber Leaping by John Terence Turner 

 

 

Marcel Proust (1871-1922), the French author of the brilliant (and monumental) Remembrance of Things Past, had a reputation for being eccentric. One day he was walking with his friend and former lover, Reynaldo Hahn, in a garden in the French countryside. When they passed some roses in bloom, Proust stopped. He looked at the roses for a moment, continued on, then stopped again. Would his friend mind walking ahead, Proust asked, while he himself turned around. "I'd like to look again at those little roses." Hahn continued his walk and returned some time later to find Proust still bent over the roses, "his demeanor serious... his eyebrows slightly knitted as by an effort of impassioned attention."

 

 

 My article, "Gaze Even Here," appears in the current issue of ORION magazine. (To read an on-line version click here.)

 

On Tuesday, November 1, at 7:00 PM EST I'll be leading a webinar sponsored by Orion on the subject of "The Psychology of Planetary Damage." I'll expand on what I wrote in my essay, and we'll have a discussion of whether and how it's possible to find beauty and redemption in the Earth's damaged places. Click here to register. 

 

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The Beloved, the universal symbol of your ecstatic bond with your own radiant self, invites you to say YES! to Life. The Beloved is an archetype who appears in the myths and legends of many lands, in the prayers of mystics, and in Jungian psychology as a symbol of the integrated Self. Elusive yet accessible, always beckoning you to step over limitations into your own greater adventure, loving you utterly as you are, yet perceiving how you can be more fully you, the Beloved invites you to step into the whole world as if into the arms of a waiting lover.

Facilitator: Trebbe Johnson

Registration and Cost info: Contact Rowe

Instructor: Trebbe Johnson

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