A QUIET GIFT OF EVERYDAY LIFE

I see him every few weeks. For ten years I see him.

Bumming change at Lisa’s Chicken. Crossing the Belaire Parking lot at a fast clip.

He’s a fast walker, he is.

Mostly skin and bones too.
Unshaved. Rough around the edges. Dirty pants.

So skinny his mother might not even recognize him.

Even a guy like him probably has a mama somewhere , a momma crying out “Lord have mercy on my babys soul”.

For ten years I see him, rough on the edges, same shirt, same pants, same hard look.
Same hard look, but timid in a funny way; harmless, hopeless, shy like a dog thats been whipped.

Always walking fast, like he’s got someplace to be. But one look you can tell he has no place to be.
No place to be.

I get the feeling sometimes that I know him. From back in my using days.

If I add fifteen pounds to him, yes, I might have known him fifteen years ago in some game room in Arlington, or that shack out in Rendon.

It makes my heart hurt a little to see him, for ten years, when I see him.
But I don’t dwell on it, its just part of the routine, like the guy that used to hitchhike all over, or the lady on her bike that worked at Carls.

I hardly even notice him any more.

But then Saturday morning I’m at the red light at Bedford Road and Brown Trail, lost in my meditation, lost in my routine.

And there he is. Ten years I've watched him walk
But he is not walking.

He’s on a bike. Zipping across the parking lot.
My heart just swells. I feel lifted. He’s moved up.
The quiet gift of everyday life to see this.

I remember when I was on a bike. Four (4) years I was on a bike.

Who knows? Maybe he’s got a job.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll see his bike parked outside the group, the way mine was 10 years ago.

We do recover.

“Most of us do not live a life of monastic rigor. Our days are full of jagged edges and jangling moments. But most of us do have quiet routines that inform our lives. We rise each morning and greet our day in the same fashion. A first cup of coffee, a glance at the paper, a certain way we bathe and prepare for our entry into the day — these do not change. They are the rituals by which we shape our days. But we do not value them as rituals. To us they are the ordinary — sometimes comforting, sometimes mind-deadening — activities that give a familiar sameness to our life. Far from honoring them, we pay them no heed. We see them as routines, not as paths to awareness. My time in the monastery taught me otherwise. To be sure, the monks lived a life of deep sacramentality and prayer, and that was the true source of their spiritual vision. But the mindful practice of their spiritual exercises spilled over into the way they carried on their daily affairs. They were present to nuance, aware of the space around events. A cup of tea, a meal partaken, a moment shared with another — all commanded their absolute focus. They had tuned their spirits to a fine and subtle sensitivity, and nothing passed unnoticed or unhonored.”

~ Kent Nerburn, Of Coffee Mugs and Monks in Small Graces: The Quiet Gifts of Everyday Life (New World Library. 2010)

Thanks to David at Live and Learn