Earlier, up on the mountain…

Earlier, up on the mountain, if you can call it a mountain though it’s under two miles from the trailhead to the peak, I sat on the flat expanse of rocks and closed my eyes, listening to the wind in the trees and searching into my heart for something that I can only describe as available during these Days of Awe, when the Book is open, when the year to come hangs in the balance, when we have the chance to reach back for the times we judged too readily or didn’t trust our instincts or ignored our conscience or denied ourselves the same compassion we so freely offered others or withheld affection and punished the ones we need most for their own imperfections.

The words of the metta prayer rose to my lips, and I spoke them quietly out loud — May I be happy, May I be healthy, May I be safe, May I be peaceful and at ease — before repeating them with the faces of my children and my wife in my mind’s eye, and finally moving outward to the more difficult task of wishing all sentient beings such blessings, even those with whom I would insist I share no common ground.

Breathing in, I remembered that those I would deem “they” also breathe in. Breathing out, I remembered that the ones who repel me also breathe out. (Here I resist the intense urge to say more, to explain, to tell you why this doesn’t mean I condone harm, ignorance, oppression. Instead, I sit with what happens within my own being when I wish to refute the very humanity of my enemies, which is the inconvenient truth that I become a little less human myself.)

I opened my eyes, taking in the gentle tree line, surprised to find myself alone here given the crowd of cars in the parking lot and the fact that I bumped into several members of our congregation within moments of stepping onto the trail. I welcomed the solitude and wondered why I so often rob myself of such solace, instead staying busy and outwardly focused. There is, of course, so much to do, so much to tend, so much to repair. But if my doing, my tending, my own efforts at reparation, aren’t rooted in the heart muscle itself, what will sustain them?

I closed my eyes once more, this time reaching for the courage to ask for forgiveness and the humility to receive it, then stood and began my descent, careful not to slide on the pine needles or trip over the uneven roots, roots exposed over time, connecting the unseen world where we pray inwardly to the one where we walk and live and work together every day, knowing that I, we, need both.