A few weeks ago Linda and I attended a weekend meditation retreat led by Pema Chodron,
a long-time practitioner of Buddhist meditation and the principal teacher at the
Buddhist center, Gampo Abbey in Nova Scotia. The retreat was based upon the teachings
of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche and was entitled, "Smile at Fear".
Both Linda and I have long been fans of Pema's work and her books, especially the
best seller, When Things Fall Apart, which although published prior to our current
social/political/economic crisis, seems to have been written precisely for these
times. So naturally, when we heard about the retreat, which was held at a huge
pavilion in the city of Richmond, we signed up for it, and not, it turned out, a
moment too soon.
Despite the fact that the event was being held in a building that could accommodate
3,000 people, we just barely made it in before it sold out.  The hotel that the
sponsoring organization had contracted with for the special room rate however had
sold out all of its rooms that had been reserved for the retreat. After many phone
calls and much time on line, we were able to find a nearby hotel that had rooms
available and we reserved one for the two nights that we would need accommodations.
At the end of the first evening, we drove to our hotel and because it was dark and
the road had a detour, I found it difficult to follow my directions. It took us
about three times longer to find our way to the hotel than it should have. I made
a verbal note to Linda to get an early start the next morning to make sure that
even if we got lost again, we would make it in time for the opening meditation.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it soon became evident that fate had
other plans for us.
After having breakfast at a nearby restaurant, we got on the road, with plenty of
time to spare and I proceeded to get us even more lost than we had been the night
before. Still, I wasn't worried since we had left early enough to deal with any
unplanned meanderings and still make it in time. When after about fifteen minutes
going in what turned out to be the wrong direction, it became obvious to us both
when we ended up at a dead end, that my instincts, which are not always 100% reliable,
had unfortunately failed me and it was time for another game plan. The question
was of course "Now what?"
Although I was totally unfamiliar with the terrain, I declined Linda's suggestion
that we might consider asking someone for directions. No need to do that. I did
what any other man would do in a similar situation, one in which he had absolutely
no idea of where he was or how to get to where he wanted to go. There was of course
no need to ask anyone for directions. Yes my instincts had just failed me, but that
was all the more reason to trust that they would not fail me again. After all how
often does lightning strike twice in the same place? One misjudgment was fluke;
two would be a near impossibility. Besides I was really sure this time that I knew
the way.
Linda was beginning to have her doubts, but bless her heart, she gave me another
chance. Well, you'll be shocked... SHOCKED, to hear this, but it soon became apparent
that I was wrong again. Unbelievable! But apparently not to Linda who once again
asked me with great patience if I might want to reconsider my decision to not ask
anyone for directions. By now it was clear to me that it would probably be a good
idea to take Linda's suggestion and pop the question to someone who might know more
than I did about the local territory, which probably would have been anyone over
three years old that happened to be in the vicinity. The clerk in a nearby convenience
store gave me clear directions to the pavilion.
I thanked him, got back into the car and happily headed towards our destination.
It looked like we were going to make it on time after all. When we began to see
signs directing cars to the retreat, I knew that we were home free, or so it seemed.
Unfortunately, this was not to be the case.  Four blocks from the pavilion a flashing
red light appeared up ahead accompanied by a clanging bell. The two cars in front
of me stopped at the railroad crossing that was about twenty-five feet in front
of us.
My mood immediately got dark again with all kinds of very unenlightened thoughts
and urges coming into my mind. In an instant, I went from perfect peace to perfect
frustration. I checked the time. We still had nearly ten minutes before the first
session began and we were so close to our destination. Even if the train took five
minutes to pass we would still have enough time to get to the parking lot and make
it inside before the meditation began. No problem, except for one thing: The train
turned out to be by far the longest train that I had ever seen in my life. It took
more than five minutes, more than ten minutes, more than fifteen minutes. It took
over twenty minutes for that train to pass and for the crossing bars to finally
lift to let the drivers in what had now become  an incredibly long line of cars
to restart their engines and resume their travels.
My initial reaction to yet another roadblock was to become possessed by a frenzy
of impotent outrage. In the midst of my expletive-filled rantings, Linda, gently
reminded me of three things that  that stopped me and my rantings cold in my tracks
(almost literally!).
One: There is nothing that we can do about this situation.
Two: It is temporary and at some point it will end.
Three: We came to the retreat to experience peace, greater awareness, and acceptance
of the experience of the present moment.
I don't know whether it was her words, her tone of voice, her clarity, or some combination
of the above that shook me out of my entranced state and illuminated the ludicrousness
of my reaction. The irony of freaking out because I was so impatient to get to a
meditation in order to practice mindfulness hit me between the eyes. I felt both
foolish and grateful simultaneously. I realized that we had been given a gift: an
opportunity to practice what Pema had spoken about in the opening evening session:
to be able to bring a mind of openness, acceptance, and non-judging awareness into
all of our experiences, not just those that go in accordance with our plans. Not
because this was the right thing to do, or because there was some reward that we
would get for being mindful, but simply because to do otherwise was a certain prescription
for continuing to create pain and suffering, something that I had just experienced
a vivid taste of.
I looked over at Linda. She wasn't distressed at all. She was smiling, not at fear,
but at the ridiculous spectacle that I had made of myself in thinking that if I
got upset enough, reality might change. My frustration melted in that moment and
I experienced a feeling of incredible gratitude towards Linda and a release of
the distress that I had been feeling. In what seemed like a moment later, the last
train car passed, and the gate lifted. I started the car and we  drove into the
parking lot which was only about 100 yards away.
The five minute walk from our parking spot to our seat inside of the pavilion was
delicious. I realized about halfway to the building that I must have been smiling,
because nearly everyone that I passed with whom I made eye contact, seemed to be
smiling back at me. I smiled through the morning meditation and I'm smiling now
as I write this. I'm remembering the words of Swami Satchidananda, who was fond
of saying that we can't stop the waves from coming, but we can learn to surf. Hang
ten!
-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-
As I anticipate my favorite holiday, I am reminded of the words of Meister Eckhart:
"If the only prayer you said in your life was 'Thank you', that would be enough."
Imagine, if you can, what your life would be like if the other 364 days of the year
were also infused with the same spirit of gratitude that we feel when we are reminded
of our gifts and blessings at Thanksgiving.
Have a happy Thanksgiving every day.
Many blessings,
Linda and Charlie Bloom