That’s how it is with my life, and I’m guessing that it might be the same for you—that you look back, and that you can trace the path to exactly where you are right now. I don’t see how it could be any other way, really. With my logical mind, many of the steps that I've taken made no sense at the time and caused me pain, but from the vantage point of sitting here this morning, I see that they were the perfect route to what and who I am today.
Pema Chödrön says that looking back is a wise way to see our progress, because if, instead, we measure progress by how much further we have to go, we will certainly be overwhelmed by all the mountain there is left to climb. At the least we would try to minimize encounters with obstacles in order to get to the top the fastest way possible. And while such planning may make for effective mountaineering, it doesn't work as well when it comes to our lives.
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| Reminders of the obvious: Slogan wall by stupa at Gampo Abbey |
Sometimes we’d stop with my grandfather and pick wildflowers from between cracks in the slate. That such soft flowers grew among hard rock amazed me; I wondered if those flowers had caused the cracks simply by growing. I want to be like those flowers—soft yet resilient. I want to stop to pick flowers, pause to look back at the path that has brought me here, then step out again with sure footing.
The other day I found a small, round stone. It was smooth like a child’s cheek, and I slipped it in my pocket and turned it over and over between my fingers. It stood out because it was the only stone on the asphalt where I walked, and I wondered how it had gotten there. I keep it on my kitchen windowsill to remind me to keep noticing.
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| I want to keep noticing like this! |
Einstein says that it’s a miracle that curiosity survives formal education. The space of noticing, of being curious is where we first encounter knowing and, at the same time, not knowing. I am happy that this space survives in each of us. May we all find ways to reconnect with the wonder of not knowing, and may this lead us to step out in ways that amaze and delight us.
Two Kinds of Intelligence, by Rumi
There are two kinds of intelligence: one acquired,
as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts
from books and from what the teacher says,
collecting information from the traditional sciences
as well as from the new sciences.
With such intelligence you rise in the world.
You get ranked ahead or behind others
in regard to your competence in retaining
information. You stroll with this intelligence
in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more
marks on your preserving tablets.
There is another kind of tablet, one
already completed and preserved inside you.
A spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness
in the center of the chest. This other intelligence
does not turn yellow or stagnate. It's fluid,
and it doesn't move from outside to inside
through conduits of plumbing-learning.
This second knowing is a fountainhead
from within you, moving out.
