A Rim and a Prayer

I guess the title of my blog today makes is sound like things are a bit dicey, but actually I think we are always coming into town on a rim and a prayer, so to speak. So why not just call it what it is. What we think is solid and certain really isn't ever solid and certain, we just trick ourselves into thinking that it is so that we can feel "safe." At least that's how I work (and I guess I can really only speak for myself). But if we were to wake up to the ungrounded nature of our life, would we feel afraid or would we feel liberated? Speaking for myself, I'd say (off hand) afraid. But I can see how it could be liberating--like going down the river without a raft--in that when we're (er, I'm) not clinging to what we think is solid ground, then so much more is possible. If we can let go of our limited sense of the world, and ourselves in it and in relation to it, we can really be present and not be bound by a narrow sense of identity, a small, limited self.


How does this work in daily life, you may ask? Good question. I'm not sure I can answer, except today I dropped my daughter off at the airport at 6 am, kissed her goodbye and realized, on top of this being the end of our month together in Minneapolis--this sweet and sometimes sour time--I'm really not sure when I'm going to see her again as she's talking about staying in MN (after her return from LA next weekend) until her school starts. My own school starts not long after I come back from Cambodia--how will I see her? No need to worry about it now. We will (as I often say) fall off that cliff when we come to it. I fretted for a moment when she left. And I have thought about her a lot today as I did some things that she would like (went for a bike ride around Lake of the Isles and checked out a new restaurant--see below) and some things she didn't (went to the First Universalist Church). I miss her. I wish I could be with both of my kids. But instead of dwelling on that, I let it be. That feeling of longing has come and gone numerous times today and I have felt that heartache (for lack of a better word) that one feels about one's children in their absence or in the parting. 


But it hasn't been the only thing I felt today. I also really felt grateful for my time in the Sanctuary at church. I loved my bike ride. I laughed at my impulsive decision to ride over to The Midtown Cafeteria for Sunday Brunch--which turned out to be a plate full of cholesterol and mainly animal-based food (which I haven't had in months). I almost ordered a drink (hey, it was 2:30 pm and it was 5:30 pm somewhere). I guess that's what happens when your health-conscious vegan daughter leaves town: you eat meat and (almost) drink alcohol. 

This is "The Uptown Cafeteira and Support Group"--no lies.

I bet your cholesterol just went up looking at this "Full Monty English Breakfast." Yes, that's bacon AND sausage.

Fun decor.

And condiments. Siracha and Mrs. Butterworth's.

You also wouldn't want to miss the Bloody Mary Bar. That's Bloody Mary Tyler Moore Bar to you.

After my indulgent artery-clogging meal I continued my bike ride around Lake of the Isles. I loved clunking along on my trail bike. I even took a call on my cell phone Amsterdam-style (they all talk on the phone while they ride), though I stopped and sat under a tree for most of the conversation.

Some other fun times on the Greenway Bike Trail.

A funny bumpersticker on the way to the FUCOM--I just love the way it cuts to the chase, so to speak.

"Lord, help me to be the person my dog thinks I am."

I guess that pretty much says it. It seems to me that dogs are in love with every moment, accepting of every circumstance we offer. When you come home, they are delighted to see you. When you feed them, there isn't a better thing that could happen. When it's time for a walk, there is joy and excitement. When they meet a new person, they couldn't be more gleeful. When you are a dog, it seems (unless you are one of those dogs who needs prozac?), every moment is an opportunity for happiness. They must imagine us as providing one glorious opportunity after another--bringing joy and happiness at every turn. 

Likewise, when one is awake to the essential groundlessness of our human condition, there's nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing to be other than right where we are. When it's time for a walk, we light up; when we see a new person, we are elated. Everything can be, if we choose, as glorious and exciting as the next (or last) moment.  If only we choose to let go of the raft, our narrow sense of ourself, our expectation of stability, we could let the river carry us to just where we need to go. And we would delight in that liberation rather than fear we might drown.