Enlightenment at Paneras

Enlightenment at Paneras

It was Easter week. The restaurant was more crowded than normal. Patrons werefrenetically vying for free tables. A family of six made its way to a large booth. The mother seated a four-year old child at the end of the booth. The food and drinks were carefully set on the table with a tall glass of milk in front of the child. As the boy reached for the too-large glass, it tipped over. A river of milk flowed across the table. The boy looked up in terror, expecting a tongue lashing from one of the adults. Instead of drama and chaos, the father reached for a stack of napkins, gave the boy a gentle smile and said, "Oh oh, let's clean that up!" The little boy's shoulders relaxed, relief visible on his face. The other adults continued eating as though nothing had happened.

 

I thought of that incident when Spirit of Maatasked me to write an article for the "Path to Enlightenment." It can be a grandiose topic. Google has 37 million entries on the subject. It frightens some people while it motivates others. To many, it feels like a "destination" on the path. So, what is enlightenment? Who has it? How did they get it? How do I become enlightened?

 

Enlightenment paths are varied. Some teach the way to enlightenment is to go to the mountains, find a cave, and meditate twelve hours a day. Others presentpractices guaranteed to cause enlightenment as though the act of enlightenment is the goal. Some travel all over the world in search of it. They think that through other cultures a magical elixir will bring it to them. It's even a business model for many New Age seminars and workshops.

 

The subject isn't far from the hearts or minds of conscious thinkers. But before bottoming out on the countless potholes on the road to enlightenment, stop a moment and reflect. Enlightenment is a character trait. It's how one behaves during an altercation. Enlightenment is inner wisdom. It's how one perceives an event, looking at the whole effect rather than the pieces. Enlightenment is spiritual maturity. It's how one interprets teachings and uses the teachings for the benefit of all. Enlightenment is the daily living of life with consciousness and integrity. Enlightenment is holding a compassionate, peaceful demeanor, no matter the circumstances.

 

The path to getting there? Not so easy! It requires discipline. It requires desire. It requires a commitment. How to get there? It's a very personal journey. Only the individual can determine what path to take amid the hundreds presented over the course of a lifetime. It's not a one-size-fits-all path. And it's not an actual destination. It's simply the path.

 

Thousands of years ago a master teacher, was asked "How do I become enlightened?" He answered, "Chop wood and carry water." A subtle, holy consciousness exists in the chopping of wood and the carrying of water. Whether the path takes you to a mountain cave of silence or to the active life of a house-holder, consciousness is ever present. Recognizing that consciousness and being mindful of it as often as you can, is the path to enlightenment.

 

The father who simply cleaned up the river of milk spilled by his son, was the mirror of enlightenment. In the midst of potential chaos he maintained calm and peacefulness. His behavior displayed sweet compassion towards his son. And his behavior allowed the rest of his dining companions, to eat without incident. His peacefulness affected not just his table but all those tables around him. He may not have been conscious of his own enlightened behavior, but to this observer he personified it. He was chopping wood and carrying water, and on the very path of enlightenment.

 

Jo Mooy - June 2015    

What's Love - Feb. 2015

“I love you so much, Moo Moo” he said, putting his arms around me and resting his head on top of mine. He was 15 years old when he said that - an age when most teenagers hardly utter a civil word to members of their family, much less express such a heart-felt emotion to a visiting grandmother. It was so unexpected I couldn't respond. So I just hugged him back, content in this moment of enjoying a grandson's surprise expression of love.

No longer interested in the video games they'd been playing for hours downstairs, he and his younger brother sat with me as others cleared the table from Thanksgiving dinner. They asked me questions about my childhood and where I'd grown up, laughing at some of the stories. I remembered for them each of their births, recalling how I'd raced two and a half hours across several states to see them when they were but hours old. It was no struggle to remember the dark haired infant that was now six feet tall standing next to me.

When just the three of us were alone, he asked me a question that revealed not just how much he'd grown but also portrayed the depth and maturity of who he was becoming. He asked me, “Moo Moo, is there anything that I did that you would not forgive me for?” I just looked at him, stunned by the question. I was not yet ready to answer him. My mind raced in countless directions, wondering why he asked that question of all questions. He returned my gaze quite easily so I asked him let me think about that a moment. He continued to stand there patiently waiting for my answer. His younger brother slid over to a chair closer to us, also intent on my answer. Because both brothers were very close I knew whatever I said would be later dissected and discussed in private.

After a moment of silent centering and an invocation for guidance, I told him that love and forgiveness were interchangeable pieces of the same emotion. I told him that I would always love him and his brother. That they might do things in life that could hurt many people, some of which might be judged unforgivable, but love would always be constant. “Like what?” he asked. Realizing I was letting a “teaching moment” get away, I took the plunge.

Here's a short list of some things that could badly hurt you along with the most important people in your life. These things damage your character or your body and would be hard to forgive because you have control over them. They moved closer. I held up my closed hand, listing each of four things with an outstretched finger. “Doing drugs. Misusing alcohol. Intentionally hurting others. Not sticking up for the underdog.” In unison they both said “We don't do drugs.” With one item cleared off the list I knew they'd be thinking about the other three for a while.

Both of them were quiet for a few minutes. Then the oldest one again put his arms around me and said, “So you would always love me?” Yes said I, but remember, the older you get, the longer the list gets. They hugged me and headed off to the next round of video games while I sat by the fire thinking about “What's Love?”

I went through a litany of things that I know Love is. Love is a chemical reaction. Love is compassion. Love is emotional commitment. Love is a magnetic binding. Love is service. Love is kindness. Love is a spiritual experience. Love is God. But on that Thanksgiving afternoon, Love was my 15 year old grandson wrapping me in his arms and telling me he loved me and asking about forgiveness.

Grandmother Protectors

The Grandmother Protectors 

     

We'd just returned from a lengthy hike. Sitting down to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, our ears picked up a soft moaning wail. It was a sound that felt strangely misplaced in a California State Park filled with families laughing and happily enjoying summer vacations. We looked around for the source of the sound. Then we saw him.

A little boy with light colored hair stood with the front of his body pressed against a giant Ponderosa pine. The tree dwarfed him. He rubbed his teary eyes through his sobs. My first thought, (rather, it was the one I wanted to believe) was that he was somehow communicating with the tree. We had done the same thing by hugging one of the towering trees earlier on our hike.  But that notion was quickly dispelled. The little boy was being punished. The events that happened over the next thirty minutes not only confirmed it but has left an indelible imprint on my psyche.

His family, a collection of variously aged generations, was eating a well spread out lunch at a picnic table near the tall tree. All of them ignored the child. But we couldn't. After a while his sobs subsided and he began to look around though he never left the tree. Then his mother got up. At last, I thought, she's going to bring him to the picnic table with the rest of the family. But that wasn't her plan. She went to the little boy, slapped him hard across the back, twisted his arm, shoved his face into the tree, and pushed him to his knees. His sobs began again louder than before.

We were stunned by her behavior. But my partner sprang to life, announcing "this is child abuse" and went to get the park ranger. As she strode into the office area the mother went to the restroom near where I was sitting. I decided to confront her when she came out. As I stood in front of her, I noticed her face was splotchy and angry, her hair disheveled, and she seemed tormented. I told her I'd seen how she treated the little boy and surely there must be another way. She replied that she would not tolerate his misbehavior. I asked her what memories she wanted this child to carry into his life - one enjoying a family vacation or the abuse he was suffering at her hands. She stared at me defiantly, assessing how she'd answer. I said "there will come a time when you'll wish to hold this child in your arms instead of smashing him into a tree."

Perhaps realizing there might be trouble brewing, she hurriedly moved away from me. Then I saw the entire family had gathered up their half-eaten lunches and were moving away from the area. Especially now that my partner had arrived with the Park Ranger in tow. Wondering about the little boy, (and secretly hoping they'd left him behind) I noticed his grandmother had retrieved him from the tree and was carrying him away in her arms.

In domestic situations like this something must be done. We confronted the issue by finding the Park Ranger who might be able to help. But there was something more to consider. The mother must have learned that behavior somewhere in her life in order to rain down such punishment on a defenseless child. And sadly, he was going back into that environment no matter what the Park Ranger did.

So we did what we knew to do. Going into the forest, we (two grandmothers) bowed our heads and appealed to the Goddess of the Forest and the Mother Earth Guardian of us all to protect that little boy. We prayed for peacefulness to surround his mother and we asked that his future days be blessed with harmony instead of hatred. We prayed that his own grandmother be there as a safety net while he was growing up.

It's been several months since witnessing that event in the state park. But not a day goes by that I don't think of the little boy crying into the tree. The image stays in my memory as a reminder to continue offering prayers not only for him but for all the children who suffer in this heinous way. And during this month of Thanksgiving I am keenly grateful for all the grandmothers who protect their grandchildren somehow, someway, from all who would harm their innocent souls.

Jo Mooy - November 2013