Sudden Fortune

Meditation still left me with a hollow reminder of the situation I had sought to confront. The thing itself had dissolved, but I am far from being so agile in the spiritual realm as to claim instant or complete victory over life’s challenges. An echo or a shadow of the problem still remained, and that did not surprise me.

Perhaps it is the investment of regular meditative effort that brings us fortune in such times - daily interest accruing in a valid inner currency, to pay off the rude bailiffs of fear and doubt. It may happen when we least expect it, and from surprising sources.

* * *

I have grown restless but it is now too dark to walk. I resolve to sing instead. Crossing the main room to draw the curtains I am pinned to the spot by a warmth beyond the physical, as if the very room embraces me. It is love, and unmistakably so. I stand surprised in the centre of it, smilingly, silently immersed. It comes from nowhere and everywhere. It is as if all the happy memories of that room have been recorded and are playing back to me in unison. Perhaps they have been playing all along, but I had not stopped to feel and listen.

Everywhere I look holds a reminder of love. I am amazed, and amazed I had not noticed earlier. The echo or the shadow of the problem I thought I had has dissolved. It is not merely an absence, but a presence of some new and sizeable fortune.

I remember my first night sitting in this room amidst the chaos of grime and cold and boxes. The love and hope I had for it warmed me, though of course I knew nothing of the memories it would contain. How many years have passed since then, and each so much happier than the last.

The curtain rail is crooked. My stepfather and I were tired from painting when we mounted it, but it was getting dark so we needed curtains. It has stayed as a quirky and humorous reminder of his self-giving nature, though I know it riles him.

A cluster of photographs rests in one corner. In one my brother holds his son in his arms. In another Sri Chinmoy is handing me a flower with a soft smile. In another I stand amongst many friends - I could look at each one and recall to mind some kind thing each has done for me. Some such remembered deeds are profound and multi-faceted.

A postcard from my father is carefully propped against some books - a young elephant stands behind its parent’s leg. Like a warm drink in winter its dear expression soothes me. One little wrinkled foot fondles its own extended trunk, or perhaps vice versa. I absorb the certain love of God in the animal’s creation. I absorb the love of my father in sending the card, knowing it would provoke a tender reaction in me.

A button newly sewn onto a shirt cuff - two years overdue, but my sentiments for the shirt brought me to search for the right fastening in my miscellaneous collection. It does not quite match, but something in that pleases me, as does the satisfaction of it being so lovingly attached to the fabric.

There are all the ingredients for sushi, neatly laid out, full of promise, in quaint Japanese packets. I love sushi and want to learn to make it for my friends some day soon, in case they love it too, or would learn to love it as I do.

In a rare oasis of space on the table: a card from one such friend. A painting of a lady, so sweetly absorbed in playing a sarod, sits beneath this poem:

"Awake, my dear.
Be kind to your sleeping heart.
Take it out into the vast field of light
And let it breathe."

- Hafiz

* * *

Sumangali Morhall
January 2006