Time’s almost up. I am in the homestretch of a race that got underway many months ago–heck, perhaps many years ago. How does one measure such things after all? The particular leg of the marathon that is my life is about to end, even as I pass the baton to myself for the next leg (I know, my metaphors are a bit murky tonight, but hopefully the point is relatively clear.)
This has been as week of missing things: on Monday evening I missed a class at the Buddhist meditation center I’ve spent a lot of time at over the past year. I thought I could make it, but was in the thick of packing and planning and couldn’t stop to drive the 30 minutes to Oakland and would have been too distracted by my massive to-do list to be able to meditate or concentrate on what the teachers were sharing. Today I missed my last opportunity to volunteer at the Berkeley Food Pantry. I had intended to go, but again had way too much to do and not enough time. I could easily spend another three or four hours working tonight if it weren’t dark and I weren’t already pretty worn out. Tomorrow I hope I can have my last breakfast with Mary before I leave, but could end up missing that too if I find I’m already too anxious about what needs to get done that I can’t eat. We’ll see.
I am grateful tonight to have had a relatively calm day today. With all the opportunities for panic, stress, anxiety, sadness, etc., I have remained remarkably calm. Perhaps it’s because I have a destination and that things are finally coming into focus after months of uncertainty. Perhaps I am delirious or delusional and simply don’t realize that I should be freaked out by all that still needs to be done. Either way, I am calm and not overly emotional with all that’s going on. Tomorrow might be different, but today was good. My sister sent me a quote this morning from the Dutch writer Corrie ten Boom: “Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.” So true. So I purpose within myself to not worry, as best I can anyway.
Every morning when I write in my journal, I write several lovingkindness meditation phrases that are now part of my daily ritual. They are well-wishes, much like prayers, that I offer for myself, for my loved ones, and for all beings. They are simple: “May I be peaceful and happy. May I be safe and protected from harm. May I be healthy and strong in body, mind, and spirit. May I live with joy, ease, and wellbeing.” I write these phrases at the end of my journal each morning and offer them up. No doubt this practice is part of what’s helping me remain calm in the midst of an incredibly stressful time. Maybe it’s also that I’ve had such practice in managing drama over the past two years. Whatever the case, I am grateful for the calm that I felt today and actually over the past couple of days. I look forward to sustaining it in the days ahead.
As I’ve been sitting here pondering my calmness, I remembered the poem/prayer titled “Slow Me Down Lord” that I’d read many years ago. So I looked it up (I love Google) and share it with you below. May we all be filled with lovingkindness. May we be well. May we be peaceful and at ease. May we be truly happy.
Slow me down, Lord!Ease the pounding of my heart
By the quieting of my mind.
Steady my harried pace
With a vision of the eternal reach of time.
Give me,
Amidst the confusions of my day,
The calmness of the everlasting hills.
Break the tensions of my nerves
With the soothing music
Of the singing streams
That live in my memory.
Help me to know
The magical power of sleep,
Teach me the art
Of taking minute vacations
Of slowing down
To look at a flower;
To chat with an old friend
Or make a new one;
To pat a stray dog;
To watch a spider build a web;
To smile at a child;
Or to read a few lines from a good book.
Remind me each day
That the race is not always to the swift;
That there is more to life
Than increasing its speed.
Let me look upward
Into the branches of the towering oak
And know that it grew great and strong
Because it grew slowly and well.
Slow me down, Lord,
And inspire me to send my roots deep
Into the soil of life’s enduring values
That I may grow toward the stars
Of my greater destiny.
by Wilferd A. Peterson
