Stones

There were three of them. All women. They got up in the small hours of the morning, before the sun was out, prepared themselves and took with them special spices to use in their act of love.

They headed out, unsure of how they would overcome the challenge. The stone was huge and the one thing that stood between them and the task at hand. Not only were they talking among themselves about how it would even be possible to move it but they surely went over this challenge a thousand times in their minds as well …

However, when they got there, the stone was gone! It had already been moved. The problem had been taken care of and they could just walk right in and do what they had come for!

How true is this with the stones in our own lives – the challenges we face, the obstacles that prevent us from being successful or happy or from doing what we are supposed to do. Stones block our progress. They limit our possibilities. They keep us “anchored” in one place when we know we have somewhere else to go.

And the stones become the things that occupy all of our thoughts, words and actions. They frame the way we look at ourselves, our presents and futures. Because most of the time we don’t know how we would move them or who would help us do it.

But often, as we try to figure this out on our own, someone has already taken care of the stones on our behalf. Some stones get moved. Others are broken into many smaller pieces so we can move them with almost no effort. And as this happens, someone provides the answer, unlocks the chains or opens the door. And all we need to do is step right into the possibilities waiting on the other side of the stone that blocked our view.

Because all of life’s stones, even the biggest mountain, can be moved. It takes unconditional love and the knowledge that anything is possible!

Boxes

When we move house, we pack up our lives in boxes. We wrap our fragile possessions in paper or bubble wrap and pack them carefully. Making sure they are safe. Nothing can get to them and they will still be in tact when we reach our destination.

The boxes “frame” our possessions, keep them safe, together and in one place. And as we pack, different things go into different boxes that we label and (if we are super-organized) categorize to help us know which room each box should go to.

In the same way, we use boxes to hold or keep together things we value – the cards, notes, letters we get from someone we care for or who cares for us. These boxes become treasure chests of memories – reminders of times and events we cherish.

And then there are the boxes we use to pack things in that we don’t use anymore but don’t want to get rid of. Or things we are not ready to get rid of. Though they are ours and we considered them our prime possessions at some point, they have become redundant in our lives. The boxes cover them as we put them away somewhere.

Boxes have also become the ways in which we often talk, these days. They have become the “frames” that keep our words safe, together, in one place. They are “labeled” – blue boxes for the words I write, white boxes for those of whoever is on the other side of my screen. They become the treasure chest of our memories, reminders of times, events and exchanges we cherish.

Some of them are labeled “please tell me something positive that helps me forget for a moment the chaos I see around me.” Others have a tag that says “I have the most amazing thing to share with you!” And others read: “I miss you and I wish you were here …” Some boxes say: “Listen to this beautiful song,” or “Have you ever read this poem?” Boxes help us figure out important decisions. They talk about the weather and the things we see around us. They also keep thoughts of exchanges we once valued but which have become redundant as time passed. Things we want to put away somewhere.

These boxes are invisible and in some way don’t even exist. We cannot pick them up and move them somewhere. We cannot bump into them and they don’t take up physical space.

Yet, they become the “keepers” of some of our most valuable possessions – our words, thoughts, emotions. Our plans, dreams and experiences. The things that make us happy, sad, angry or scared.

And as we travel through life, pack up and “move house,” they remain our way of keeping our thoughts together and organized. They become reminders of conversations over time. Treasure chests through which we celebrate milestones, close some chapters and start writing new ones. Safely wrapped so nothing can get to them.

Blue boxes for me and white ones for whoever is on the other side of my screen …

Clay

My sister often comments on how we are “cut from the same piece of wood.” When I recently mentioned this to a friend, he remarked how there is a saying in Bangla: “Amra aki matir toiri” – “we all share/are made of the same clay!”

This line made me realize again how, in essence, people are all the same. We all have the same “basic ingredients.” However, the “sameness” of our clay gets covered up because we look different, speak in different languages, wear different clothes, pray to different gods. And soon, instead of focusing on our “sameness” we start focusing on the things that make us different.*

And just a few weeks ago all this came to life in probably one of the most peaceful places on earth.

On the concrete floor, covered in plastic, were balls of clay. The potter had prepared them for the day’s production and they were waiting to be transformed into pots. These balls were all the same size, formed from the same clay. Put in orderly lines. And some distance away, on the same concrete floor, I saw more lines: finished pots that have just gone through the potter’s soft and loving hands. These pots were all still the same – in size, shape and color. They were all formed from the same clay by the same potter.

However, once these pots go into the oven, heat impacts them differently. Some get deformed. Others change color. Some even crack or break apart … Some pots, however, get tempered by the heat of the oven – they become the strongest pots they can potentially be. And as they emerge from the oven, they get categorized. The ones who could not successfully survive the effect of the heat are put in one category to be used for an “everyday” purpose, something people might consider less valuable – a trash can or a storage container.

The others who were tempered and became stronger as a result of the heat become valuable possessions – pieces people want to display and talk about. Something they value and want others to value, too. These pieces are well taken care of. They are loved.

As people, we are created equal – we share the same clay! And the potter who created us loves us equally. He sees in one person the same potential and wonder he sees in another. However, the heat of life’s oven – circumstances, people, experiences – change us as we respond to it in different ways. Some of us get deformed, change color, crack, break apart. Other, however, become the strongest people we can potentially be. And as we emerge from life’s oven, we start categorizing people. We see the “cracked” ones or those whose color changed as a result of the heat as “not good enough.” Easily replaceable. Those we cannot afford to associate ourselves with. The type of people we don’t want to spend time with because they are “different.” We put labels on them because they are “not smart enough,” “addicted,” “homeless,” “poor,” “depressed.” We make them life’s trash cans or storage containers.

In the same way, we look at the ones who have successfully withstood the oven’s heat as “cool,” “influential,” “rich” – people we should associate ourselves with and take good care of. People we want to spend time with. People we should love.

Reality is, “amra aki matir toiri.” The same potter created all of us. From little balls of clay that were the same size and color. And we need to look beyond the cracks, the changed color, the odd shape and the fact that some are almost falling apart. We should see the sameness of the clay we share and realize again that the potter loves us all equally. To the end and in spite of the oven’s heat.

 

* As I was contemplating these thoughts, writing this in my mind, someone else was, unknowingly, doing the same. So the end result – this blog post – is a joint effort! Proof that we do share the same clay!

 

** Photo credit: “Lined up” – Elanderi Steyn

Peace

Peace is undefined. It comes in smells, sounds, sights of color and people who love each other and who love being with each other. It comes in times when we do life together. Seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.

Peace is good food. A table set for and occupied by people who have more in common than they have differences.

Peace is maroon chairs, sitting side-by-side watching … nothing. Needing just the mud to experience true “feet-in-the-mud” moments.

Peace is being alone, on your own but hearing the calming sound of people talking, birds singing, bicycle bells ringing, children laughing and the “end of the meal” cleanup in the kitchen next to you.

Peace is in putting your hands and fabric in natural dyes and seeing the color change the fabric for good. Watching women make the freshest popped rice right in front of your eyes.

Peace is realizing the value of life and of being alive. Peace is knowing you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Where you are unconditionally unafraid, loved to death and experiencing the value of being – being loved, being able to love, being valued, being understood with and without words, close or far apart, being able to inspire and be inspired.

Peace is here where everything seems perfect and complete. In a place someone you love calls home and a place where you understand so much more about who you are, where you are from and where you are going.

Longing

We never plan for it to happen. There’s no expectation that it should be or could be a part of who we are. Sometimes it starts as something small, almost unnoticeable. Other times, though, it pulls at us with the force of an ocean desperate to take us where we will not feel land underneath our feet again…

It happens when something inside us changes. When we are left different than we were before. When we see, feel, experience something that makes us look at the world with different eyes. When something is forever a part of who we are but it isn’t … When it defines us but it doesn’t. When we have it but we don’t. When we can see it clearly but we can’t.

And then it becomes Brenda Finne’s words: being in our minds “inbetween red lights and meetings, inbetween sips of coffee, inbetween ringing phones …”

It is longing … for places, people, experiences that have changed something inside us. Left us different than we were before we knew they existed …

9-1-1

It is the national emergency number in the U.S. that was first used in Alabama in February 1968. Today, by calling this single number, citizens get access to police, ambulance and fire services when emergency workers in call centers answer the calls.

These responders are often referred to as “carers” – people who do work that involves helping others. They are people who care about their communities and the people in them. They are trained to be calm and compassionate when they deal with others’ crises. However, caring for others remains an integral part of who they are and what they do.

Often when we hear recordings of 9-1-1 calls, we identify two types of responders. Those who take the call, get as much information as they can and dispatch emergency crews, telling the caller “Help is on its way.” In some cases, their work is done then and they take the next call because the crisis seems to be under control.

However, there are those who stay with the caller. Asking them questions, listening to their crises, trying to understand what they think, feel and experience in the particular situation. “Staying” with the caller and helping them through the crisis is their most important role. And they stay until the emergency crews are there and they are sure the crisis had been resolved.

They do this because they care and they do it despite the fact that they, themselves, dread to imagine the potential outcome of the situation if their assistance fails.

In life, we all make (or need to make) emergency calls from time to time. 9-1-1 is often on speed-dial on the phones of our lives.

And when we hit speed dial, we reach out to specific “responders” – those people we trust. The ones we know care for us. The ones we know will be calm and compassionate when they take our calls.

They are the people who know in a single moment that we are not OK. One look into our eyes, one line in a text message or one sentence on the phone. Sometimes they don’t even need to ask. They just know.

And in that instant, our responders cancel their plans, clear their schedules and stay, holding our hands. They talk some but they mostly listen. They walk us through the crisis. They don’t go anywhere until they hear, see or understand: we are OK again. The crisis is over for now.

These people are our carers. All we need to do is hit their number on speed dial!

Fly

It is one thing humans seem infatuated with – the ability to fly!

Greek mythology tells us about Icarus who decided to escape the island Crete using wings his dad made with feathers and wax. And probably because he was so satisfied that he could fly higher and higher, the sun melted the wax on his wings, he fell into the sea and drowned …

We came closer to realizing this fascination just over a century ago when Orville and Wilbur Wright successfully experimented with a flying machine that carried a human being, rose off the ground, flew at an even speed and landed again in one piece!

Today, it is estimated that close to 3 billion people fly on almost 38 million flights every year!

However, flying doesn’t always mean buying a ticket, going through the long security lines without shoes and belts, sitting in close proximity to others for several hours and finally arriving at our destination with (or without) luggage!

We sometimes fly without wings. Without going to the airport and without spending money.

Because there are moments in life when we just take off! It can happen when we hear a specific piece of music, or when we sing a song. When we are reminded of a special experience through sight, sound or smell. When we see the face of someone we love. Feel them hold us close. When we wander through a lonely street, look at the clouds in the sky or feel the wind on our faces.

These are the times when we close our eyes, feel our feet lift off the ground and see ourselves flying through the air. Or when we close our eyes, throw our heads back and our arms into the air and allow the freedom of flight to take us to places we haven’t been in a long time.

Sometimes these moments last for only a few minutes – like a short flight on which the attendants barely have time to serve the beverages. Other times, however, it feels like the moments will go on forever – like a flight across the ocean on which you see the sun rise and set several times before you reach your destination. Other than these long flights across the ocean, though, we never want these moments to end. We find ways to make them last as long as we can and happen as often as possible.

Because when we fly, we feel alive, free. As if we have no limitations and are living life to the full! Despite our broken wings or feelings that we might not have wings at all.

We need to fly – we owe it to ourselves!

* Image: Mahin Rony

Chapters

The first books we “read” are ones with basic pictures – those from which we can usually pretty much make up the story for ourselves. But as we become more skilled in recognizing the secret language hidden behind letters, punctuation marks and grammar, the books become more complicated. Single words and later sentences then start to accompany the pictures. As we progress, the pictures become fewer and the words more. The story is there – it is up to us to form imaginary pictures of the scenes, situations or characters.

And then we reach the point where we start reading chapter books. Books in which different isolated “episodes” don’t make up the story on their own. Books in which these chapters combine to make up the whole story. Books in which the detail, outcome or different nuances would probably not be as clear if one or more of the chapters didn’t exist.

So it is with life, too. We need all our chapters to make our story complete. We need the happy, uplifting and positive ones to make us feel that life, in the end, was worthwhile! But we also need the sad, negative and distressing ones to teach us what life really is about, who the people are who really matter.

Sometimes we look back at life and at the chapters in our books and we want to rip out some, erase it to make our books happier ones.

But since books are sacred things, to some extent, things we should have respect for, cherish and preserve, ripping out pages doesn’t seem like a viable option. A better option seems to keep those chapters we don’t want in our books. Instead of ripping them out, gluing them together or using a stapler or tape to make sure we cannot see between the pages anymore. Make sure the chapter is there but not accessible.

Because though they are important parts of our books, parts that we learn valuable lessons from, some chapters should be closed. And they should remain closed so we can focus on the remaining chapters – the ones filled with good experiences, positive events, loving people.

And throughout this, we should remember that individual chapters are not the plot or outcome of the book. They are merely units that work with other units to make our life stories complete.

 

Image: http://asouthernfriedmess.wordpress.com/tag/free-books/

Tumi to emon e, Dhaka!

 

Stray dogs run through your streets hoping to find something to eat. Young and old visit the same roadside garbage mounts for food and other valuable finds that can make their lives a little better.

Various forms of transportation fight for a space on your roads that were built to accommodate a far less populated city than who you are now. Traffic rules seem nonexistent as everyone tries to move forward in the stream of chaos that is traffic on your streets.

People knock on car windows and their eyes tell a story of severe suffering, of lives filled with no hope for the future. Their bodies tell a story of physical disability, past and present pain and an inability to function normally.

Political instability and turmoil are engrained in your fiber. Police and army officials with big firearms walk your streets, guard your intersections from early morning to late at night.

You are an assault on the senses!

Yet, color is one of the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks about you! Women dressed in beautifully colorful outfits, fruit and vegetables perfectly arranged on venders’ vans and stalls, bags of cotton candy in every color of the rainbow, rickshaws displaying works of art that tell your story!

Beautiful sounds fill the air as rickshaw drivers ring their bells, people talk in the colorful local language, children laugh as they improvise in a game of cricket or badminton in first open space they can find.

And then there is the eyes and the smiles of the almost 20 million people who call you home as they go about their everyday lives. Eyes and smiles that shine of hope, happiness and a belief that there is a future for them in this place they call home. There is the spirit of hard work and entrepreneurship that one sees on every corner. There is the love and care in the hearts of people as they welcome strangers into their homes, their workplaces and their lives.

You are an assault on the senses but you contain all that is live. You are a city of poverty but the riches and true value of life are found in your people. You are one of the most densely populated cities in the world but there is always room to welcome a new friend in your midst. You are struggling but you are fighting, persevering, knowing that tomorrow is a new day.

Tumi to emon e, Dhaka!

Footnote

When we write academic papers/articles we sometimes need to explain something in a little more detail. Add some information that will give context, add insight, help the reader understand a statement or a fact. We then use either a supertext number or symbol after the piece we need to elaborate on and insert the additional information at the bottom of the page.

We call it a footnote.

A footnote is neither the text itself, nor is it the main focus of what we write about. It is simply an addition. A tool to help the main text come alive.

Life is a text. And sometimes it needs footnotes. A small number in supertext with additional information at the bottom of the page. Information about an incident, a relationship, an episode that helps us better understand the complexities of life.

But the footnotes are not life itself. The episodes, the incidents, the relationships are not what define the text of life. They are there to supplement the bigger text. To help us better understand the full text.

Yet, we allow bad decisions, manic episodes, times of depression or failure, stupid mistakes, bad relationships – the footnotes of our lives – to become the text itself. And instead of seeing these as supplementary to who we really are, we become them.

Life is a text. An academic paper of some sorts, if you will. To understand the details of life, you have to read the full paper. The complete text. And see the footnotes for what they are!