And Now, Back to You:
I love gratitude lists.
I do, I love them.
I think gratitude lists are one of The best ideas Ever, except for when I’m feeling ungrateful.
It’s been a time of barely having time to recover from one challenge before the next one makes contact two by four-style. As I looked out into the gloriously sunny morning it occurred to me that I could choose to do just about anything I wanted. That somehow made me feel a fraction lighter. Mind you, I’m talking about the simplest of options, no, the options aren’t endless, hopping a plane home isn’t actually an option, but there are countless other options. My spouse has a long day at work meaning I have the house to myself from morning to late tonight. The simple pleasures that alone affords are countless. I can sing out loud without a bit of self-consciousness. I could use way too much jelly. It’s an unusually warm February day here in the desert. I could walk the dog through the arroyo and follow coyote and bobcat tracks. I could finish a book, color, or take a nap. I could have a great lunch or just a big bowl of ice cream. I hadn’t set out to create a list, but the idea of having the choice and freedom to choose from so many simple pleasures was its own kind of freedom. I mean, to have the opportunity and the time at the same time, to you know, just do what you want: track a bobcat or take a nap? That’s outrageous, right?
I know. I had to back up too. Sometimes it seems like when there’s finally an opening that it can happen so quickly that we stumble back from the widening edge, scrambling for solid ground rather than recognizing it as the opening we needed and longed for and falling gratefully into new heights of trust.
Too often gratitude can be based on comparison, if not with actual people, then inside our own heads, of what we have that some unfortunate other folks don’t have and, we’re told, we should be grateful for this; grateful that the discrepancies are in our favor. Of course, I tend to understand that as the lottery of privilege, not blessing; perhaps a reason to be grateful, but more often a reason to work towards reconciliation and justice. But, over the course of time, some growth, and some clarity that aging itself might bring, I don’t find myself ungrateful because of anything I don’t have. It’s not that we have a lot. Just the opposite is true. The discrepancies are Not in our favor. It would be challenging to live more simply than we do. It’s just that, aside from another book from time to time, I don’t really want much of anything. So maybe more authentic gratitude comes from what we do or even what we could do rather than what we have or don’t have.
Maybe feeling grateful is a matter of looking more at possibilities rather than facts. After all, thinking, “I can’t do whatever” may well be a fact, but thinking “I could do whatever” is at least thinking possibility and possibility will always make better building materials than facts.
But what if neither action nor the possibility of action were realistic? What if I were ill? What about loved ones who are ill or infirm, who have no options of taking a walk or eating a bowl of ice cream to consider? What about that time that will come for all of us, when we will not be getting and having won’t matter anymore, those times when possibility has evaporated? What of gratitude then? How will we offer thanks then? What can we find then to give praise for? Are we only to arrive at a darkness where we are bitterly resigned, where neither possession, nor action, nor even their possibility can be a source of gratitude or a depository and defender of our worth?
Perhaps, this is what we all fear, yet maybe this is the place we were meant to aim for the whole time: a gratitude so pure that it’s not contingent on possession, accomplishment, or even possibility; a gratitude that doesn’t defend our worth, but that holds it. Here, as always, we must go lower to reach higher. We must dig beneath what we can have, beneath what we can do, all the way down to our core, so low into what we are that we strike what we were meant to be and always were: a distillation of our Source, somehow containing That which contains us; children of God that bear an intentional resemblance to our Creator. Here, we can see that comparison never could yield gratitude, only living In our identity can do that. Centered in the Truth of who we are, we become like children on the playground, each boasting proudly of their father’s impressive vocation to the others around because we actually feel so safe, so secure, so protected that we’re excited about it. We’re pretty proud of how certain we can be that someone has our back, how confident we are that we won’t be alone. We work and play and rest differently knowing we belong, knowing we have a Home, knowing we’re companioned. To the great “I Am”, we are glorious, though profoundly miniature and dependent, “i am, too’s”.
But I have the worst amnesia.
Apparently, I’m so certain that I’m a bastard that I keep forgetting who my Father is.
And that’s it again, isn’t it? I didn’t slip into ingratitude over anything I don’t have. I slipped into ingratitude because I slipped into believing a lie about myself. I’m not unhappy or ungrateful because of what I don’t have, but because of what I started believing about myself. Focusing on what I don’t have makes a great temporary distraction from hating what I started to believe I am.
But when I remember,
I remember that I don’t have to look for love or peace.
I don’t have to try and find healing or gratitude
or anything else that I was born with and born of.
I am rest.
I am song.
I am the steps of a lifetime,
a journal of wisdom, a diary
of a million conversations with God
in a million different disguises,
and I am a map to where we’ll meet again,
innocent and unwounded,
unbound and wide as
stars can be flung.
– PreetamDas Kirtana 2/19/15