This new week begins with me very thankful to have taken the leap to try out this intentional living situation. For years, when I would tell people I was something of a nun at heart, they would remind me that there are Episcopal orders. But even decades ago, I knew I could "sing" Christianity, but not live it in the sense of the verbal prayers I would need to say, and beliefs I would need to have. That paradox again.
My current situation involves only a few overtly spiritual factors (quiet mornings, 8:30 meditation five days a week, and dinner together about five days a week, preceded by a short reading). But the household is evolving under the assumption that members look at life through the lens of the spirit, and approach life in the house and in the world from that standpoint. To finally experience this in a living setting rather than only when I "go on retreat" is deeply satisfying. I'm kind of kicking myself. It's that old either/or thing, the assumption that because I am out there in the "post- traditional world religion" wilderness, there were no religious orders that would have me. Sure, strictly speaking, that is probably true. And this home and I are still in "discernment", so it is not entirely clear where this experience is headed. But the little seed that is me has finally distinctly felt what it is like to land in the kind of soil that encourages my growth. I can feel the seed covering cracking just slightly, and green impulses jostling to get out and root, and thrive.
It's good that a serious life like mine always provides you with comic relief, or at least a dose of non-spiritual weirdness. I had been told that for 65 and older, the city buses are a dollar. So the other morning, I confidently placed a dollar in the slot and asked the driver if I could please have a transfer. He looked at me and said, "Say, what kind of game are you trying to play with me, lady? There's no way you are 65." (Even though about 1/3 of my hair is white, the mirror tells me that my hair still looks brown, and I suppose I have fewer wrinkles than many women my age.) So I said, yes, I am. So he told me he needed to see some ID. Not having expected to access my wallet again, I struggled to get it out of my zippered pocketbook and open. Meanwhile, this poor kid behind me who had told me at the bus stop that he was late for work, deftly put a second dollar bill in the slot so that we could move along, and I thanked him profusely. The driver still grumbled about wanting to see proof, and next time he'd need to see my Medicare card. I sat down feeling quite ridiculous and inept. In the end, though, I felt sorrier for the driver (who probably encounters dozens of people each day who are trying to fake age or disability in order to pay less), and for the people who do make concerted efforts to scam the system, because it must ultimately turn around and hurt them. It was the kind of experience that you don't get when you are "on retreat" in some lovely rural setting, and I blessed being in a place with the reality of hard edges. I have no doubt that this new week will bring both inner and outer growth. Hope yours does too!
