Ferry Rails and Tiny Cars

Idealistic as it may sound, altruism should be the driving force in business, not just competition and a desire for wealth. Dalai Lama

I was riding along on one of the local ferries when the handrail I was holding onto collapsed. Fortunately I was atop the landing and called out to one of the crewmen for help. He disappeared below-decks, and I was left holding a dangling rail. Minutes later the boat docked and a lady struggled to move her car, which was stuck between the ferry terminal building and curb. She was driving one of those tiny cars which barely hold two people, and yet forty clowns can clamber aboard with room to spare. All I had to do was find someone to help me pick it up, turn it ninety degrees, and she would be able to drive away safe and sound. I couldn’t find anyone to help, and then …

I woke up.

Where’s Joseph, the Interpreter of Dreams when I need him? I know everyone dreams, including yours truly, but I am not one to remember what goes on inside my noggin from the time my head hits the pillow until my body rises afresh each morning. What few dreams I do recall having over the years generally have that sense that they were painted by Salvador Dali; they’ve got a melting clock quality to them.

I am told that, as a rule, dreams are a reflection of what’s going on in our lives. We are often so busy that sometimes it requires our subconscious or our unconscious mind to tell us what’s happening. Taking that into consideration, perhaps I am being told it’s OK to get a grip, but pay attention to who or what you grip! It’s OK to ask for help, but don’t ask the guy below – look to the One above.

That seems like solid advice, whether from a dream, a counselor, or even (dare I say it): God!

I am and always have been a solitary traveler. I like to dawdle, making my way through museums at a crawl. I don’t do well needing to rush places. I would rather leave early to arrive early or on time, than to rush hither, thither, and yon. One may need to jump out of the way of a speeding car while crossing the street, but one doesn’t need to BE the speeding car. One may need to quickly beat out a grease fire in the kitchen, but one doesn’t have to set the burner so hot and furious as to cause the fire to begin with, right?

Retirement has allowed me to take a fresh look at how I’m living, and I’ve come to realize the benefits of slowing down and smelling the proverbial roses. I must loosen my grip. As my bishop once explained, when we clench our hands into a fist, our bodies clench with them. Jesus invites us to release our grip on money, power, prestige, or whichever god we may hold most dear – life itself – for by losing one’s life, we find it. When we unclench our fists, our bodies unclench as well, and that’s healthier for us.

Retirement also challenges me to move my face in another direction. When one keeps one’s nose to the grindstone, one can get an extremely calloused nose. One also can’t see much beyond the spinning grit. Faith bids us, “Look up!”

“I lift my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? It comes from the Lord!” (Psalm 121)

My Dad always taught us to “Step on your eye,” by which he meant, “Watch where you’re stepping.” I think that is solid advice and has prevented my stumbling on any number of occasions.

But I think the Psalmist is also correct. One needs to look up. We need to learn to ask for help. “Asking for help isn’t giving up,’ said the horse. ‘It’s refusing to give up.” (Charles Mackesy's The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse). I plan to look up more often. I guess that’s as good a Lenten discipline as any.

As for the woman stuck with the tiny car?

I think that’s just my unconscious clowning around. You can’t be dead serious all the time you’re asleep, can you?

At least that’s what I think here in this, our valley.

The Exhilaration of Acceleration

Good judgment comes from experience. And experience? That comes from poor judgment – Anonymous

I needed to head over the river to take care of some business in Burlington (a town just north of us). I was on the on-ramp approaching the bridge and noted traffic on the main road was moving at about the speed limit (also known as a crawl), so I hit the accelerator so I could merge onto the bridge traffic ahead of the slow-pokes – er, uh, other cars.

I put the pedal to the metal, as the old saying goes, and my trusty steed took off like a wild stallion from the gates at Hialeah. She didn’t just take off; she tore off like a hound after a hare. The pedal stuck to the floor and wouldn’t spring back! I gave it a tap to unstick it (as happens every so often – the linkage can sometimes get a little kink in it and needs help returning to its normal position), but it was jammed against the floorboards and wouldn’t spring back.

Fortunately, traffic was light, so I pushed the brake hard enough to prevent my jump to light speed, and as soon as I crested the top of the span I slipped the gear shift from drive into neutral and coasted down to the end of the bridge, rolled my way into a (mostly empty) parking lot, and finally came to a controlled stop in a wide-open parking space. While firmly pressing on the brake, I slipped the transmission from neutral into park.

All this time the engine continued roaring with a high RPM, but before I turned it off, I reached down and discovered the floor-mat had crept up and caused the pedal to jam, so once I pulled it back, the accelerator sprung back to its normal position, and all was well with the world once again.

Life is like that. Things are going along smoothly, and then a crisis arises and we need to deal with it quickly. I have found in my life that a crisis is, as often as not, a product of my own creation. If I had accelerated normally onto the bridge, I would likely have had no trouble with the gas pedal. It was my overblown sense of entitlement (to jump to the front of the pack) that hurled me into the problem that needed solving.

I’m pretty sure this problem of ego has been with us a long time. When Adam and Eve stomped on the accelerator roaring their way to equality with the Divine they discovered Eden didn’t have seat belts, and they found themselves ejected from the Garden of Eatin’.

As some may know, we have embarked on a forty day season called Lent which, for many Christians, is a season of fasting (or abstinence) self-examination, and discipline. While that sounds all glum and dour, it is actually just a time of looking at one’s life, relationship with God and others, and discerning what could be done to remove or reduce some of those character defects that afflict each of us. It’s not a matter of earning our way into God’s good graces, by the way, but of knowing our tendency is to set the bar far too low, and of God’s belief that we can do better.

When I was a child, I had a child’s artistic talents. Out of love, my artwork was posted on the refrigerator for everyone to see and behold, even though it was obvious my stick figures would never make it into the Louvre. My skills today are still those of a five year old and, frankly, they never make it onto the refrigerator anymore.

I suspect that many people rest on their spiritual laurels, not out of a sense of evil or even of laziness, but simply because we get busy with life and don’t put much thought into the matter. Lent invites us to come back to the drawing board, to pick up the colored pencils, charcoals, paints, or whatever medium we’ve been blessed with, and light the passions afresh.

However one practices their faith, I hope each will take some time to reflect on their lives and see if there isn’t space for improvement in this, our valley. Keep on trucking with exhilarating joy (but first, you'd better fix the mat).