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.