12.23.14
You can take
a Pakistani out of Pakistan but you can’t take Pakistan out of the
Pakistani. If a Pakistani lives in
Canada for 30 years, raises a family, likes hockey, drinks beer, and enjoys
shoveling snow he is still a Pakistani.
The seller
of the car said he’d come pick me up at 8 this morning. We’re coming close to nine am so I need to
write. I know this gentleman is not a
morning person and he is probably just getting up now for his tea and roti but
don’t tell me to be ready at 8 in the morning when you’re just waking up, oh he
calls. Thirty minutes. No problem.
I can come in later than usual today, my lesson plans are set.
The poor
will always be with us. And when the
poor are in the family it goes without saying but I’ll say it anyways, it’s
personal and disheartening. Teach the
poor how to fish and they won’t hunger.
The aging poor, however, can still learn how to fish, but what if there
are no more fish?
Education
has been my salvation even when I find myself sleeping on a sidewalk. My faith in a supreme being gives me the hope
but what of the uneducated? What kind of
hope does it take, the miraculous kind, the day to day kind, how can hope save
the unlearned who sleeps in the park? He
has a guaranteed pass to a better life but that doesn’t help him in the
now. Blessed assurance doesn’t pay the
bills and praying every day for a break, well, something is amiss here.
American
Christianity, it seems, has its limitations.
The Golden Rule has an expiration date. I envy cultures where families live and stay together there are no expiration
dates on compassion. It takes all my
being to turn away from a self-sufficient mindset. I have to always be willing and able to help
others and help themselves when possible.
But how?
8.39pm
Well, I guess
taking a car is a Christmas gift of sorts.
Merry Christmas to you I guess.
How does it feel? When I am in
the desert, the mountains in front of me, breathing deep pure air, it will be
good.
And with money still in the bank at the end of this year, well, there is a small feeling of security until I think about where I’ll be at this time next year. And that is? I don’t know. Getting the keys to the Honda a moment of settling kind of scared me. I don’t want to stay here. The car will improve my quality of life but it’s not enough.
I do feel
like a scrooge this time of year. I see a date on the calendar.
I am grateful I’m not blasted by barrages of commercials. How easy it is to play on emotions, to be
persuaded buying is the way to share the spirit of the moment. Are you glad you have no one to buy something
for? No, I am more of a giver than a
taker, too much of a giver sometimes. Five years ago I had 40k, gave half of it away
and within a year was lining up for meals.
Do you regret this? No.
I used to
like the Buddha Bar music but now it sounds unreal and commercially cluttered,
especially compared to the real thing:
A thirty
eight minute meditation with only a flute and a harmonium in the background skimming
and simmering on the surface, prying open neurons to let symphonic ripples work their way through
the day’s tension. It relaxes, it
settles a noisy spirit, the glory of dusk it’s called. Nice. Put
it on and sweep the floor. Light a
candle and watch the flicker synchronize with the flute. Change a kids poopy diaper
and be one with creation. Ok, maybe not.
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