Scranton, Pa., 1956
Me and My Beloved Cowboy Jacket
Memory is a trickster.
She flows all around me, scooping me up into a moment here, a moment there.
Slices of images, of feelings, flowing through me,
Coming and going,
Both specific and vague waltzing together inside my head.
I’m a little girl
Maybe I’m about eight years old.
I’m spending time alone with my daddy!
During the day!
This is—remarkable.
Unthinkable.
Unimaginable.
He is always, always working in our grocery store,
Working for me, doing it for me—
Even though all I want is him.
And today I have him.
It is Thanksgiving.
My daddy and me are going to our high school football game.
Central High School, our school, The Golden Eagles (us! Blue and gold)
Vs. the Technical High School (red).
How?
Why?
Would I remember those colors?
Memory blurs, refocuses again.
I’m excited and I’m cold.
Although I’m bundled up as only a child in the 1950’s could be,
I shiver,
Some with excitement,
Some with temperatures.
I zoom in to this next memory:
The wood of the bleacher beneath me feels lumpy and damp.
I lean into and huddle against my daddy.
I chew on the outside rim of the hot chocolate paper cup,
Making lasting imprints of my teeth, which is strangely exhilarating.
I have no memories of the game.
We never win. We are the college-bound kids,
They are the tech kids—they are The Other,
They live outside my world view.
They always win.
We always lose.
I want us to win vaguely, somewhere in me.
I don’t remember……
BUT OH!
How I remember,
Coming home,
Walking up the snow-crunchy steps
Coming to the front door….
Reaching for the doorknob
With all child’s weight,
So heavy and slow,
Pulling the door toward me
To open,
Using all of me.
It slowly creaks open.
Walking into the house,
I am instantly enveloped,
I am wrapped,
I am surrounded,
I am held:
In toasty warmth.
It is instantly comforting—
It is palpable, this warmth, it is a thing that holds me,
It is unlike anything I have experienced,
It is a container of deliciousness
Into which I have enter.
And then, the next level,
The combined cooking smells,
They cellularly caress me, playing with my nose,
My belly,
All of me.
Yum….
Turkey, I can detect,
Stuffing, maybe?
Mom’s amazing pumpkin pie
I still remember the glass pie holder.
The smells come together becoming another whole,
One entire entity.
Holding me.
Caressing me.
I stand.
The moment lasts.
In that moment, I absolutely understand—
I am warmed.
I am fed.
I am loved.
I am protected
I am cared for.
I am held.
Beneath my parents’ silent neglect,
Beneath their busy-busy-always-working,
Underneath the disappoints,
Wanting them to be different,
There is an alive and palpable loving.
In the moment, oh, how I know it,
deeply,
intimately,
and always.
And here I am
69 years later,
With yet another thanksgiving
Hovering.
I know it still.
Somewhere in me,
I know
It
Still.
Eventually
And
Inevitably.
~~~
Friends, do you have any Thanksgiving memory?
Any holiday memories that want remembering?
All voices welcomed,
All experiences honored.
~~~
I live about 12 minutes from the MotherShip, Kripalu Center.
When I drive to Kripalu to teach, as a ritual, I play this song a few times over.
It softens me.
It opens me.
It prepares me.
If you head toward a holiday gathering filled with potential positives or negatives or anything in between, consider playing this song for yourself as preparation.
Please Prepare Me.
Beautiful Chorus
~~~
Lyrics:
Please prepare me
To be a sanctuary
Pure and holy
Tried and true
With thanks giving
I’ll be a living
Sanctuary for you.
~~~
What’s a sanctuary?
How might you become one for others?
What might the gifts of that be?
~~~
Dear Friends,
May this be a moment of ease,
A moment of gentleness,
A moment of peace.
No matter what is happening around you,
May the doorway home
Be easily, easily opened.
May all beings benefit from our time together.
Go gently,
Aruni