Thoughtlessness of the day:
I sat watching the water run into the bathtub, wondering why it was taking so long for the tub to be filled. After a significant amount of time passed, and the water level remained more or less unchanged, I realized I hadn’t stopped up the drain. Smart! As a bonus, I soon apprehended that I hadn’t removed the shower curtain to the outside of the tub, allowing a few particles of grime to make their merry way into the bathwater. Delightful!
Thought of the day:
I often have no conception of what I’m going to write about; I just sit down and wait for words to present themselves. This is partly because I lack the patience to plan and plot and structure a sensible narrative. Sometimes the result is nonsense; on other occasions, the “transcribed” message surprises me. There may be snatches of truth I’ve been trying to find for a long time, or there may be statements that seem to come from nowhere, and which puzzle me (“The sin of modern man is that he forgets how to live in a truly communal way”—who came up with that? surely not my own brain, which rarely, if ever, contemplates such ideas as the sin of modern man). There are times when I feel another voice is expressing itself through me. Does this sound far-fetched and numinous? Perhaps I’d better stop talking then! At any rate, here’s the little essay that presented itself to me today as I sat down and wrote in my bathwater-stained journal. Judge for yourself its truth or foolishness:
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If you ever come across a boy who doesn’t know his way home, tell him that he’s in luck, that he’s found a friend who will show him the route to a welcoming house. This is the law of hospitality. Be as kind to the lost soul, the passing stranger, as you would be to your favorite aunt, or your dearest niece. There is no separation in the heart of a truly enlightened man (or woman) between the extranjero—the unknown one—and the bosom-friend. He who has clear vision can easily see that all neighbors in need of rest are entitled to a warm place to dry their boots and sip a cup of tea. Who knows what miracles of connection might transpire? Everyone has a story to tell—that is evident enough—and if you clear off the table for a guest, and give him enough time to clear his throat and tell his story, the boundaries of your knowledge will grow a little larger, the shoreline of your island will stretch a little farther into the sea.
Now, that doesn’t mean you need to throw all caution to the winds and invite to your fireside every flea and ant you pass on your walk home. There are different ways of being hospitable. The circumstances dictate the expression; not everyone needs to be asked in to tea. Even a smile, if it is the reflexive gesture of a sweet and sincere kindness, can work wonders for a lonely soul. But the law of hospitality never wavers in its insistence that all beings are entitled to a moment of remembrance—a calling to mind of their essential dignity as beings created in love, for love. Forget this, and you have started down the road to chaos and despair.
What is the sin of modern man? It is that he forgets how to live in a truly communal way, regarding each person he encounters as an essential player in the continually evolving story of his life. This is true even in spite of the myriad ways we’ve contrived to keep in touch and stay “connected.” These channels, mainly electronic, are so often filled with noise and weightless niceties that the true capacity for connection—which demands an intense presence of mind, even if momentary—is dimmed or altogether snuffed out.
When you ask the lost boy where he’s trying to get to, remember to take his hand and call him by name. These are the gestures—so simple, the simplest of things—which really strike to the soul and make a person come alive. How could it be otherwise? We were made to be touched and called by name. A baby receives the gifts of touch and name when he is born; these gifts give him an entrance into the world, a way to know others and be known by them. Who is to say that a grown man is any different? His needs have not changed very much; the fundamental things remain. And this is why your heart should be open to the people who come your way: for they’re only seeking the same things you are, and the odds of finding what is sought increase when two people meet and exchange the secrets they’ve acquired in the daily business of getting through life.