unhappy

Hi, my name is Reet, and this is my story called “The Value of Money.”

Hello, everyone. I have a story to share with you today. It is a personal story about my very early years, around actually 4 years old.

Growing up in a small town named Stratford, one of my earliest memories was being allowed to walk, myself, to a nearby grocery store, about 400 feet from our doorstep.

I had all my pennies and a couple nickels saved in my piggy bank.

“Hi hon. How was golf?”
“I was lousy, as always.”
“But how did it feel?”
“It was fabulous being out in this gorgeous weather.”

Sound like a familiar conversation?

We often allow feelings of hopelessness to become our predominant emotion.

She stared at me with her oh so serious and piercing eyes, chin resting on her hand, and said in a most sincere voice: “I love talking to old people.”

There she was, one of a gaggle of elementary school girls at the first meeting of our new workshop, and these were the first words I heard out of her mouth.

Well, I responded, "I love talking to young people, so we’re going to have a great time together – sharing and learning from each other."

Did you ever go outside and feel that all the birds were singing?

Every single one. So many different songs. That there was a kind of happiness in the air. An exuberance at this moment. As if anything was possible.

Strange, isn’t it - the thought “As if anything was possible?” Most of us rarely think of this.

Suppose, just for a moment that it really is true – that it can be true - that anything is possible right now, just because I tune into and play with “anything is possible.”

What would you do? Really, what would you do?

Suppose earth itself can help make peace on earth, in your lifetime, starting right now – the end of violence – the end of the barbaric age.

Consider the oppressor.

Suppose our thoughts can help make peace on earth, in your lifetime, starting right now – the end of violence – the end of the barbaric age.

Consider the people being oppressed.

I picture them wandering now in a grove of trees, tall and pungent, with the ground moist and soft. I picture them happily stepping on stones to cross a brook, trickling, soothing.

I picture them walking thru an open meadow of tall grasses with a sun umbrella, sparrows appearing and disappearing.

It seemed like it would be our ordinary 30 minute walk around our neighborhood, the same route, like every other day – but far from it this day.

First, as we approached a corner, we suddenly noticed a huge turkey vulture sitting on top of a telephone pole with its back away from us.

It was completely unfazed as we stood there for a few minutes admiring this unusual, beautiful sight.

But nothing prepared us for what we were about to come upon in the next few minutes.

I like to doodle. With an extra fine black pen on a piece of ordinary white paper.

The black ink is so stark, yet so controlled, so elegant because the line is so finely precise.

Doodling is one of earliest ways I remember to cope with frustration, with worry, with stress. It relaxes me.

There’s something about setting pen to paper that feels like raw creativity, pure play – no agenda – no picture in mind – just giving myself over to the moment.

It’s amazing to see the kind of plaything a child loves and craves. For example, a big empty cardboard box. A little snip here and there and presto, a small house, or a store, or a spaceship.

Their imagination is so intense and vast and immediate – that it can go way beyond the “stuff” in front of them, and “grow” their own little world.

Overwhelmed? Too many things to do? Like an endless list, with things that put themselves back on the list every month, every week, every day?

I did.

Then one day, I said that from now on I would honor this list all morning, but come lunch, I am free for the rest of the day to do what I want. Sort of “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” And to me what is mine: peace of mind.

I need to honor my own needs, not just the needs the modern world places upon me.