Ram Dass said, “We’re all just walking each other home.” My friend, Pamela Chappell, wrote a song based on the quotation.

On my way to the remote Buddhist Sangha for the weekly meditation, my van bottomed out in one of the ginormous mud puddles. Two wheels were up in the air, and water was up to the top of my fender. Two young women in a bright yellow jeep pull up, and one calls to me, “We will be right back and get you out. We have to go get a tow rope!”

Too far off the beaten path for satellite to locate me, I was still on the phone with Road Service when the jeep came back.

What motivates someone to help a total stranger? 

I am not talking about dropping a bill in the bucket as someone is ringing the bell, letting someone pull out in busy traffic, or buying a flock of geese for a family in a village in Africa. These are all worthy acts of kindness, but this was not that—picture throwing off your good shirt, stepping out of your good shoes, wading into foot-and-a-half deep muddy water and getting down on your hands and knees. 

“I go to a place near here where jeeps do off-roading in the mud flats. I don’t participate. I have too much money in my jeep for that. But when they get stuck, I pull them out.” Bonnie explained as she drove my vehicle to high ground where I could leave it and go to meditation.

“I am sorry we got your van dirty!” she called as they drove off.

They were capable—yes—but more than that: they were willing. I would guess you can easily understand why I was touched to tears by the compassionate action of these sisters!

Later, sharing my gratitude on a local issue social media site, I spotted a one line message: “Does anyone know a woman named Blah Blah here? I need to get in touch with her.” 

I responded. “I know her. She is a colleague/writer friend of mine. I have her cell phone number. Send me a private message and I will let her know to get in touch with you.” 

This morning, as I was preparing to participate online in a global meditation and prayer time for peace in the middle east with James Twyman via Dr. Mary Jo Bullbrook, my phone rang. It was my writer friend.

“Thank you! I don’t do much on Facebook. I don’t even have internet here. That woman’s husband had found my credit card. I did not even know I had lost it. I had left it at the ATM.”

The signature line on my email is by Mother Teresa: “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

Tens of thousands were joined in a vision of peace. I kept hearing Pamela singing, “We’re all just walking each other home.” Maybe I need to change my signature line.

My Gammie, My Grandmother, My Hero, My Role Model, My Go-To, My Advice Giver, My Friend, My Family, My Guardian, My Laughter, My Fat Camp Instructor, My World Traveler, My Picture Taker, My Massage Therapist, My Healing Touch, My Counselor, My Helping Hand, My Sous Chef, My Cinnamon Toast Maker, My Supporter, My Biggest Fan, My Moon, My Red Balloon, My Minister, My Mentor, My Author, My One and Only Gammie.

If we were looking at chakra development, you might say we are intimately aware of the seventh chakra: the Crown. In, Anatomy of the Spirit, Caroline Myss writes: “Live in the Present Moment.” Myss says this is the chakra of the spirit: extreme unction, Keter. We need to be open and attentive to the constant guidance we receive each day.

Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, in The Palm Tree of Devorah, writes: “One’s thoughts should be pure, one’s forehead should display no harshness, one’s ears should always turn to hear good, one’s eyes should distance themselves from noticing evil, always looking at the good, one’s nose should be free from the breath of anger, one’s face should always shine, and his mouth should express nothing except good.”

In order to give no fear, we must first learn to relate with our own suffering—our rage, helplessness, frustration, doubt, bitterness, and fear—instead of pushing it away. Gentle loving-kindness toward ourselves is what it takes to be present for our own suffering. We need to learn to stay with our own suffering without trying to change it or fix it. Only when we are able to be present for our own suffering are we able to be present for the suffering of others.

In January, 2012, I wrote about having done Tonglen after we witnessed my grandson crash his go-kart at over ninety miles per hour at Daytona. (See: Deep Gratitude.) 
 

• Begin by breathing in whatever you are feeling—fear, agitation, anger, resistance—and accepting it. On the exhalation breathe out well-being. Clear your mind by bringing awareness to what is agitating you and breathing it in, accepting it with kindness. Then, as you exhale, give yourself some spaciousness. Do this breath practice until you are calm and alert.
• When you feel settled, begin the second stage of the practice, which is establishing a rhythm of breathing. On your inbreath imagine that you are inhaling heavy, hot air. On your outbreath visualize exhaling cool, light air. Continue with this pattern—breathing in heaviness and breathing out lightness—until it is familiar to you. The heaviness is suffering; the lightness is well-being.
• Now imagine that you are breathing through all the pores of your body. On the inbreath heavy, hot air enters every pore. On the outbreath, cool light flows from every pore.
• Now visualize a metal sheath around your heart. This metal sheath is everything about you that is difficult for you to accept: your self-importance, selfishness, self-cherishing, self-pity. It is the band of fear that hardens your heart. The practice invites you to dissolve this metal sheath and open your heart to its natural nonjudgmental state of warmth, kindness, and spaciousness. You can do this by visualizing the metal sheath breaking apart when the inbreath of suffering touches it. When the heart opens, the hot, heavy air vanishes into its vast space. What arises is natural mercy. It is this quality of unarmored heart that allows you to be with suffering and at the same time to see beneath the suffering.