September Rain
“Every time it rains, the soil counts every drop to know exactly how many times to thank God.”
The rain had just begun. California’s first atmospheric river this season. One to two inches were predicted. But wait a sec: rain in September, in California? That (almost) never happens. Poppies and sunflowers are still blooming. Strawberries, tomatoes and figs are still ripening. It's a blessing. It's a thrill. It's an anomaly that isn't an anomaly anymore, because every kind of weather seems unusual these days.
After all the hoopla, we received a little under half an inch. I was disappointed, and maybe the soil and the plants were, too. Then I caught myself: disappointment after a rain? Not an appropriate response, especially in California.
Gratitude is a form of magic - one that transforms us, and so transforms the way we interact with the world, and that changes things. It's a circle. Gratitude invites humility. Appreciation invites generosity. Generosity inspires gratitude that elicits humility.
My friend, an acupuncturist, once gave me a homework assignment: to say thank you for everything, not just the good stuff. At first, I scoffed. It made no sense. I wasn't feeling it. But she's a profound healer and a good friend, so I took her advice and began to practice, though it rankled at first. Or, at least, I expected it to. Thank You for the rain. Thank You for alarming weather. Thank You for beauty. Thank You for the mess we're in. Thank You for the possibilities.
Here's what I discovered: as a practice, it's unexpectedly spacious. My impatient self who is frustrated and scared, rushes into gratitude's wide arms at a run from across the room. I see how much better I can do - better, in this case, at being less judgmental, more accepting. And then - another magic: I really do feel the gratitude. Warmth spreads through my chest. By being grateful for everything, a pool of calm begins to form and, with it, a softening because, well, how can we take rain, or lack of rain, personally, except by being grateful? It's that sliver of openness, that space between Life and Us that makes it possible to step off the treadmill of striving to get what we want, and the dangerous assumption that it is our prerogative to have things our way. Gratitude gives us personal agency that translates into benefit for the community of Selves beyond our limited understanding. Gratitude, the master key to almost every lock.
Lately, I have noticed something else about practicing this extravagant, embracing gratitude: events seen through the lens of self-interest quickly bifurcate into 'good' and 'bad'. The gratitude lens unifies by amplifying context and revealing relationships between things that don't at first seem related.
A birthday gift from a dear friend helped me see this. It's a book called Elena's Messages: From Her Big Sur Sanctuary, by Jim Hunolt. It's the story of how, after a devastating fire, a pack rat took refuge in the author's rustic cabin. Each morning, the pack rat - Elena, as he called her, left tiny, exquisite sculptures on landings and thresholds. She quickly trained her human to clear the previous day's work of art in order to make room for a fresh composition, or so he understood. (There are also YouTube videos of Elena at work, and the little masterpieces she created.)
The exchange persisted, on and off, for years. Sticks, leaves, feathers, and other found objects were the sculptural medium. Many of the twigs and fronds were as big as she was, sometimes bigger. Each arrangement was a glimpse of how Elena made sense of her world in the mysterious juxtapositions she arranged in the dark during her night-time labors. We can only guess at what inspired her, only wonder at her particular, personal aesthetic. It was especially remarkable because it all took shape, and was only seen by the artist, at eye level - unless she scampered up to the rafters to have a look.
From the human's perspective, it seemed to be a mutual exchange, but maybe that, too, was a false assumption. Perhaps Elena felt frustrated that the human kept moving things, and she had to continuously rebuild her creations. Or, perhaps what the human sensed was accurate - that Elena felt seen and appreciated, and she enjoyed the connection and dialogue. Like the practice of unlimited gratitude, not-knowing is part of the mystery.
And now, with so many alarming occurrences in our daily life as humans, Elena reminds us of two things: first, that the Natural World has suffered alarming occurrences caused by humans for hundreds of years; second, there is beauty in unexpected patterns and nourishment in unexpected relationships. With time as our canvas and recent events as our medium, things fall into sculptural juxtaposition if we let them. This morning, here at home, they arranged themselves this way: the deer nibbled all but one of the pale pink blossoms of Mexican primrose and most of the California poppies. Yesterday, soft rain all afternoon. In today's morning sun, bees flocked to the blue pinwheels of borage. The red shouldered hawk has returned.
It works with world events as well: Canada accuses India of carrying out a political assassination on Canadian soil. Near the Philippines, China seeks to wall of the South China Sea. In the U.S., a government shutdown looms: funding for education and the war in Ukraine are sticking points. This past weekend, the Fall Equinox and Yom Kippur - a time for self reflection and making amends. In Baja California, to protect a small pod of a newly discovered whale species, offshore oil and gas exploration must be curtailed.
In Liberia, it is considered extremely dangerous to be ungrateful. To me, this feels important and true; axiomatic for all of us. Lack of gratitude for Earth's lavish generosity has proved dangerous beyond our wildest imaginings. Maybe it's time to imagine something equally wild: a culture of gratitude to replace self-interest driven by profit. Gratitude just might save the world, and us along with it.
