Was the launch truly delayed or had it already begun?

Was the launch truly delayed or had it already begun?

 

It’s hard to believe that just over five months ago I left my place of refuge and Venerable Teachers to take up a great aspiration that has been building since my ordination, the same calling that catapulted me from the Great Hidden Mountain just years ago. I knew the road would be a long and hard one, in fact I saw it coming and have been in training for it all along. 

 

I found myself sleeping on the streets after packing up my monastic belongings to begin this pilgrimage. One thing I knew is that I was right where I was supposed to be and needed not to change anything (even though I would have opted for an extra blanket or two). Sometimes the dharma works like that, it will pick you up and put you on a different track. At that time we have choices of how we choose to perceive or to react, if at all. What I knew was what was present at that moment was a condition of all of its parts. In many ways the pilgrimage had already launched and had already been coming together for much longer than I could see.

 

There I was leaning up against the wall of our southern local grocery store shaved head and donning the monks robe as the sun was rising burdened down with all of my worldly belongings: two backpacks of robes, two carry on sized suitcases full of the Nikayas (super attached to my dharma books), my bodhisattva Avalokiteshavara, my alms bowl and my “non la” a traditional Vietnamese hat a symbol of my root teacher’s home land. I remember rolling my two suitcases down the bumpy gravel road thinking one of my wheels was going to bust and constantly having to switch shoulders as the backpack straps were cutting into them. I asked myself “how many things can a monk own and how could they suit me now?” In my mind I was traveling light and I thought that I was leaving many things behind my refuge, my teachers, my plans, my ideas, conditions that were conducive for practice etc. but, that didn’t last but a quarter of a mile or so until I began to think what a burden these things are and that I have too much. 

 

I was reminded of my pilgrimage in India after spending time with many of the local people, all I could think was I have too much. I mean, I had electricity and running water and shelter and education and a “dominant” language and……the list goes on. There was no way to shake the amount of things that I had, the privilege that I was born into. It was then that the aspiration to understand the suffering of others as my own and to see the joys and gratitude present in those with little, while also seeing how I played a part in the disparities became my forever journey. 

 

Up against the wall a familiar song catches my ear. “Lose Yourself” by Eminem was playing; no pun intended here. Then I saw three men approaching in the parking lot blasting a wireless speaker coming in my direction. In all of my ways of seeing the world it appeared that they were traveling from one squat to the next, staying awake at night and sleeping in the daytime, apparently street people. What I found instead were teachers. People who would expand my heart and show the depths of compassion and interbeing practice of non discrimination. One of them yelled out “hey man” – can you imagine the sight of me and my things leaning up against the side of a building in the early dawn – who can blame him?

 

 “Have you eaten today” he yells? Carrying only one backpack putting my monkness to shame he reaches into his backpack and offers me a Nature’s Valley granola bar – the green original one. I say to him yes thank you, I have eaten. He says here take this and save it for when you need it, It has a lot of vitamins. When someone’s whole possessions are in a single backpack and they reach in to it to give you something from it, the true transmission of dana is the gift of giving that keeps on giving. I was humbled and deeply grateful. It is the fruits of those gifts and many more that drive “The Great Aspiration”.

 

The other gentlemen had a bundle of picked flowers clearly that were wilting and still holding on to its mound of earth with its roots hanging from the bottom, though he held them with all reverence as if they were a wedding bouquet. He says to me “what is your name?” I say “Sister Clear Grace”, he says “my name is James and I have your name tattooed on my arm”. He rolls up his sleeve revealing a tattoo in block letters that says G R A C E. I smile and say nice to meet you James and right then he takes the flowers and hands the bundle of flowers to me. At that moment James was making an offering and whether he knew it or not, or if he knew who or what I was, none of that mattered. At that moment, I knew that I happened to be the one that was going to receive it for him. I straightened up immediately and prepared myself to receive this great offering to all of the higher beings, asking that I may be worthy to receive these offerings so that they may benefit many and may my actions continue to blossom the fruits of these flowers for all beings along the way. I placed the heap of flowers and their loosening dirt particles in the lap of my long brown robe matching in color.  Again, I was right where I was supposed to be and I had some work to do in order to carry on this offering and the offerings made of many both small and large those that have kept my dharma body held tight in the precepts as a solo nunk on a path that is worthy to be shared.

 

 The pilgrimage launch had been postponed due to covid exposure. It would be a few days before we had all been symptom free.  Five months have passed and the build is finally done but now the van is being worked on as I continue to search for the right mechanic that can get it in traveling condition. Might there have been some wonder if it was ever going to happen or if I needed to start looking at another way?

 

 Six days ago I walked into our local gas station/laundromat/convenience store to do a load of laundry. Sitting on the bench is a man with his head down and shades on. I greet him and continue to walk in with my bag of laundry slung over my shoulder. Just then I hear him whisper G R A C E. I look back and he rolls up that same sleeve. I couldn’t believe it, it was James from my many talks. It was the gift of flowers that had kept me going when the build had the best of me. I smiled and told him how his offering of flowers has inspired me and how they will continue to help many. He smiled and seemed settled with his deed. He says “I never forgot you”. I sit and chat with him a bit more between the washing and drying of laundry listening to his stories and then he asks can you please come to my camp and meet my friends. “Will you talk with them?” Of course. 

 

 We proceeded up the railroad tracks – mind you that I have passed with a blind eye unknowingly many times before – into the forest into James’s camp where I met his family of friends, about 15 or so and a slew of furry pets. James proudly introduces me “this is my friend Grace. I helped her. I gave her some flowers and she’s a monk.” He pulls up a few beaten chairs as his friends come out of their tents to greet me all the while trying to settle the dogs down, allowing me into their territory. Stories were shared along with helpful tips with me for my journey as they carried on with their busyness of survival. I listened mostly and as they had questions. I shared only with meeting them right where they were. If there had been any confusion about when the pilgrimage would begin or an idea that it was somewhere else, this put an end to that concept. It had already begun. You don’t have to go far from the cushion, you just have to get up from the cushion.

 

James rested in his brief moment of contentment, clearly a breakthrough of the despair and stories that were going on inside of his head. James is an ex marine who lived on the street for years, sleeping on the ground of the earth’s cold surface, dodging the police who came in the middle of the night to destroy the little bit that they had in their camps, only to displace them once again. We chatted a bit more and upon leaving I told him to keep offering those flowers, reminding him that he has so much to offer the world. He said “I’ll try, I’m going to go pick some now.” We smiled and said goodbye.

 

Friday, three days later I got a call that “Juice” James had been found dead this morning under the bridge by the Fresh Market, (an upscale grocery store) and they thought I should know. No sign left of Jame’s existence or of his departure in the news or the local stories. And honestly If he wouldn’t have called my name that day at the laundromat I may not have seen him either.

 

 Smile at a stranger, truly inquire about their well being. The next time you cross the tracks or pass over a bridge simply give rise to awareness to ALL that is around us and all that is hidden from us. Compassionate action is required of us~Share a granola bar or pass on mother nature’s beauty in a bouquet. 

 

James is gone in all of his form but his offering is still fruiting. Bearing fruit perpetually in the world but not of it. Flowers of existence are impermanent but from this heap many garlands will be made. “The Great Aspiration” Launch date unknown.