Walking Meditation — an evolving post . . .

Prayer of Humble Access, Scottish Book of Common Prayer

از کفر و ز اسلام برون صحرائی است
 ما را به میان آن فضا سودائی است
 عارف چو بدان رسید سر را بنهد
 نه کفر و نه اسلام و نه آنجا جائی است — Rumi (translated from Farsi below)

“[T]hese are small statistics . . . but social media / the information surge makes this seem bigger than it is.”

Heard on NPR about the shootings of our neighbors in Dallas, Baton Rouge, Baltimore, Minneapolis, North Miami, Milwaukee. . .


I am on my knees. It makes me nauseated and sad — the resistance to seeing how low we have come. Can’t get up to my feet.

We don’t wanna open this up and look in at ourselves, our own shame and pain. Our fear that we are so far gone, that God, Gran’ma, Momma (whoever that is for us) won’t even look at us no more. After all, what will we find? Wretchedness. Fault. Unworthiness.

We — and I mean every one who is hurting, angry, humiliated, afraid. We, America, but none so much as white America — just have got to look at our shadows in the scratched, desilvered mirror and say, “Ok. Ok. This is rock-ass-bottom. What’m I gonna do?” And, not knowing the answer, finding our way to the road and putting a foot down on it, next to the person we’ve harmed to the core, who nonetheless is doing the same: a foot right on that same damn road, and then-

-Walk till we are walking. Walking when the pit of our stomach says to run back the other way. Walking when the tears come. Walking when the marcher beside you feels more like a sniper than a brother. Walking when crowds are jeering from the sidewalk and it is tempting to join them and give up the uncomfortable questions. Walking when the barricades say “road closed” — and it makes more sense to give up the hard work and go home rather than keep on. Walking when road has become the front line.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a meadow. I will meet you there. Bring your understanding and I will bring mine.
For, when the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about, Language, ideas — even the phrase “each other” — will lose their meaning.”

Rumi’s words echo and beckon. But we’re not there yet. Mercy. Keep walking. Keep walking.