A Little Girl, a Homeless Man, and a Slice of Cheese Pizza

It was just a few years ago that I finally realized my children were going to be my greatest teachers in this life. Though I’ve had many other unexpected teachers, nobody has taught me the same lessons my pint-sized guides have.

Some of the lessons have been direct, while others have been subtle; they have made me roll down the road of pure anger at times, only to lift me off the path with a candid smile or a flower picked at just the right time. They have taught me patience, resilience, true love and self-respect, and most of all they have taught me to live in the moment.

Yesterday, unbeknownst to me, it was time for yet another lesson. My five-year-old daughter and I left the house to run errands right before lunch time; since we had spent the greater part of the morning just lazing around and playing, we were suddenly in a time crunch, so we dressed and left without eating first.

After two errands we were famished, so we stopped at a pizza restaurant to fit a couple of slices into our choked schedule. Being such a beautiful day, we took our trays outside and sat at one of the cast iron tables. The scenery was lovely – a sunny day, a happy little girl eagerly sinking her baby teeth in a warm delight of sauce and cheese over a tasty crust, and a soft breeze only softly ruffling the tender new leaves on the trees nearby. Idyllic.

Then, along came a homeless man. Clad in colorful overalls and accessorized with rain boots and a fisherman’s hat minus the hook, he slowly walked down the sidewalk toward us. He carried two plastic bags filled with his humble belongings, and he stopped occasionally to look up toward the sky, as if in a private conversation with his maker. Only about five or six feet away from us by now, he stopped by a trash can and rummaged through discarded bags. My daughter had her eyes fixed on his hands, and I could imagine little wheels spinning at high speed in her head as she tried to figure out what the man was doing.

A moment later he pulled out one of the bags, opened it, took out two discarded pizza crusts and he hungrily bit into them. Morgan watched him bite and chew, and was almost hypnotized by the scene unfolding in front of her; her gaze quickly shifted to me, and then to the man again, until it finally rested on the slice of pizza in front of her.

I watched her without saying a word, and my heart spread an inch wider when I saw her breaking the slice of pizza with her little fingers; she took one half of it, wrapped it as good as she could in one of the napkins she found on the table, and after silently looking at me she stood up and ran to the man to offer him some of her lunch.

The old man appeared stunned by the gesture. This wasn’t a grown woman, or man, dispensing pity, but a small child sharing equally with him. He smiled at her, and gently bowed his head; his lips quivered a little, but he managed to thank her. Morgan smiled back, and without a second thought came back to the table to finish her lunch.

The lesson she taught me could surely have been one of compassion, but I think she taught me something even more important. While many of us constantly worry about not having enough left if we share, her focus was on alleviating the man’s discomfort, knowing she would not go hungry. With no fear in her heart, or self-imposed limitations of abundance, she was free to live in the moment and cast a pebble of joy to create a ripple effect of good energy.

In the end, the man left happy, Morgan was satisfied with herself and ready to bite into a new slice of pizza I bought for her, and if that wasn’t enough, I dug into my pocket to retrieve my car keys and found two dollars I had forgotten were there. Everything was in perfect balance and three people were happier than thirty minutes before. And all that at the price of half a slice of pizza…a bargain indeed.

Teachers in Disguise

Last night I lay in bed for a while thinking about the people who have been the greatest teachers in my life. What came to mind was quite amazing. I realized that those who have taught me most were not wise men or even educated people, but mostly common folks I met on ordinary occasions. All of them entered my life unexpectedly, and certainly left a mark upon their departure.

You see, sometimes the teachers are not the ones who are in our lives to remain, but those who only come in for a short while and upset the natural order of things during their brief stay. As they walk in, they quickly take on a center role, and become very important to us; we respect them, like them, even reflect ourselves into them. They may open our eyes to certain realities we had not considered before, or even force us to readjust our list of priorities, but their presence rarely goes unnoticed. When they leave – usually just as abruptly as when they arrived - they leave us with a mindful of questions and a feeling of void upon their departure.

Some of the most important teachers – those who have the potential of being catalysts for real change in our lives – are the people who have provoked or created some sort of strife. Their role is rarely a long one, and they accomplish their task in a breath of time; they may come into our lives disguised as a spouse, a lover, a spouse’s mistress, a belligerent co-worker, or even an overly dramatic friend. Their role is to jolt us out of the stagnant, repetitive pattern we have cozily allowed ourselves to find comfort in, and they can only complete their mission through high-charge actions that trigger powerful emotions within us.

By creating an emotional charge with their arrival, stay or departure, our teachers give us the necessary fuel, or the awareness we need, to make important decisions which will affect the way we approach life.

If we can look past the superficial negative connotation of the events that unfolded, we will see that we wouldn’t be who we are today had it not been for some of their input. We may be a better or worse person after meeting them, but that’s only because of the choices WE made in response to their actions. Their presence in our lives only had the purpose of triggering a choice or a different perception; which path we picked at the crossroads of our decisions was strictly up to us; even if one has horrible role models around as a child, they have the choice of following in their caregivers’ footsteps or going the opposite direction, using the example provided to them as a map of the unwanted zone they do not wish to walk into.

In my own life, I’ve met many teachers, young and old, kind and grouchy, rich or very poor; some have beautified my existence, while some have showed me a blueprint of hell; nevertheless, they have all taught me something, and I can only be grateful for the opportunity to have them in my life, even if only for a short while.

A Good Cup of Life

“Knowledge is a process of piling up facts; wisdom lies in their simplification.” ~ Martin Fischer

Early morning is usually my best time of the day. It is in the first couple of hours after I wake up that interesting thoughts pierce through the fiber of my awareness as needles sharpened by the quiet hours of the night.

Yesterday morning was no different. I got up and went to the kitchen to fetch a cup of coffee, and found my husband already there. I gladly took the cup he handed me, my senses jarred by the pungent aroma of coffee. When I glimpsed inside the cup, I noticed the coffee looked darker than I normally would drink it, but said nothing and proceeded to take a sip. Not only did it look darker, it was also bitter. I asked if he had added cream and sugar and he nodded as he got ready to dive into the newspaper.

Determined to not bug him any further but hell-bent on having a good first cup of coffee, I stood up and added more cream and sugar on my own. I stirred them in and tried again…absolutely disgusting. The coffee looked pale as a ghost, and was entirely too sweet. I realized then that my husband had indeed added cream and sugar – he had simply not stirred the coffee after he did.

Similarly, when blessings and wisdom are bestowed upon us, we don’t readily see them or acknowledge them until we “stir” them into our daily lives and apply them to our individual situations. One thing is to hear something; another is to actually listen and learn.

Simple knowledge of a concept is nothing more than a handful of nothing if we don’t apply that wisdom to something concrete. Without integration, knowledge is suspended in limbo, and rarely becomes a part of who we are. It remains the ghost of a thought that will not incarnate without our permission, and will continue to hover over us until we actively choose to shift the lessons from being purely intellectual to practical.

We can read manuals on how to fly a plane, but until we fly one, we really don’t know how. Functioning within the realm of life is no different – we can read hundreds of books, or hear lengthy sermons, about peace, tolerance, forgiveness and unity, but until we choose to make those chapters of higher awareness a part of our daily lives nothing will change. Reciting Biblical passages on unconditional love will not make us more loving, if after leaving church we personally judge how much others deserve to be loved.

Wisdom and knowledge are the cream and sugar in our coffee. Pouring them into the cup is the first step, but the perfect flavor will not be achieved until we have made the effort of properly stirring them in.

Lessons

“Life will teach you the lessons, it is up to you to learn them” ~ Author unknown


It was during our GOLO yard sale, yesterday, when I engaged in a brief conversation with a homeless man who happened to wander through the area. He mentioned that lately he has been trying to figure out what life is all about, and he felt sure that our time on earth is but a journey to discover how to give back.

He talked to Lolly and myself for a moment, then raised his eyes and asked: “But how do you give back?”

I truly had no immediate response for him, and suggested he should do his best to help others that are in worse predicaments than he is. Then, something else occurred to me…

Could it be possible that his life lesson is one of a different nature? What if instead than learning how to give back – which he didn’t seem to have a problem to do – his life lesson was about learning how to accept and be humble? After all, what better life situation could teach humility more than being homeless and at the mercy of others’ kindness? Is it possible to identify our life purpose by observing the facets of our reality and the patterns we implement in our daily existence?

We may not be able to understand some of the lessons that we are meant to learn, as it is not necessary for us to do so, but if we pay attention we can at least have a rough idea of the direction we should follow. For example, if we are the victim of a string of failed relationships, the culprit of that pattern could be appointed to a lack of self-love. Maybe, then, part of our life purpose could be that of learning how to embrace unconditional love toward ourselves and others.

As the wonderful teacher it is, life hands us assignments through our daily challenges. Whether we choose to do our homework or not is up to us.

The Cabin in the Mountains

Last night I thought about a little cabin in the mountains my parents used to rent throughout my childhood.
It wasn’t the average vacation home, and frankly I don’t know how my parents ever found it. It was an old house –built in the late 1800s or early 1900s- entirely embraced by a thick forest, situated on top of a mountain in the Appennini range in Italy. It was not accessible by car, so we always had to park at the foot of the mountain and then hike all the way up, using a very narrow path swallowed by tall weeds and canopied by taller tree branches which seemed to connect fingers with each other as if in prayer.
It was quite a hike. Since we could not bring the car up, we had to lug groceries and other necessities up the walking trail.
I remember the first time we went up: After walking for what felt like an eternity, we finally spilled around a curve and continued up a slightly wider path which led directly to the house. The structure itself was old stone, and it vaguely reminded me of the small houses I had seen on Mickey Mouse cartoons. It was a two-story home, with green shutters, and a huge chimney; two large oak trees stood beside it as if they were guarding the abode from the threat of invisible enemies. On the other side of the house was an old tub and an enclosure – also built in stone – which had probably been used as a patio.
The house itself was not very impressive. It was old and isolated, with no phone service and a little box of a bathroom built in the rear of the attached barn.
While my parents went quickly to work, airing out and cleaning up, I had the chance to walk around the premises and take it all in. Contrary to my sister, I was already in love with the place. At a time of my life when Heidi was my favorite movie character, I felt as if I had magically switched places with her, and I was given the exclusive of spending the summer at her grandfather’s mountain cabin.
There was something special about the place; although it was old and run down - and nearly a heart attack to reach - it was like a bite of Heaven on earth, tucked near the clouds as it was, with a front seat view on the valley that spread underneath like a precious Persian rug. It was beautiful, mysterious, breathtaking. It took a lot of effort to reach it but once there it was amazing.
Isn’t that how life works, too? We work hard and struggle to reach something, often discouraged and tired as we wade through the difficulties on our path. Once we finally reach our intended destination, we are able to truly taste the flavor of the final reward.
We would not appreciate sunrise without the dark night, or the hug of a warm blanket if we had not been clutched by the icy fingers of a cold winter day.

The Roles We Play

It’s funny how humans thrive on drama.
No matter what issue arises, we look for things to argue about, which will cause a stir. We can observe this flaw in the political arena, in religion, in life itself.
Of course, when we stand by a certain point - and look for confirmation through facts - we are likely to seek those corroborating facts from sources that share our point of view and look at the issue from the same angle we are. Everyone is going to have different opinions, different facts to quote, and different outlooks directly related to personal experiences and taught values.
It is very amusing to watch talk shows. Producers make a living from human drama, and saturate our media with a circus of flaring emotions and half-baked truths. Soap operas last for decades and hook staggering numbers of people through glittering drama, often exposing human flaws that nobody wants to recognize in themselves, yet are present in most of us.
We thrive on the negative, and several studies have shown that negative messages are more easily implanted in the subconscious than positive ones. That’s what political campaigns and organized religions thrive on to get their point across.
So, why do we thrive on negativity and drama?
No matter what our religious affiliation, anyone at all comfortable with spiritual truth halfway believes that we are here for a reason, and we came to earth to learn something.
Our soul is here to learn basic lessons of compassion, forgiveness, unity, and tolerance, and we are all actors on the great stage life. By acting out our roles we understand the nuances behind the human drama, and learn our lessons throughout.
Sadly, most of us forget we are the actors and blindly become the part we came to play. We become so engrossed in our role that we blend our identity with the character we impersonate. We all forget who we truly are, until something devastating in our lives knocks down our ego and reminds us of what is truly important.
Regardless of the fact that some believe in reincarnation and some don’t, we all agree that we only have one life at a time to be in, and we need to make the most of our time while we are here.
Focusing on the present, and choosing to overcome the drama we so easily become attached to, can free us from the chains of erroneous earthly perception and give us an edge in understand who we truly are.