Namaste

from PROVERBS AND TINY SONGS by Antonio Machado

I love Jesus, who said to us:

heaven and earth will pass away.

When heaven and earth have passed away,

my word will still remain.

What was your word, Jesus?

Love? Forgiveness? Affection?

All your words were

one word: Wakeup.

Monkees, I’m back.

And I’ve started bowing.

Let me explain.

I love God, whoever He is, and I’d really like to get closer to Him this year. During my Christmas quiet time I was thinking about how one of the simplest ways to get close to a woman is to be good to her children. To be kind and gentle to them and to pay close attention and notice all of the things that make them special. To try to see her children the way she sees her children. And then I was thinking about how God made us in His image. How He is the mother and father of all of us. So I wondered if maybe that’s the best way to get closer to Him, too. By being kind and gentle to His children and noticing all of the things that make them special. I thought about how so many of us spend our time in books trying to find God, when it’s possible that the simplest way to God is directly through the hearts of His children.

Around that time, Chimmy sent me a book called Nomaskar, which was written by a priest who followed Mother Teresa and wrote about her spirituality. I love Mother Teresa. Based on what she did and more importantly, why she did it, I believe she was living according to The Truth, so I try to pay close attention to her.

The reason that Mother Teresa served the lepers and destitute and dying in the streets of Calcutta was not because Jesus told her to, it was because Jesus was leprous and destitute and dying in the streets of Calcutta. And since she worshipped Jesus as God, she figured she should probably go help Him, because it didn’t make a lot of sense to worship God in church while He was dying alone in the streets. And she believed that it was silly to weep when considering Jesus crucified two thousand years ago and not weep when watching Jesus crucified today, on the streets of Calcutta or Haiti or DC or in the high school hallway. Mother Teresa saw God in every human being and when she held a dying leper and dressed his wounds she did not imagine that she was helping Jesus die with dignity, she really was helping Jesus die with dignity. She was holding, as she would have said, “Jesus in the distressing disguise of the poor.” She understood that everyone is Jesus. She understood the meaning of the word Nomasker, or Namaste, which means “The divine light in me sees and honors the divine light in you.” God in me recognizes God in you. And the God in me honors the God in you. So when she encountered a person she would fold her hands, bow her head, and say “Namaste.”

And when she wanted to see God, she didn’t look up and away, she looked into the eyes of the person sitting next to her. Which is harder. Better.

So. Here’s the deal. I’ve talked to God about it and I am sooooooo not going to Calcutta. Not really my bag, baby. I’m a Sister of Sister…not a Sister of Charity. A Monkee…not a Monk. You understand.

But I watch the news and I also hear the sadness in people’s stories and the loneliness in their hearts and the pain of their pasts . . . so I know that Calcutta is everywhere. All of us live in some sort of poverty. Poverty of hope, poverty of peace, poverty of love. We are all poor in one way or another. Mama T used to call material poverty the easiest poverty to alleviate. Everyone is suffering. And so I’d like to be kind, and at the very least not add to people’s pain . . . since everyone is God.

So right before Christmas I decided to start bowing to everyone who crossed my path. Just a little. Just a little teeny bow of my head . . . just enough to remind myself not to be a jerk, since no matter who I’m talking to, whether it’s a child or a principal or a gas station attendant or a frenemy or Craig that it’s GOD I’m talking to. So I better recognize.

And as I bow I say . . . Namaste. God in me recognizes and honors God in you.

I just think Namaste in my head, I don’t say it out loud. Because I tried saying it out loud AND folding my hands AND bowing once at the gym . . . and let us just say that it did not go well. Because I forgot that I was holding a hair dryer and when I tried to fold my hands I dropped the hair dryer on my foot and so instead of gently saying Namaste I yelled SHIT really loud. It went down like this: I was trying to muster the nerve to start this new Namaste Love Project when a lady who looked like an Asian Betty White walked into the locker room. So I thought PERFECT! and I took a deep breath and sort of stepped in front of her and basically, just screamed SHIT at her. Judging by her facial expression and the terrified way she scurried off, I’m not entirely sure she felt honored. So anyway, after that I decided it’d just be a little teeny bow of the head and a silent Namaste. It’s more of an inward personal reminder than an outward gesture. Probably better for everyone involved since apparently I am neither as brave, nor as coordinated as Mother Teresa.

I know all of this might sound a little nuts but I have decided that it’s 2011 and I’m almost thirty five years old and I am just over worrying about whether I’m crazy or not. Robin Williams said “We each get only a little spark of madness. We mustn’t lose it.” And maybe the world needs a little crazy love. And so I am embracing my spark of madness. Fanning it, even. And I’m bowing. And something’s happening because of it. It’s working. I’m starting to see God everywhere.

It’s like that little bow of my head snaps me out of the horrible trance I allow myself to get lulled into each day, in which I forget that everything and everyone is magic. Including me. The world and the people in it are so beautiful when you’re awake. And so the bowing and the silent Namaste is just a little practice to remind myself of what’s real. Of what an amazing life I’m leading and what a gift the people I see are. Like how orthodox Jews wear a yamaka to remind themselves that they are living under the hand of God. Or how Muslims pray five times a day to remind themselves of who they serve. I bow to remind myself that these people who cross my path each day, they are God. And that I am, too. Amazing.

Namaste.

I think it’s the most beautiful word in the world, and it’s my word of the year. 2011 = Namaste. It’s what I’m going to work towards. Seeing the divine in each and every. In each and every. Even me.

I have missed you terribly, Monkees. How are you? Tell me, really. Namaste, Lovies.

P.S. In case you're wondering about the graphic . . . I couldn't find a picture of a Bowing Monkey . . . so I decided that a Bowling Monkey was close enough.

Love.