I'm juggling thoughts of Elizabeth Cady Stanton right now, and comfortable shoes, and a thousand other things. But I'll start simply.
Before I do, a friend directs me to Scrum - we're discussing Agile software project management. Googling Scrum is how I begin and that leads me to Rugby 101 on Youtube.
I really had no idea. Rugby is so, obviously, superior to American football. Forgive me Uncle Fielding.
OK, now back to that skunk.
It's sunset when I find my way up Heartbreak Hill to the labyrinth behind the church in my town. I pace the labyrinth as I often do, moving slowly, hands clasped at my heart, smiling a little. At some point I close my eyes, and step thoughtfully along the bricks.
When I open my eyes, there is a skunk in the yard about 20 feet from me.
He is happily rooting in the grass, prancing back and forth, chattering to himself, or so it seems. And a surprised part of me thinks "OH COOL! Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"
I don't believe I actually said that, but I have no one to ask. It's a slow moment before I realize, as he trots cheerfully towards me, that this creature has the power to make me deeply uncomfortable. In an end-of-the-road kind of flash, I think of all the places I'd be unwelcome if that should happen, and it's time to slowly back away.
What surprises me, though, is that I'm in no way resentful of Mr. Skunk. I don't mind that he disrupted my evening meditation. I understand that he is a skunk and that I lack a basic understanding of how to behave in his presence. I am happy to give him a whole lot of room, and glad I'm wearing sneakers.
If he were a human with the power to make me deeply uncomfortable, I might grapple earnestly with the best approach: kind? humorful? apologetic? stern? etc. I might discuss it with girlfriends, sisters or colleagues; shed tears; lose weight. But a skunk is what it is and it's amazingly easy to be ok with that.
It occurs to me that he is a mighty strong metaphor for some human encounters. You can't ever know what will make someone else feel threatened, or harmed, and you can't predict what their reaction will be. But if you know they're a skunk, really, just stay away because it won't matter to them that you are on your own little labyrinth of life, meditative or prayerful, kind as you may be.
I shared this in Quaker meeting yesterday, surprised to hear it coming from my lips, but several women approached me afterward and told me the message had spoken to them.
I haven't forgotten about Elizabeth Cady Stanton, or my fabulous and very comfortable shoes. I'm just pulling on some threads.
Of course, as women find themselves participating directly in the world economy, a platform designed and operated by men, it's hard not to notice that in many respects women are not especially well-schooled for the emotional and social elements of a good scrum, or skunks at work.
And women are really pretty new to the game. I am sitting at the desk that belonged to Stanton's granddaughter. She graduated in the first class that allowed women students at Cornell's Engineering school and she built this house. And her granddaughter is my landlady.
We may not realize it, but we're at the edge of living memory on the fight for a woman's right to vote, or to own property, or have rights to their children. And I don't believe we're completely whole yet.
In between raising a family of 7 and her marriage to a charismatic and very handsome man whom she adored, Stanton spent a lot of time researching the laws that restricted her. She and her devoted girlfriends tore open the Declaration of Independence and restitched it to include the basic rights of women as human beings.
But it seems to me their work isn't finished until all men are willing to let women in the game, and are ready to play by some new rules that may include fashion-forward and very happy shoes. I wonder what Stanton would think of my shoes?
That's pretty simplistic, I know. And maybe it's even more simplistic - or just blissfully simple - to understand that some of them are skunks doing their best to make you uncomfortable, and some of them may have a great pair of rugby shorts in the closet. I'm surely not the first to notice.
Now, I've promised a tantrika meditation so I will do it. I hate to keep reminding, but this is not about sex.
I was given permission to teach this but have only ever shared it with someone I adore. How does it fit in? Well, isn't it the basic care we give each other, the honest observation of another's well-being, that allows us to progress on this planet? So this is a healing meditation.
Let me warn you that personally I find it so lovely and relaxing that it puts me to sleep. Maybe you'll be sitting, or lying down when you try it.
Close your eyes and start to listen to your breath. Feel it lift your belly, your ribcage, your collar bones, and feel it release. Give yourself a few minutes to let your breath relax and soften.
On an inhale, when you feel like it, begin to say or think the word, "Sa", and as you exhale, "Om".
"Sa"... "Om"... This is a very old bij mantra.
On your next "Sa", imagine a bright, soothing light entering your body at the base of your spine, rising up through the vertebra with your breath, up to the very crown of your head.
And as you return your breath, with the word "Om", allow the light to drop back down your spine. Visualize the light slowly moving up and down your spine, and breathe.
"Sa" and "Om".
And smile.
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