Reflections After the 2016 January Earth Activist Training

It’s been two weeks since I returned home from the 2016 Earth Activist Training (E.A.T.) in Black Mountain Preserve in Cazadero, CA, but some part of me still lingers there… It feels like a “hangover” from taking in too much the goodness from an overwhelmingly enriched collective experience and I found it hard to put down in words. What really happened there? Where should I start if I am to recount that experience? How can I piece together such a rich experience that’s impacted me on so many levels, known and unknown? Then everything began to boil down to one word--connection. 

Connection to Self

“Xiaojuan, the only thing you need to worry about is studying. I would do anything to support you going to school, even if I had to climb the mountain that’s sharp as a knife or jump into the sea that’s full of fire. So when you grow up, you will not be like me, a peasant.” Mother’s words accompanied my growing up in China. In the '80s and '90s, peasants in China were not only excluded from enjoying the social benefits that the city or town residents enjoyed, but also had to pay heavy agricultural taxes. Being a peasant’s daughter was my biggest shame in my early years. 

My parents valued education and sent me to the best school in town to study. From the 1st to the 9th grade, I was the only country bumpkin in my class. I never invited any friends home or let Mother visit my school. Getting away from the dirty soil was the only way to leave shame behind. 

During the Earth Activist Training course, getting my hands dirty in soil and compost was homecoming to me. What an honor to be the daughter of a peasant Mother who knows how to grow food out of the soil! Though she didn’t want me to be a peasant, she has never stopped planting seeds, growing vegetables and flowers in her life. During the course, I finally knew the name of the small orange flowery plant that she used to grow all around my childhood home. It was Calendula! 

One rainy afternoon, we layered a composting pile by alternating between one layer of wood chips and one layer of food scraps and yard waste. Then we began sheet mulching over the soil near the entrance of the retreat center. We laid down the cardboard and then covered them with wood chips and bio-brew. While wheelbarrowing the wood chips to the sheet mulching spot, I could barely open my eyes as rain water splashed off my face. But working in a collectively high spirit in the rain injected so much buoyancy in my gaits, despite that my feet were soaked in my shoes. The day before, when we were making bio-brew during our morning circle outdoor, the rain started pouring, but we continued to sing and dance... 

I am a little proud to list here what I took part in during the E.A.T. course: composting and sheet-mulching, building graywater system, making A-frames and digging swales, seeding and propagating, pruning and grafting, making biochar and biobrew, inoculating mushrooms, making cob and refurbishing a cob oven, making hydrosol, and more. The nature view from the outdoor toilet at Golden Rabbit Ranch was breathtaking. Plus, the human manure would be put into good use. What could be more empowering than living off the land using wisely the harvested "free" energy sources? 

The most common interaction between the students and the teachers sounded like this:
"Is it the best way to..."
"It depends."

Making cob (Golden Rabbit Ranch). Photo Credit: Brooke Porter

Returning to the land is reclaiming my roots, returning “home,” my eternal sanctuary, where there is no shame, only dignity and freedom. 

Connection to Others

We were a diverse group, consisting of different ethnicities, ages, genders, orientations, backgrounds, hearing and non-hearing, and beyond. As in plant guilds, diversity creates resilience, which was proven true as we powered through difficult discussions in our circle. At the end of the training, we felt so close to one another and knew that we would forever remember those 14 days of learning and unlearning, staying open and growing close in 50 circles of sharing, and culminating with team project presentations and our very own talent show.

Before every meal, we joined hands and gave blessings to the food and thanks to those who contributed their labor of love. Every morning, we held an opening circle; every night, we held a closing circle. We circled to welcome the four elements from four directions, the air, the fire, the water, and the earth, and the spirit from the center, and we sang and danced. We spiraled in and out, looking into each other's eyes while passing... 

I learned a few signs from our interpreters who signed for the deaf students. I was amazed by the way the words being translated into such animated signs. How could I ever forget what the deaf students shared with us the noble deaf culture and their bumpy yet rich journeys of arriving where they were in life at that moment. “If there were a hearing pill available to me, I would not take it,” they said. It has remained as one of the top highlights of the E.A.T. course for me, and it continues to inspire me to claim my own noble nature. 

Pomo and Miwok friends, whose ancestors settled on this land way before anyone else, shared their profound inner world and outer conditions, from the past to today, from traditions to current food sources, from dance to music… and how they transformed anger into love and generosity. As I breathed in the wisdom words, my heart opened more.

As we journeyed further, besides discussing organisms, we included other “isms,” such as audism (discrimination based on one's ability to hear) and racism. We spoke our truth in big and small circles, together and separately. We rode on the roller coaster of our raw and true emotions, up and down, holding tightly as an elastic circle. Our circle did not break; instead, it was strengthened and cleansed by our tears and laughter. Our facilitators Starhawk, Pandora, and Charles held that sacred space and time for us to dive into the discomfort zone of anger and hurt, and then return with an expanded heart and mind that would carry us on in our shared meaningful future. 

Thich Nhat Hanh’s poem Please Call Me by My True Names offers a great reminder for us to see our human potential in forgiving and loving, and recognizing the basic goodness in all. 

Time warped during our E.A.T. course because our experiences were so intense that our awareness amplified more memories than usual into a short time interval. My brain was tricked into thinking more time had passed, especially during the first half of the training, three days felt like three years and we had known each other for a long time in an intimate community.

Together we planted on the hugel kultur bed we made (Golden Rabbit Ranch). Photo Credit: Brooke Porter Photography 

"Merry meet, merry part, merry meet again."

Connection to Nature

As a Chinese proverb goes, “Fallen leaves always return to the roots.” When one gets old, he goes back to where he was born. Now this ancient proverb is ever more visceral to me, as described in the book, The Earth Path, by Starhawk. 

“Imagine that you are a leaf, hanging tight to a twig on a high branch, waving in the wind… feeling what it’s like to feed from light, effortlessly… And now time passes. Imagine the first cold winds of winter beginning to blow... a freeze comes into your veins… And you take a deep breath... you let go and fall, letting the wind take you, and you swirl and dance and spiral... falling down and down and down… Until at last you come to rest on the earth… but the earth…is porous… alive with a billion hungry beings. And you take a deep breath and give yourself back to the earth, and she reaches up to embrace you, and a billion hungry months open wide to take you in… You descend, through great caverns and chasms… [passing through aunts, beetles, worms, soil bacteria, fungi…] long arms of the mycorrhizal fungi that stretch between the root hairs of the great trees… pass you from one tree to another… [Take] a deep breath, feel yourself sucked into the root hair, and up into the root, rising and rising on a current of sweet sap… higher and higher… you become part of a green bud that opens with the warmth of the spring sun…”  

Walking on a tree-shaded trail covered with soft brown leaves, I imagine being a walking tree, lifting my feet but staying connected to the ground. Through the tree branches, the gentle breeze brushes my moving body, lifting me upward until I feel like flying away, through light and shadow, like a bird. Above, a flock of small black birds are holding a community meeting on the fly, this way, then that way. When one topic is raised, the group echoes in chorus, “Agreed!” “Not agreed!” Or maybe they are just laughing at us, ignorant four-limbed erect creatures. 

Standing on a wooden bridge over a creek, I watch the water moving towards me from one side, then under me, then away from me. It is constantly flowing… 

When I see a garden, I am in awe, feeling the life force calling to me from way below the dark soil. I walk closer to a fruit tree, a flower, or a vegetable, I touch them gently to feel their vibration that resonates with mine. One day when my time comes, I desire to journey down and be part of that magical life cycle.

Every morning when I open my eyes, the birds fly by my window, calling me, “Outside! Outside! Outside!” 

Going Forward

I stayed at the Golden Rabbit Ranch for 3 more nights after the course. On the last day, as we raked, wheelbarrowed, dug and picked to flatten the parcel where Starhawk visioned to hold circles next to where a Chinese medicinal garden would be, I asked if she knew anyone who does related work in China. “John Liu, a filmmaker, documented land restoration projects around the world,” she said.

I looked him up upon my return. In his film Hope in a Changing Climate, John D. Liu captured the transformation of the severely degraded land in Northern China after the Loess Plateau Watershed Rehabilitation Project.

Loess Plateau (黃土高原) covers a vast area in the upper and middle reaches of the Yellow River. In ancient times, it was fertile and easy to farm, which contributed to the development of early Chinese civilization around the region. But Centuries of deforestation and over-grazing, exacerbated by China's ever-growing population, have resulted in degenerated ecosystems. Its silty soil, the “most erodible soil on the earth,” is deposited into the Yellow River by wind and water, which causes frequent floods along the Yellow River, also known as “China’s Sorrow.” The success of the restoration project proved that the ecological balance can be restored. 

Loess Plateau, early September 1995. Photo Credit: Kosima Weber liu, EEMP

Loess Plateau, early September 2009. Photo Credit: Kosima Weber Liu, EEMP      

                                          

As John D. Liu said, “The entire planet is functional. If we understand how the natural evolutionary process worked... we emulate those and don’t disturb... we can live in the garden of eden.” He has come to see Ecological Restoration as the “GREAT WORK” of our time. 

As Masanobu Fukuoka wrote in The One-Straw Revolution, "The ultimate goal of farming is not the growing of crops, but the cultivation and perfection of human beings."

As Lao Tzu, the Taoist sage, says, "There was something formless and perfect, before the universe was born... It flows through all things, inside and outside, and returns to the origin of all things... Man follows the earth. Earth follows the universe. The universe follows the Dao." (Dao De Jing, chapter 25)

As I continue to ponder the balance in the universe that's yet to be restored, I think about joining my mother to plant together next time when I visit China. Maybe I'll plant that scarlet runner bean that was shared in our circle at E.A.T. 

To connect is the first step to heal. We are part of the earth; healing ourselves and our communities is part of healing the earth too. Knowing that the relationship between nature and humankind is a delicate and eternal dance, I'll learn to continue to spiral, "with no beginning, and never ending."

The garden my mother grows (Jiangsu, China)

2016 January E.A.T. Class. Photo Credit: Brooke Porter Photography

Thanks to:

Our amazing facilitators: Starhawk and Charles Williams  with Pandora Thomas 

Earth Activist Training (E.A.T.)

The Earth Path by Starhawk

Starhawk’s blog about the 2016 Earth Activist Training
Permaculture Skills Center
Black Mountain Retreat Center

E.A.T. course photo credits: Brooke Porter Photography
Mother(s)

All Participants of the 2016 E.A.T. 
YOU ROCK!

River Crossing (Memoir)

“River crossing!”

“River crossing!”

I was six. Mama and I were doing a duet, calling for the boatman. He lived in the small mud hut on the other side of the Dragon-fighting River. We were on our way to see Grandpa and Grandma. The wide river shimmered in the morning sun. I shook my head to feel my two pigtails dangling from the top of my head. I looked up to see Mama. She looked straight ahead, holding her big black bicycle with both hands. I was happy to visit Grandpa and Grandma, but I was more excited to see Auntie Two.

Auntie Two was Mama’s younger sister. When my parents were both busy working in separate factories and rarely home, Baba took my older brother and Mama left me with my grandparents when I was one. Auntie Two was still living at home then, so she babysat me. Every time during meals, I ran around the table, not wanting to eat. Auntie Two squatted down with a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. Sometimes she would say, “If you don’t eat it, toads will come to eat it.” When I finally opened my mouth, she put a spoonful of short noodles or rice into my mouth, smiling with her big yellow teeth.

I had been Auntie Two’s confidante since I was four, or maybe even before I could remember. One time she showed me the bruise on her forearm and said, “Your Uncle pushed me to the corner behind the stove and hit me with the cooking spade.” That uncle was her stuttered brother.

When I turned six, Mama took me home across the Dragon-fighting River and sent my brother and me to the best elementary schools in town. In the same year, Auntie Two married a hunchbacked waste picker, who was fifteen years older than her and made a living by scavenging through waste piles in villages to find things to sell. The married couple lived in my grandparents’ old house, a single mud house on high ground half a mile away from the rest of the village. Mama said it was good that Auntie Two found a husband because Auntie Two was a little different. She couldn’t walk until she was twelve. I thought it was good that Auntie Two married too because my stuttered uncle could not hit her any more.

“River crossing!”

“River crossing!”

Mama and I became a little impatient. More people were waiting for the boat now. Finally, the boatman walked out of his hut, unhooked the anchoring rope, and strode onto the boat. He picked up a long bamboo pole, and pushed against the riverbank, then the river bottom, with both hands holding the pole. One push at a time, the boat came closer and closer. Everyone waiting for the boat stopped talking.

When the concrete boat reached our side, I jumped on and called to the boatman, “Grandpa!” He had the same family name Wang as my grandpa. Mama told me if I called him Grandpa, it would make him happy. Next time he might not have us wait so long. It was not very crowded on the boat. I walked back and forth near the edge of the boat and dodged the boatman’s bamboo pole when he switched sides. I was fascinated by the fast moving water underneath the boat. I felt dizzy after looking at the water too long. Two black cormorants--birds that catch fish--squatted on the bamboo stick on one side of the boat. I didn’t remember seeing them before. They were free except for a string tying to their throats. The boat slowed down. One cormorant suddenly dived into the river. It propelled in the water, dived further down, and then came back to the bamboo stick with a fish in its mouth. The boatman laid down the bamboo pole, took out the fish from the cormorant’s long beak, and dropped it into a small-mouthed basket. The cormorant spread out its wings in the sun, when the other cormorant dived into the river. I wondered why the cormorants did not run away.

One push at a time, the boatman transported us to the other side of the Dragon-fighting River. “Bye, Grandpa!” I waved to the boatman when we were getting off and saw him reward the cormorants with tiny fish. I climbed onto the crossbar of Mama’s bicycle. She began to pedal on the dirt road, winding and bumpy. The top of my head felt warm when Mama breathed out and cool when she breathed in. Soon my legs fell asleep.

It was a long bicycle ride. When I saw the narrow cement bridge, my heart raced. I could see smoke coming out of my grandparents’ kitchen chimney. Mama and I walked across the bridge before we got back on the bicycle. On the right side of the dirt road was a massive green ocean of rice fields. On the left were similar one-story houses lining a small river. In front of grandparents’ grey brick house, I got off the crossbar and ran into the kitchen.

“Grandpa! Grandma!” I called.

The smell of cooked rice filled the kitchen. Grandpa was cutting vegetables on the table in front of the tall white stove made of quicklime, which had two big woks fixed on its top and a chimney connecting to the outside. Grandma was adding straws and twigs behind the stove.

“You are here! Lunch will be ready soon,” Grandpa said.

Grandma smiled.

“I am going to see Auntie Two,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

I dashed out of the door. Big Yellow, the neighbor’s big yellow dog, galloped towards me. He jumped up and down along my side. Before I moved away, every day when I walked home from the one-classroom school in the village, Big Yellow waited for me near the narrow cement bridge. When he saw me, he ran to me and walked me home.

Auntie Two’s single thatched mud house stood on high ground at the far eastern end of the rice fields. I walked on the narrow footpaths between green paddy fields. Spring breeze brushing over my face and sunlight warming my right side, I smelled the wet mud of the field beds in the sun-permeated air. My body felt so light that I opened my arms to run like an airplane.

“Cuckoo!” A cuckoo flew over in the sky.  

“Cuckoo!” I echoed.

I ran all the way to high ground.

“Auntie Two! Auntie Two!” I called before I reached the door.

Auntie Two’s door was open, but she was not home. Her home was small. The darkened lime stove stood on the right near the door, with straws and twigs stacked behind. In front of the stove stood a clay water tank, a small wooden table and two tiny benches. Several pieces of clothing lay on the dirt floor. A twin-sized wooden bed occupied the left corner near the door. A blackened quilt and two pillows rested atop. I knew that in the belly of the bed was stored unhulled rice.

“Auntie Two!” I called out to the green ocean.

Auntie Two emerged, carrying a bamboo basket and walking up with a small digging spade in her right hand. She wore the peach-colored shirt Mama used to wear. She looked thinner. Her short hair covered her forehead. She smiled with her big yellow teeth.

At her home, Auntie Two scooped water from the tank with a bottle gourd and drank. Her little finger was bent. She was born with two bent little fingers and I had tried to unbend them before. Auntie Two put down the bottle gourd and picked up a small basket. We walked to the back of the house where the big apricot tree was. Orange apricots cuddled under the leaves all over the tree and many had fallen on the ground. We collected the good ones from the ground.

With a tree branch, Auntie Two knocked more apricots off the tree. The moment they hit the ground, I chased them and put them in the basket.

Back in the house, Auntie Two picked the best apricots and wrapped them in a cloth.

“He beats me every day. It hurts here,” she said. Her left hand pressed her lower left belly. For a moment, my mind froze. I saw her hunchbacked husband only once. He had big wrinkles on his forehead. He seemed to have lived a hard life. I even felt sorry for him. He beat Auntie Two? Why?

Before I walked out of the door, Auntie Two put the cloth wrapped apricots in my arms. She stood in front of her thatched home, watching me walking back to my grandparents’.

I walked between the rice fields again. While walking, I wondered if Auntie Two was still there watching me. I looked back. There she was! I walked again and then turned again. She was still there, but looked smaller. I kept on walking and turning until she looked so tiny. I must look tiny to her too. I stopped. Auntie Two and I were standing there, tiny face to tiny face, as if we were the only two people living in that land, bathed in soft spring breeze and warm sunlight. I thought that when I grew up, I would be Auntie Two’s protector. I would invite her home, change her into nice clothes, and make her delicious fried rice.

After lunch, I waved goodbye to Grandpa and Grandma in front of their grey house. I climbed onto the crossbar of Mama’s bicycle. Big Yellow followed. Before the narrow cement bridge, Mama and I got off the bicycle. Big Yellow tagged along with us to the other side of the bridge and continued to follow. Mama and I both yelled, “Big Yellow, go home!” Big Yellow stopped. But when we got on the bicycle, he ran after us again. Mama got off her bicycle to stop him several times, but he continued to follow.  

I sat on the crossbar, while Mama pedaled. Big Yellow ran by our side, and then fell behind. After a while, Mama turned to look and said Big Yellow was still following. Suddenly, I was excited that Big Yellow was following me home! I began to imagine how Big Yellow was galloping on the dirt road. He must be hanging out his tongue while running. Did he stop for a quick pee? Did he smell the grass and the wildflowers before he peed? Did he have to speed up to catch up with us? What a fun race! He ran and ran. Nothing could stop him. He had never run this far from home before. What an adventure! The wind whistled by his ears just as it whispered into mine.  Big Yellow must be happy. He was far from home. He was free! He ran and ran. Then there appeared the Dragon-fighting River. I bet Big Yellow had never seen such a big river before.

I got off  the crossbar. Big Yellow was panting with his tongue out. I patted him and asked Mama if Big Yellow could get on the boat. Mama said we shouldn’t take Big Yellow and he knew his way home. Big Yellow walked with us to the riverbank, but someone kicked him away. I heard his painful moan and began to cry. The boatman pushed against the riverbank with his long bamboo pole. Big Yellow paced on the bank, and then sat there watching us going away. I cried out loud. 
When we reached the other side, Big Yellow was still sitting there. He looked so tiny on the other side...

About the writer: www.xiaojuanshu.net

Year-End Reflections (2015)

When I watch the sunset next time, watch it knowing that I am revolving with the celestial wonderer—the earth, not that the sun is setting. I am not "stuck" anywhere; I am where I am. Be there. Get my beliefs out of my way so that I can truly experience the "free fall," falling into that mystical, expansive, and empty space which is always there, unchanged. I am not my experiences, my beliefs, my education, my age, the color of my skin, or anything that I claim to be "mine" because I am so much more than all those combined. Yet, what am I, exactly? This morning, I was inspired to love myself more after watching the video “Meaning of Life” by Jeff Lieberman. As the calendar of 2015 approaches its back cover, I reflect again on meaning of life as raindrops splash off all things outside my window seeking poetry yet to be born… 

A One-Woman Show, A Journey Home

In the past six years, I wrote my story bit by bit and had the privilege to share it on the stage many times. To me, it’s more of a journey of self-examination and self-discovery, where Mother’s story intertwines with mine, two yet-to-be-reconciled identities on the opposite sides of the Pacific call for deeper questioning, and light dances with darkness spiraling upward and downward. 

In January this year, to get myself out of a dark pit, I wrote that creating a full-length one-woman show and sharing it with a broader audience in 2015 would be the first ever milestone in my life so that I could say, “Yes, I did it!” But in the middle of the year, I began to question about the necessity of having such a “goal.” Seeking self-expression through writing my own life and feeling legitimate enough to share it on the stage are already complete in a sense, what else is there to be finished?

But the journey of self-examination and self-discovery never ends and will continue to unfold on the stage of life or in a theatre. I no longer agonize over if creating a one-woman show based on personal stories is shameless self-absorption or divine exploration of shared human experiences. The step I am certain to take in 2016 is to open wider the door to let more light shine from within, and in the illumination of that light, my dreams, old and new, will become either “effortless or irrelevant,” as Charles Eisenberg puts it. I trust.

A Love Letter to Myself

Dear Xiao,

Thank you for inspiring me to write this letter to you. First of all, please accept my deepest apology for losing faith in you again two nights ago, doubting if you are good enough for yourself, for your family in China, or for the world. My judgment probably dragged you down into that deep abyss again because I noticed that you tossed and turned in bed that night. I am sorry. I put you under the scrutiny through the lens of those who believe that success merely means a high-paying job, a big house, and a proper marriage. But you are determined to go through the door of a much deeper living. 

You’ve been broadening your horizons all these years, constantly stepping out of your comfort zone to explore deeper and broader, from business to performing arts, from the East to the West, from having no faith to holding an increasing number of paradoxes… Life is full of wonder and you began to see more and more… 

I am very happy that on the open dance floor yesterday, you let yourself free during those two hours, releasing your sadness into spontaneous body movements. Though at first, you stood in the corner feeling ashamed and sad, tearing up as others dancing their hearts out around you, and you refused to move any of your limbs, then you breathed deeply and began to move by imitating any random person in the crowd. Then you moved across the floor and copied the movements of many of those whom you passed by. You seemed to connect with them by honoring their movements. Then you jumped up and down with the music like an innocent and happy child! Wow, I was very impressed! I just want to tell you that because I know how far you've come. After witnessing your dance yesterday, I now believe that when your heart is free, nothing is impossible!

What am I thankful about being you? I am thankful that you are loved and cherished by so many kind souls, from your family to friends to strangers; I am thankful that you have met many who see the light in you before I do; I am thankful that you don’t have to deal with health issues like many others endure; I am thankful that you are learning to give yourself some space to pause; I am thankful that you love to travel and to connect with different cultures; I am thankful that you are supported by many generous ones who provide a roof over your head, food for your body, and wisdom for your soul, and a mother who loves you deeply and supports you unconditionally. Wow. How abundant life is!  

I want to say that I, I, I… love…you... Wow. It’s hard! To be honest, I am feeling discomfort rising in me. But please don’t take it personally. Many more love-letters that I will be writing to you in the future. This is just a start! :)

With selfless self-love,

Me 

Stepping Deeper Into Service

How do we honor the bird in each of us that has the potential to soar high in the sky, instead of shaming that little bird for not being able to swim? Neither “selfish” individualism nor “selfless” altruism has emphasized enough on deep self-love--an exploration of unconditional love for the divine Self.      

As Pablo Picasso once said, “The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.” How do I integrate what I love to do, which is yet to be explored, with what the world needs? I am willing to continue to step into the unknown. Here I would like to quote Dao De Jing (also Tao Te Ching) by Laozi, Chapter 25:

There was something formless and perfect
before the universe was born.
It is serene. Empty.
Solitary. Unchanging.
Infinite. Eternally present.
It is the mother of the universe.
For lack of a better name,
I call it the Tao.

It flows through all things,
inside and outside, and returns
to the origin of all things.

The Tao is great.
The universe is great.
Earth is great.
Man is great.
These are the four great powers.

Man follows the earth.
Earth follows the universe.
The universe follows the Tao.
The Tao follows only itself.

A Letter to You:

Why are there so many layers that prevent me from connecting to you, from feeling your heartbeats, your pain, and your deepest longing? How can I lift that mystical veil off me with a fresh air of chutzpah? Could I let go all the layers that have enveloped me in false security for so long?
Every day, I am different, different from last year, last month, yesterday, even as I am writing this sentence, I am different from that "person" who wrote the last sentence. I so so so want to set out on my pilgrimage to unclutter my mind, purify my heart, and cleanse my soul, so that I can connect to myself, to you, and to this thing called life on Earth.

I am still in search of the right questions to live by. Meanwhile, the pain becomes unbearable of the separation I feel from you! Shall we take that quantum leap together? 

Love,

Xiaojuan

Today I Began: A Small Gift Could Ripple Big

Two days ago, I witnessed the magic of random kindness when I was having dinner with a friend who's involved with ServiceSpace. We gave a bracelet to the waitress with a message on it: "I am a sacred, worthy, luminous being. I am love and my love is for giving." The bracelet was a gift from Dr. Tom Pinkson, who shared his wisdom at the first Sacred Leadership Summit we'd just attended. To our surprise, the waitress was very happy and told us how sad she was the previous night and she prayed. The bracelet made her day! At the end of our dinner, she insisted offering us free coconut ice-cream. We were just thinking about getting coconut ice-cream after dinner! Wow, a small gift could ripple big. You just never know. In this case, it was sweet synchronicity. 

Last night, I watched the interview of Nipun Mehta by Charles Eisenstein who authored Sacred Economics. For the first time, I realized that I'd missed the point about giving. Not only I didn't see the big effect of giving, but I tended to associate most giving with some degree of condescending gesture. After hearing Nipun's simple yet profound description about giving, it dawned on me: We give outside, while receiving inside. It doesn't matter how small the effect would be outside. For example, the homeless to whom we feed one meal might be starved to death a week later. What matters is the interconnectedness and stillness we experience inside when we give. When the person who receives is inspired to pay it forward, he or she will experience that inner transformation as well. That's what it is about. "All life is practice."  

This morning, I felt very uplifted to practice generosity. I brought several Smile cards and a gift card with me as I rode my bike to my next thing. On the way, I greeted strangers with "good morning" and a smile; they all mirrored me. I saw a weary old man, who seemed a borderline homeless, lying on the bench in a bus waiting booth; I stopped. I wanted to put a Smile card and the gift card next to him. Trying not to wake him up, I reached my hand from the bottom of the booth to put the cards on the bench next to his head, but my arm was not long enough and I still woke him up. Embarrassingly, I offered him the cards with two hands, but he looked away and said, "No, thanks." I apologized and then left.

Giving is a life practice. Look deeply and then act deeply, as Thich Nhat Hanh would put it. It was my first conscious attempt and I wouldn't say I failed, because in my heart I knew, next time if I pay more attention, I'll know better what another person might need and then give that to him or her in a more skillful way. :)

"We've all been given a gift, a gift of life. What we do with our lives is our gift back."  -- Edo

"It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving." -- Mother Teresa


More about the writer: http://www.xiaojuanshu.net