28 March 2020
Dear friends,
I didn’t think I would be writing again so soon. But I had a revelation this morning and felt I wanted to share it. I can hear a few of you laughing – oh no, a revelation, no less. He’ll want a drum roll next, I can hear you say. For these weeks there has been so much care and concern shared on the internet. I’m sure it is the same for all of you that these emails and WhatsApp messages have been a treasure and a surprise. A treasure, as we all realize how lucky we are to be part of a sangat, to be disciples of our beloved. We have no understanding of his greatness and less realization of how lucky we are to have him.
But what I’ve struggled with is what to say in our shared messages to each other – concern about the welfare of our friends, of course. But I haven’t been able to ‘see’ the right response to the outpourings of love and care. I’ve felt that I’m missing something in my responses. There was something I just wasn’t getting about what I felt being in lockdown.
We have a young doctor in our sangat – a lovely young man whom both of us like tremendously. His acceptance for Naam sits on my desk. He is doing a residency in a hospital in Brescia, which is in the heart of the hardest-hit areas of Lombardia. I can’t imagine the stress that he is under. I don’t message him unless he messages me, as I don’t want to take time away from his seva. This morning I heard from him. Not a complaint or a touch of tiredness but instead only concern for us. I know he has colleagues who are critically ill, but he moves forward in a positive way. He checks up on us to make sure we are okay despite our being in the quiet of our centre and not in the maelstrom of Covid-19.
And then I saw what was missing in my life at this critical time. I’m unable to give. To me it is a fundamental part of each of us, this impulse to give. And in lockdown that is almost impossible to do. We all want to give according to our capacity and I realized I felt insincere in writing because it didn’t satisfy my desire to give. I suspect we are all in this position. That is why we send cheery videos and advice on what to do to protect ourselves from the virus. We all want to give. It is how we care for each other.
I write to the sangat a lot, trying my best to be encouraging and comforting in these scary times. But that isn’t enough. In the past few days I’ve written something to them every day even if it is only a line or two. My frustration is that it is all I can do – just write words. It doesn’t seem enough. We all want to give according to our capacity for giving, and words seem so inadequate when our young friend is on the front lines giving.
But I guess the real message to me is that he gives in accord with his capacity and me with mine. I have to be satisfied with what I can do, which is write comforting words to sangats that crave satsang and seva. Realizing that does give me a certain peace of mind. It still seems inadequate, though.
By the time this is over the sangat will not want to hear another word from me. Is it built into being a Representative that one becomes preachy and can’t help but give advice? By the time this is over I’ll be sick of reading what I’ve written. My conclusion is that we all need to find the best way to give: a way that fits our desires, our talents, and our capacity. We might feel it isn’t enough, but so be it. For me, I hope to carry the desire to give beyond this time, when Covid-19 becomes part of our shared history and not what shapes our everyday life. If giving is what shapes my life then, post-virus, I want to do so to the best of my ability.
Thanks to many of you for your recommendations on my haircut dilemma. But the best advice I got was from my friend in Paris. He sent me a photograph of himself and his young son both with hair which was cut down to the lowest number on his electric shaver. So that is what I’m going to do. Ann will shave it off in the next few days. At least that’s what I say now. We’ll see what I actually do. Today she asked if I would cut her hair. The question left me quaking in fear. But I think I’ll do it if she really wishes me to. Daring, aren’t I?
I do notice that everything has slowed down, especially as we approach week six. I wear a sweat shirt and sweatpants every day, which isn’t what I normally wear. I definitely spend one hundred times more time on social media than ever before. I signed up for Facebook and then realized that my mind must have become very cloudy if I had done that. I signed up but haven’t been on it and don’t intend to follow through. Enough writing! Enough funny virus cartoons! Enough health advice! I love you all dearly, but sorry, not enough to Facebook.
Today is gorgeous outside, sunny, and 18°C (64°F) outside. On days like this it is easy to be in lockdown. We can walk around the property and enjoy the sunshine. But on Monday we are supposed to start four days of rain. Then we’ll see whether boredom seeps in. Ann, of course, will be in the garden come rain or shine. She’s planting vegetables so we won’t run out of food. When we do have seva again, there should be enough in the garden for the langar. Gosh, I look forward to having seva again. We miss our sevadar family tremendously.
Today I had my adventure of the week. I went to the supermarket. I was masked and gloved. While walking down the soap aisle I could feel a sneeze bursting through my system from the perfume in the products. I quickly pulled up my mask, quickly got a tissue, and captured the sneeze. As I’m doing all this I’m looking up and down the aisle and was so relieved I was the only one in it. Otherwise people would be running away from the possibly-infected one. That’s how life has changed, when sneezing, always a slightly self-conscious activity, becomes a moment of fear.
Besides sevadars and sangat what I miss the most these days is being able to walk into our village and have a machiatto coffee and a vegano croissant. Those small things that are part of the rhythm of life, which mean nothing but help create an atmosphere of contentment in life. When fear of the unknown is blowing through the atmosphere it is contentment which it stifles first. But how can we possibly be discontented? We have everything, from enough to eat to enough to watch on TV, and we have him.
Well, my friends, I hope everything is well with all of you. Please stay safe and enjoy. We are, without doubt, the lucky sons of Sat Purush.
XXX,
Bill