A Simple Kind of Life

The original title for this post was "Community Growth." I intended to write about two very special encounters from the past week.

The first involved a Twin Oaks community garden visit with my housemate and gardening-extraordinaire, Mia. Over the last years she has reserved a plot, which this year she has generously offered to be our house-plot. We arrived upon the garden after a leisurely one-mile walk from Columbia Heights--her hands sticky from a street-bought mango and mine from vegan soft-serve. Our sole task was to water the plot and as expected, simple tasks are never so.

In total we spent a very pleasant two hours at the garden with our new little friends. Mia and I had run into two young people with their mother whom her supervisors taught in a gardening class. Christian and I became quick friends, most likely because he stubbornly tried to ride Mia's bike, even though his seven year old legs were not long enough to cycle. Most of our two-hour visit consisted of me steadying him, and eventually, pushing him on the bike along the garden; fetching water from across the street and losing the hose fight (in which I never had a hose...); and finishing our time together with a piggy-back ride. Curiously, he claimed never to have had one before so I was pleased to virtually slop around the garden with a small person attached to me.

As much fun as I had with both Mia and Christian, I made another observation. In our final minutes, harvesting our plot's kale and turnips, I felt an enduring peace. Gardening is remarkable relationship, no doubt, but most of all, I was awed by the gardeners. During our visit I saw a rare image in my life: an African woman in traditional clothing with her little woman, a Latino woman with her two little ones (including Christian), and a professionally dressed white woman, each sharing and using the same space. I thought to myself, "I've seen my Beloved Community."

Yesterday I was walking through Adams Morgan to Mount Pleasant from work. In "professional" clothes, I am so uncomfortable that I usually prefer to get out of them as soon as possible, but I found myself on foot toward home once I was passed by two completely packed buses. After all, it was my mind, not my feet, which is out of sorts in a collared shirt and fitting pants. Along the way, at 18th Street, I met Ed Ross.

Ed was selling Street Sense, DC's only homeless/poor person's paper, which I told him, "I never miss." I rarely carry cash but somehow I always have a single dollar when I come across a Street Sense vendor. Ed and I talked for about a half-hour. I learned a great deal about him, including his early years, life in the military, and these days, just an all-around active and good guy. He had one amazing story about his invitation to the White House by former President George Bush himself. The President learned about an experimental program Ed founded called the "Homeless Challenge" that allowed well-off college students to become homeless for a few days in DC. The President called Mayor Fenty, Mayor Fenty called Street Sense, Street Sense called Ed. Most exceptional about Ed was that he turned the invitation to the White House down. Better yet, he essentially put former President Bush in his place by way of honesty. After reminding the President of government's eventual response to Hurricane Katrina he asked why the President was unable to house the thousands of homeless or displaced DC-residents in his own backyard. Promptly a President's aide got on the line reporting that the President had an "emergency" leading to his abrupt departure--Ed said, "Yes. He had an emergency--from the fire that I lit beneath his ass." Mind you, Ed was a very polite fellow, but he also possessed a talent for telling something by its true name. There, I knew that I had found a kindred spirit!

I hope to run into Ed in the future. He spends most of his weekends helping children, selling Street Sense, and offering his company to two older women who love spending time. If you are in Adams Morgan, DC, during the weekends, look for a "Street Sense" vest along 18th & Columbia Rd. You may see a jovial guy named Ed Ross.

I began my full schedule this week (minus the holiday) as a 20 hour a week-legal researcher, and 24-hour a week-legal NGO intern, and 4-hour a week-externship student. I dress-up three days a week; claim my very own cubicle for one job; and ride the elevator to the 12th floor for the other. I am a bona-fide "suit." Yet, I discovered just how challenging it was to practice the dharma under such demands. After four days full of a general routine, and commuting, and reading reports, and reading statutes, and meetings, I humbly confess that enlightenment seems much farther away. Not to mention one's life outside of work, like weight-lifting, phone-calling, and reading (I began and finished "The Morality of Beautiful Girls" by Alexander McCall Smith, the third or fourth book in the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series).

I reflected on the week with my sangha-friend, Gretchen, over the phone. I have recently committed to join the "Buddhist-teacher track," with which I was sharing to Gretchen. We observed that every Buddhist teacher we know are either self-employed as full-time healers/meditation teachers or enjoy flexible work-lives as professors. We concluded, without intending to diminish these jobs, that sanghas would benefit from teachers with more diverse professional backgrounds (among other ways). Lawyers, organizers, laborers, salespeople, accountants, cooks, and others must become teachers because these are the conditions under which we practice.

"Teachers" must reflect the community of which we are a part in the Beloved Community. We all live simple lives in a richly-complicated world. Lives that entail relationships, trust, and change. I ask myself, "What will I harvest today?"