This marks my first entry since returning from a Buddhist meditation retreat. The reason for my long absence is that I am still processing what has happened to me. To put it simply, my life was significantly transformed in 10 days. How does one begin to share such an experience? I have considered writing many times since my return, but I just haven’t had a clear idea of where to start or what to say. I know the time will come. Stay tuned.
This morning, however, I was inspired to write as I had an unexpectedly moving experience. Today, I rode the train into the City as I always do, but I did so with an interesting stranger; one who would elevate my state of awareness to a level that I now identify as “the miraculous.” Allow me to explain.
On Wednesdays, I take the train to Toronto where I see clients from a rented day office. This morning was particularly difficult for me to get up, as a nagging, dry cough had greatly compromised my sleep. When my alarm went off at4:45 am, the only thought in my head was that I would be able to sleep for two hours on the train before meeting with my clients.
As I parked the car and walked the block or so to the train station, the roads were empty and the air was fresh from the night rainfall. The sun wasn’t up yet and so I walked in the darkness as the traffic lights shone blurry colours over the wet streets. As I took in the colours, smells and the silence I found myself asking God for help in bringing peace to my heart and into the hearts of others: “Let me be an instrument for peace today,” I said, “and let my attitude promote healing in others.”
Let me provide a brief background as to why a non-religious, non-lay person might ask such a thing of God on this run-of-the-mill morning.
Prior to attending the Buddhist retreat, I had spent 10 months studying A Course in Miracles. (In upcoming entries, I will elaborate on how similar the two philosophies are.) The point today is that they both speak of renouncing the self, the ego, and the “I” in favour of seeing ourselves as children from a common source. We have only to look around us to see our brothers and sisters everywhere. And, man, are we all hurting.
It was through studying A Course in Miracles (ACIM) that I learned the concept of forgiveness and unconditional acceptance of all people, including myself. The Course teaches that when we forgive others, we are healing ourselves, as there really is no separation between any of us. And it said that our only job on earth is to heal and help others heal.
It was under these auspices that I asked to be of service today. I made my request and let it go.
Once boarding began, I did something I normally never do — I walked straight to the back of the car, only to find that there were no remaining seats. When I retraced my steps, the only seat left was next to an elderly man with a full head of white hair and a prosthetic arm. I asked if the seat was taken and he said no, simply asking me to place his coat in the overhead compartment for him.
Intent on sleeping, I reclined my seat and nestled into my coat.
“I sure hope the coffee comes around soon,” the man said, thumbing a toonie.
“Mmm-hmm,” I smiled and closed my eyes.
“It sure is nice to get out of the City once and a while,” he added.
“It is,” I agreed, closing my eyes again.
The chatter continued. Observations about train travel were offered, as was the purpose of the man’s journey today – he was receiving a replacement prosthetic for his missing left arm.
Now, I have always had a soft spot for the elderly, and having just lost my beloved Grandfather only 12 weeks ago, this sensitivity was heightened. And so, I sat up and gave the man my attention. Inside, I was lamenting the loss of my sleep, but reasoned that I could give of some of my time to this person who probably just needed company.
He said he was a carnie, a declaration that surprised me as he didn’t present the stereotypical image of a carnival worker. He was well-groomed, well-dressed and well-spoken.
He spoke of his youth in a remote, northern Ontario town, and of his time spent out West. Then there were, of course, all the cities and towns he visited with the carnival.
He spoke in detail about the games he ran. “Dimes was the biggest money maker. I could rake in $12,000 in 3 days with that game and with a 10% cut, I would walk away with a good take-home,” he said. “But those types of games eventually got shut down. Some people run games crooked. We never did. It was always honest.”
He spoke of balloon darts and games where you ring the bell by swinging a mallet. It was clear to me that he had a lot of pride over his salesmanship. And, I learned that he wasn’t always a carnie. After graduating from high school he worked in construction and on the railway until being absconded by the Alberta oil field corporations for his ability to read all manner of topographical maps – a skill he had gained from courses taken at high school. He said that work was plentiful and this was good because “All I am is a worker.”
He had started working at 14, he said. “Working is all a man’s got. If he hasn’t got that, he’s got nothing.”
His sharing wasn’t linear, but rather tangential. Amidst accounts of his various, fascinating jobs, he made mention of politics (he hated Liberals and felt that Pierre Elliot Trudeau was a buffoon), affordable senior housing and the bed-bug problem (not enough of one and an epidemic of the other) and family (an ex-wife and three kids, long since grown). But, by the end of hour one I learned that he had been estranged from his loved ones for many years. It was at this point, he began to talk of regret and about “making things right.”
“They found me three months ago on Facebook,” he said of one of his daughters. “They want me to come out and I might in January or February.”
“Why wait?” I asked.
“Well, there’s things that need to happen before then. Important things. You see, I’m expecting a settlement from Worker’s Comp and my lawyer says I’ll be getting $100, ooo after he takes his cut. I made the decision when I started this case 5 years ago that I’d give it to my ex and my kids.”
I was suddenly touched. He said that it was “the least he could do” to make up for leaving. Though, he made it clear that they were all much better off without him.
“They all work and own homes. Me, I married my love when she was only 16 – I was 22. But in the oil fields, you drank. You know what that leads to. Nothing good.”
I suddenly tuned into a sadness and a regret that was closely guarded before, but which was now starting to escape his composed demeanor.
Interestingly, he spoke of his belief in forgiveness. Though he had been stripped — after many years of experience — of his right to work in the geographic services industry due to a lack of post-secondary education, he said he had come to terms with the bitterness and learned to forgive. Of all his children, his son was the only one who had not been in touch since his discovery on Facebook, but he says he doesn’t blame his son for staying away. He singularly blamed himself for losing his family.
It was at this juncture, I decided to say something that had been on my mind a while. This man needed to be reminded to forgive himself. Whether the money from the settlement came in or not, I said he should find the courage to reunite with his loved ones who had clearly expressed the desire for a relationship. His eyes looked down and away when I said this, and he said quietly, “I can’t be a burden. The only thing I worry about these days is that I have some money for my burial. That’s my biggest fear – that my family will end up having to bury me.”
Something about this conversation was turning a corner. I could feel it. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was then that he asked me the time and said, “I’m going to get breakfast when I get to the hospital. That’s about 45 minutes now.”
He continued to share and he said that his eldest daughter told him that “Mom still had a soft-spot” for him. His eyes teared up when he said this. Again, I reminded him that he should accept the love and the possibility for reconciliation with his family if it is offered, not only for himself, but because of the healing benefits it could have for the individual family members. Then, in the final moments of our ride, he would say something that would only begin to register when I was off the train.
He looked at me and, for the first time in two hours, asked me a question. He wondered what I did for a living. I told him I was a therapist.
“Hmm, he said. My social worker is a therapist. She specializes in the homeless. She’s the one who got me a chit for my taxi when I get toToronto.”
I told him that homeless people are just people like the rest of us. We all have problems, and we all have to forgive ourselves at the end of the day – the hardest thing for anyone to do.
He smiled and added, “I live at the Salvation Army. I have my own room with a bed and a bathroom, and a desk with a computer. I spend a lot of time at the computer. I keep up with the world, with politics. You can stay for one year and then you have to leave for 30 days before you can get back in. I like it, though.”
And because of the tangential nature of his conversation, it wasn’t until after I was off the train and walking to my office that I put together the fact that he had said earlier that he was “in the 30 days” right now.
The man I had been sitting next to was homeless. Well-read, skilled, intelligent and optimistic, he lived at the Salvation Army. Currently, he had no roof over his head but this train and, later, Sunnybrook hospital. But his primary concern, besides coming into money that he would give to his long-estranged family, was simply to find enough money to bury himself with. For him, it was about “making things right.”
It puts a lot in perspective. I must admit, I felt a twinge of guilt that I didn’t do something for this man upon learning of his circumstance. That is when it struck me very clearly: “You did.”
While sprinting through the rain to my office I realized the significance of this man to my life: God had answered my request. I had thrown it out there and forgotten about it, but my wish had been granted. I was meant to listen to this man and share a message of forgiveness. Because the “miracle” in A Course in Miracles is forgiveness. It heals us as it heals others, for we are all one.
This encounter completely erased my need for sleep, by the way, and compelled me to write about it between client meetings. That is why, this blog entry is coming to you hot off the presses, literally hours after it occurred.