Pebbles and Ripples
You just never know...
American actress and producer Lana Wood once said in an interview:
You don’t understand that even though you feel like a pebble, you’re leaving ripples, and you don’t know where those ripples will go.
—Lana Wood
Here in the U.S., there’s a lot of craziness happening in the political and social arena. Unfortunately, some of it quickly gets a lot of media attention and ripples out across the land in not-so-good ways. However, it’s easy to forget that it’s not just the craziness that ripples out through the mass consciousness; so do acts of generosity, kindness, and beauty. Even tiny gestures of recognition, connection, acknowledgement, and appreciation.
It’s only been four weeks since I wrote about small intentional acts of beauty, yet in the midst of all of the current “rippling,” I’m inspired by Lana Wood’s quote to say more. Then I found a poem again that I first heard a few months ago—a poem that made my heart smile. And at the same time I found the poem again, I found these words from the author Henry James:
Three things in life are important:
the first is to be kind;
the second is to be kind;
and the third is to be kind.—Henry James
So, the poem is called “Small Kindnesses”; it’s by Danusha Laméris. Her father was Dutch, her mother was from Barbados, and she grew up in Northern California. She’s been winning awards and her work is showing up in big places like The New York Times. In fact, this poem appeared in the Times September 19, 2019, and then went viral during the pandemic. And I get it. As I read more of her poems, they touch something deep inside of me. They paint pictures across my soul; they awaken stories within me that I didn’t know were there or that don’t belong to me, yet are somehow are living in me, too. And I’m smiling again just thinking about sharing this poem with you. It feels timeless and effervescent.
Small Kindnesses
by Danusha Laméris
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”
(from her poetry collection Bonfire Opera)
I’m particularly struck by the last lines.
We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. Too often, I experience a moment with an acquaintance or stranger that, as I continue on my way afterwards, I wish I had lingered just a bit longer. Probably not for some profound connection, but rather a breath or two longer to rest in the gentle humanity of the moment. Often without words. Just a glance, a smile, a recognition of a kindred spirit, even though neither of us may consciously know in that moment what we are touching in each other and ourselves.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together… That’s just it—fleeting temples. Yet in those moments, it feels to me more like we suddenly find ourselves in an unknown Temple of Being where there is no time and no agenda and no awareness of anything outside of that moment. We hold our breaths, literally or metaphorically, and then something in our rational mind takes over and the moment is broken and we go on about our lives. Yet, that fleeting moment has been recorded in our cells. It stays with us, even as we pretend to move on.
Moments that are so simple. Moments we sometimes don’t, in fact, recognize until we’ve moved on. Connections that may not ever happen again with that person or place, yet continue to linger somewhere deep within us. Some of those moments may even stay with us for the rest of our lives.
How we choose to live our lives, how we choose to engage with others in big ways and small, ripple out through the mass consciousness. And we may have only a tiny sense of where those ripples will ultimately go and who those ripples will touch.
Yet with all the craziness happening in our world, I notice how grateful I am for spontaneous opportunities to say “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.” And I love the subtle rush in my heart when an unexpected gesture of kindness comes my way or when there is one of those brief moments of exchange.
We all need those connections—touching the holiness of the heart, resting in the fleeting temple of shared humanity, sending ripples of kindness or beauty out into the world—extraordinary moments as we go about living the ordinary in our daily lives.
Resources:
Masterclass with Alan in Brussels, Belgium—October 18th
FREE Live 20-minute Meditations with Alan on Zoom—6 Mondays, October 28th - December 2nd
Alan leads a half-hour contemplative worship service, “Touching the Sacred Within” at First Religious Society, Unitarian Universalist, in Newburyport, Massachusetts at 8 am the first Sunday of the month. All are welcome.
Wonderful images, Alan. I was reminded of the unseen power of our own ripples this week. A man I know came up to me at a conference and told me that a presentation I gave several years ago on something like “avoiding toxic work environments” made such a difference to him. I barely remember my presentation, although I can guess at what I would have been saying. We never know the impact we make
on people. And so much of it comes down to that simple idea you express: Kindness!
Your writing is always one of those moments of exchange.