Friday, October 9, 2015

HILL COUNTRY HIDEAWAY


       Last month I was able to perform more of my music in more venues, and provide more spiritual direction to more people, than I have in years. It was a true blessing, and I'm deeply grateful for all those opportunities to do what I love to do, yet...I sure was feeling depleted and tired as September drew to a close. I longed to spend some time resting deeply, but couldn't find anywhere that fit either my budget or schedule.
 
NICE AND COZY
     Fortunately, a good friend offered me the use of his new house in the Hill Country. He recently bought it and is in the process of making small repairs before moving in, so it's empty and unoccupied for now. It's a beautiful, light-filled home, perched on an extra-large, tree-covered lot tucked into a secluded valley on the outskirts of Boerne  - and I'm delighted to be staying here for a few days.
     It's only an hour from home, but it feels light years away from my piled up desk and busy family life in San Antonio. Here, there's very little furniture, no TV and no Internet access, with nothing and nobody to distract me.  I've come with the intention of simmering in sweet solitude and silence for three whole days, not talking with anyone, fasting from words and meditating for long stretches at a time for a change.
 
NICE IDEA
     Once I've unpacked the car, gotten my bearings and settled into this delightful new space, I immediately lie down for a full-body relaxation and cleansing meditation. It's heavenly, and I'm feeling deeply blissful when suddenly there's a knock at the door. My first instinct is to keep my eyes closed and simply ignore the intrusion, but the knocking continues. My second instinct is to hide, but the house is virtually empty, and I can tell that the two women on the front porch have already seen me. Slowly, my social instincts force me to open the door for two smiling Jehovah's Witnesses who live nearby and have come to greet their new neighbor.
     Normally, I would quickly send such Bible-toting, door-to-door evangelizers scurrying away with a friendly, but firmly stated summary of my metaphysical beliefs. But this time I hesitate, feeling torn between (1) sticking to my intention to maintain essential silence for three days, (2) honoring my childhood upbringing as an unfailingly polite Southerner, or (3) lingering in my blissed-out state of meditation. The two Witnesses come zooming through the gap, waving their pamplets and launching into a well-crafted spiel with a zeal I can't help but admire.
 
NICE PEOPLE
     Initially, my arms are crossed and my stance is aloof; I just want them to disappear so I can get back to my planned silence and solitude. But they are so sincere, their timing so impeccable, and the religious tract they've just handed me is entitled "Awake!"  How could I possibly ignore their message?
     I can't help but smile inwardly as I realize, once again, the truth of the old Yiddish proverb: "man plans, God laughs." Sure, I had a perfectly good plan for how to spend these next couple of days meditating in silence. But it's also pretty clear that these ladies are here by some kind of Divine Appointment, to remind me not to take myself so darn seriously, and that spiritual lessons (and teachers) can take many different forms.
     Soon enough the women give up, having come to understand that I'm neither their new neighbor, nor a likely convert to their beliefs. When they finally close the door behind them, I pick up my guitar and sing for the sheer joy of it for a while, exulting in the rich, reverberating acoustics of the almost-empty house, then sit down to write these words so I can process the events. And then I'm going to take a long nap.
 
NICE TRY
      I don't know what will happen during the remainder of my time in this quiet, lovely house, but clearly words and music - and more rest - will be part of it, and that's just fine with me. The lesson for today seems to be:  Don't get too attached to your plans. And, whatever you do, be Awake!

With gratitude and blessings,
     Rudi






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