When it happened, I wasn’t prepared.
It was an honor far beyond anything I could ever have anticipated.
In fact, no one could have.
That’s because the gift itself––and the inherent responsibility––hadn’t even existed the day before.
Namely, this week I was chosen to receive the spare key to a very special padlock, one that was clandestinely placed on the far backfield fence of the baseball field.
For a brief shining moment, I officially became the gatekeeper to our (unofficial) dog park.
Frankly, the entire situation has reached a Coen Brothers level of parody and subversion, saturated with overly quirky characters and barrels of dark humor.
You see, after the Parks Department secured most of the gates, some unknown “Concerned Citizens” felt the need to add their own locks.
Beyond a weird kind of territorialism towards public property, their motivations remain unclear.
(Note: in the evenings and weekends, the baseball crowd is consistently present on the field since they can scale and jump over the lowest section of fencing, tossing over their bats and gloves first. Try doing that with a Chihuahua,much less a German Shepherd!)
Anyway, when one of the back gates was left open overnight, seizing the opportunity, Luke, the owner of Buddy, an affable 6 year-old chocolate lab, decided that he might as well put a padlock on it.
That way, fooled by our decoy and thus confident in their misguidedsense of control, the Concerned Citizens might leave it untouched.
The shining moment was of course when Luke offered me his spare key––I tend to arrive earlier than he does–– so I could unlock the field and let in the early rising set of canines and their human companions.
Beyond this delight, in the true spirit of synchronicity, receiving this prize dovetails perfectly withthe theme of this month’s new meditation, Giving(HERE).
Like every overly earnest Oscar-winner, I’d like to say that that it was an honor just to have been nominated, but to actually be selected for this responsibility was awesome.
I felt truly seen, not just for my consistency and responsibility, but also assomeone with the right level of moxie.
In other words, I was clearly someone you might want, say, as a partner in pulling off a heist.
Indeed, i felt like I was invited to participate inan Ocean’s 11-level caper.
Honestly, what better gift is there than that?
Way before I had an extra key jingling in my pocket, as I say, I had planned on making this month’s theme Giving.
It seemed a natural next step after May’s theme of Asking (and it’s even the second half of the title Ask and It Is Given.)
Beyond that, though, giving is on my mind for a few other reasons.
On June 25th, I’m going to teach my first in-person yoga class in over 3 years.
It’s a charity benefit for Seva, an organization dedicated to transforming lives by restoring sight, co-founded by spiritual legend Ram Dass.
You can attend in person or via zoom (with your screen off if you like) and/or just donate.
I’ll share the details next week.
Anyway, Seva has always been a favorite charity of mine because the effects of its giving are so palpable and so profound.
For just $50, you can restore someone’s eyesight.
Rarely can giving so little do so much.
Besides empowering me with the spare key, Luke told me that I was welcome to make some copies for a few other––I hesitate to say it, but “worthy”––members of our informal community.
Sharing this gift added new levels of meaning and delight.
In fact, I was reminded of a passage in Amanda Palmer’s The Art of Asking, one I didn’t have an opportunity to quote last month.
She relates how in a book by Lewis Hyde called The Gift he clarifies the real meaning behind the term “Indian Giver,” usually used as an insult.
In Native American Culture, a tribal leader would welcome a settler into his home, share (for example) a pipe, and then give it to the settler.
At their next encounter, this time when the chief visits the settler, he expects the pipe to be given back because he “understood a cardinal property of the gift: whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away again, not kept.”
It’s the height of yogic non-attachment.
In fact, to quote Hyde:
“The only essential is this:
The gift must always move.”
As I stood in line at the hardware store, making keys for Miku the Weimaraner’s mom and Moon the Shepherd Mix’s dad, I had a moment to reflect further that sometimes giving can also be complicated.
As with the mistake around the true generosity of spirit behind “Indian Giver,” our exchanges can often be misinterpreted.
At the same time, there’s also often a kind of “giving to get” mindset that can become its own New Age quicksand.
Akin to “If it’s not posted on Instagram, did it even happen?”everything become performative, even our “heartfelt” generosity.
Beyond this, however, there are also those gifts that fall into the “Blessing in Disguise” category.
These are nearly impossible to appreciate in the moment, but often have tremendous rewards waiting for us if our patience holds out.
As always, Mary Oliver has something wise and beautiful to share on the subject:
The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
Word spread quickly in the dog community that the field was open early again.
By 7:30 it was packed.
AsI discreetly passed out some spare keys, I knew everyone shared the same level of delight.
And yet––in an interesting plot twist––this joyous gift was short-lived.
Someone––a “Concerned Citizen” acting as an anonymous, self-appointed Custodian of the Field––stole the open lock, returning it mid-morning jammed.
(Again, it’s like escalating scenes of tension in a Coen Brother’s film).
Undaunted, Luke has another lock which uses the same set of keys.
He’ll replace it this week and we’ll try again, this time fastening it to the fence while we’re inside.
Somehow I trust the magic will resume.
Alas, perhaps all of this drama is predictable since it’s always impossible to know how long the gift of freedom will last.
Indeed, as Amanda Palmer and Hyde remind us, like the keys I copied and shared that morning, “the gift must always move.”
And since I’m going deeper into lots of Ram Dass’ work as I prep my workshop for Seva, I’m reminded of one of his many great quotes:
“As soon as you give it all up
you can have it all.”
Finally, even though I doubt he was referring to this particular ballpark––especially since he said it about 900 years ago––I often think of Rumi’s words and how they relate to the subjects of letting go and giving and true freedom:
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
There is a field.
I’ll meet you there.”
You’re invited to stop by that field anytime.
Just let me know in advance.
That way I can gift you with a spare key.
Namaste for Now,
