I have mixed feelings about cliff hanger endings.
Sometimes it’s just as Oscar Wilde wrote in The Importance of Being Earnest:
“The suspense is terrible.
I hope it will last.”
And other times, as with a few recent Netflix series I love that may or may not be renewed, cliffhangers seem at best deliberately annoying.
In any case, I promise that by the end of this newsletter I will reveal the result of last week’sexistential dilemma:
Specifically, exactly how much gingerbread one makes for a party with an uncertain and ever-fluctuating guest list.
As I continue to explore Abundant Expectancy (without expectations), the theme of this month’s HERE, I recalled this Chinese parable:
Scene One:
A Chinese farmer has a single horse that runs away.
His neighbors visit and lament, “Oh, this is terrible.”
All the farmer says is “Maybe.”
Back to the present:
I’m delighted to report that my Christmas Tree Trimming Party was an absolute triumph.
Gathering a small crowd of friends is both heartwarming and an exercise in ruthless efficiency.
Almost by magic, the tree is suddenly decorated, perhaps the only time that working by ad hoc committee produces a superior artistic result.
One of my great pleasures that night was seeing some dear friends who last year brought their two month-old to the party.
They arrived this year again and––although this of course makes complete sense–– it somehow came as a surprise to me that that beautiful infant is now a toddler.
Suddenly, she’s quite mobile.
And, perhaps the highlight for me of the night was seeing how perfect Vlad and Malibu were around her.
Although she was utterly delighted by them and eager to join in the mix of their roughhousing, both dogs instinctively knew exactly where to draw the line and were completely gentle with her.
As another example of their superb behavior, check out a clip of them both behaving like perfect gentlemen waiting for a Christmas treat HERE.
Scene Two of the Fable
The farmer awakens the next day to see that his horse has returned, surprisinglywith five wild horses.
This time his neighbors gather and exclaim, “Wow! How wonderful!”
The farmer merely shrugs and says, “Maybe” and goes about his work.
As I’ve shared, for me (and perhaps for you, too), this living without expectation but still full of expectancy is often quite a challenge.
This lovely poem by Alice Walker offers such sound advice on the topic:
Expect Nothing
Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.
Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.
Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
Scene Three of the Fable
Now having six horses, five of them wild, the farmer’s son begins to train them.
Almost immediately, the son is thrown and breaks his leg.
That evening the neighbors come around again, sympathizing with cries of “Oh no! That’s so terrible” etc.
And of course, the farmer again replies, “Maybe.”
Sidebar:
As a spiritual teacher of mine proclaims, nothing can show you that you have evolved as much as whenthe same circumstances repeat and yet your response is entirely different.
Something like that happened this week for me.
I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say when a similar scenario unfolded in the early aughts for me, I felt like Indiana Jones running from the boulder.
Like our Fabled Farmer,however, this time I simply shrugged, sent off an email to my attorney, and continued with my next meeting.
The Fable, Scene Four
The day after the Farmer’s Son breaks his leg, the conscription officers come around to draft the young man into the army to fight in a war they’re desperately losing.
Of course, the son’s rejected because of his broken leg.
The neighbors––who really do seem to have a lot of free time on their hands––swing by, once again offering a chorus of “How wonderful!” etc.
As always, the farmer, says “Maybe” and continues on with his day, attending to the tasks at hand.
Note: when the story’s told this is usually the last scene, but the whole point is that it is absolutely not that.
Having gone through four cycles of visiting neighbors and their comments, however, I think the point has been made.
In other words, it’s time to let our Fabled Farmer get back to work, embracing the Power of Maybe.
The philosopher Alan Watts has this to say about the Parable of the Farmer:
“You never know what will be the consequence of the misfortune;
or, you never know what will be the consequences of good fortune.”
I’ve no doubt that we’ve all experienced how the “worst” thing turned out to be if not “a blessing in disguise” at least a redirection to something better than we’d anticipated.
Indeed, I’m reminded of the great, intergalactic wisdom of Bashar:
“Circumstances have no inherent meaning, so choose to see everything as neutral and consciously decide for it to serve you positively, trust that everything happens for a reason and can benefit you, and create your own reality based on your intentions and vibrations.”
That’s truly the highest level of living with Abundant Expectancy––yet without expectations––(again, December meditation HERE)––that I’m striving to achieve.
Finally, I’m happy to report that this week showed that I’m making headway on that path, not only in my new reactions to flashback situations but also in my gingerbread guestimation skills.
As promised…here’s the update:
In the end, I calculated we’d need 30% more this year than last, and prepared that much extra batter.
I’m delighted to say I hit my culinary target with a bullseye.
In fact, there was exactly 25% left over, an amount that demonstrates (to me) that everyone’s sweet (and savory) tooth was fully satisfied.
If, however, I had miscalculated, having way too much afterwards, or worse, run out before the party ended, I’d like to think that––like our Fabled Chinese Farmer––I’d merely have shrugged, unswayed by the crowd’s reaction (or my own).
All events, both shortages and surpluses, triumphs and setbacks, are up for interpretation.
Indeed, as Alice Walker so eloquently reminds us, when you truly learn to consistently live “frugally on surprise,” that wisdom alone can provide more than enough comfort to make “a parka for your soul.”
Namaste for Now,
