Wednesday, January 21, 2015

david's writing

i met david years ago over the internet.
i read some of his writing and just instantly loved him.
we've since become friends and of course, stay in touch on facebook.
what would we do without facebook?!
david is definitely a kindred spirit.
and one of the most beautiful men i have ever met.

he runs a store called 'changing times' in Florida.
you can find him and his store here.

yesterday he shared a piece of his writing that i loved.
he graciously gave me his permission to share it here.

i've been thinking about it ever since i read it.
the journey, digging, fooling ourselves, digging some more,
the people who encourage us......and.......and.....and......
the many facets of gratitude.


The Miner
(To all the pit bosses out there: Thank you, thank you, thank you.)
I walked into the pit boss’s office and tossed my worn, dirt and dust encrusted pickaxe on her desk. It made a loud thump which startled her and she jerked back in her chair. Papers, diagrams and maps floated to the floor. A dramatic entrance to be sure but I wanted to make a point.
“I quit.”
She looked up at me and smiled. I have always had a flair for the dramatic.
“I’m serious. I am done. I. AM. DONE.”
Her smile faded. A sense of deep compassion rose up and flowed from her eyes, filing the room. I hated when she did that.
I slumped down in the chair in front of her desk. The tiredness weighing heavily on me. Even my toes were tired. It went all the way to my bones. Maybe I was trying too hard. Or not hard enough. You always question yourself that way.
We just sat there together, silently, for a long while. There was no need to talk, really. We both knew how this conversation was going to go. We’ve had it many times before.
Many times.
I knew it so well I could do both sides of it. I will start off with something like “I’ve mined this vein through. It’s finished. There can’t be anything else down there.”
“Are you sure?” she will ask. “Are you absolutely, positively sure?”
“Absolutely, without a doubt, promise to give up dark chocolate if I’m wrong sure!”
She will just smile.
“But have you gotten to the end?” she will ask.
“I must have.” I will say. “Yes, it was a very painful experience, really bad in fact, but I have really worked it, used all the tools you have taught me. I’ve prayed about it, practiced letting go, surrender, accepted what is, got in touch with and spoke my truth, asked Grace to help me see what they did as Grace would have me see it and not as I saw it, all those things. And I have received such wonderful gems from the work. Great insights, deeper understandings, compassion for myself and them. Heck, even some forgiveness!”
“Forgiveness has many levels to it,” she will remind me.
And then I will be quiet again. I know she is right. A deep sigh will come forth, as once again I will notice the old, weathered, hand-painted, faded sign behind her on the wall. A simple, 2-word sign, nothing fancy, a thin layer of dust from the mines covering it completely.
‘Dig Deeper’
“How do I know I haven’t already reached the end?” I will ask.
“You know.” will come the reply. “You always know when you reach the end.”
Yes, that’s true. And we both knew that even the fact I was in her office saying ’I quit’ meant I had not reached the end. Not yet anyway.
You always do know when you have reached the end of any particular soul searching. It may look different each time and for each person but here is always one main ingredient to the experience. Each time. Without fail.
It may be brilliant, light-exploding gratitude or gentle, baby-sleeping soft gratitude but it is always, always there.
It is when you know, really know, not as just a mental concept but know all the way down to your marrow that it was, in fact, all Divinely inspired. That you would have never received the precious gifts and growth you now have had it not happened just that way and you had not done the work to get there. It was all a gift from everyone involved.
Gratitude, like forgiveness, has many levels. They are all worth the journey to reach them.
The silence in the room felt much lighter to me now. It was time to go. I stood up and the pit boss stood up as well. I reached down and picked up my pickaxe. It’s worn wooden handle smooth and comfortable in my hand.
I walked over to the door and as I reached for the doorknob with my other hand I turned back to her.
“See you tomorrow.” I said.
She nodded her head. And smiled.
(Editor's note: I did not actually take this photo of the pickaxe. I do have one, buried somewhere in the mess that is my garage that I was going to take a picture of, but I was unable to locate it. This photo was listed as public domain.)

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