Lesson 27: Above all else I want to see.
When I moved into my new house last year, I began walking my dogs around the neighborhood. Dogs are great if you want to meet people, because most folks can’t resist a cute puppy (although, surprisingly, some can).
I met a lot of my neighbors in very short order and they were all very kind and welcoming. Except one. As I walked my dogs one afternoon, the man who lives on the corner across the street drove up beside me and rolled down his window.
“I have noticed recently,” he said without saying hello or anything, “there has been an increase in the amount of canine fecal matter in my yard.”
That’s verbatim: “canine fecal matter.”
Didn’t introduce himself or anything else, just waited for my reply. I thought, perhaps, he was joking – just making light of things.
I chuckled and said, “Not from my dogs. I carry bags with me a scoop their poop.”
“Well,” he said, seriously, “I don’t know. All I know is I’m seeing more fecal matter.”
“I assure you, it’s not from my dogs,” I said as he rolled up his window and drove on.
Several months later, he did it again. I was walking by his house with my dogs and he got out of his car.
“Still too much canine fecal matter in my yard,” he observed.
“STILL, not my dogs,” I replied.
“Better not be,” he said walking away.
I felt the heat on my neck begin climb up into my scalp.
I turned on my heel, “Are you calling me a liar, sir?” I yelled at his retreating back.
He kept walking, which made me even angrier.
“I have never let my dogs shit in your yard, but there’s a first time for everything!” I yelled.
He kept walking. I began muttering loudly about the injustice of it all and how he needs to shut up if he doesn’t have any proof as he went into his house and shut the door.
We’ve not spoken since. When I see him driving up, I walk by without a word. We even ran into each other in the post office up the street and actually stared (glared?) at each other for a significantly long few seconds before silently moving on with our lives.
This lesson makes me think about him, because I have trouble seeing him. Not just that, I have trouble wanting to see him – to see him as a beloved, innocent child of God, just like me. I want to be mad at him. Demonize him. Hate him, perhaps.
If, however, I want to see above all else, then there’s probably not a better place to start than this neighbor of mine. Today, as I walked the dogs, I saw him pull up to his house, get out of the car with a restaurant take out box in his hand. He disappeared into the house and came back out shortly afterward and got in his truck and went back to work.
My gaze softened. He brought lunch home to his wife. He’s a husband, I thought. A father, too. The people in that house love him, and he loves them. He owns his own business and employs several people. He provides for his family, for his employees and makes the world a better place with his cleaning business. I felt a tiny twinge of compassion for my neighbor.
I’m still working on all of this and it seems the universe is giving me chances to make amends – but I have stubbornly refused to be the first to speak a kind word. I feel ashamed, really, for getting angry at him – for having a grievance instead of a miracle.
If we truly want to see above all else, then we can be open for a miracle. I don’t need to understand. I don’t need to hear an apology. I don’t even need to be this man’s friend. All I need to be able to do is really see him – see him as innocent, as worthy, as part of me.
That, of course, hinges on whether I can see myself as innocent, worthy and part of him – part of the unity of all of us in the mind of God.
First, I have to let go of my grievance against him – let it dissolve into the nothingness from which it came.
Hafiz writes:
I have opened all the windows in my house.
Eagles fly in and out, as do any words
that are spoken about me.
Anything my ears might detect, firsthand or
second … I might give that news a moment’s
attention
And then just let it be the tiny evaporating
whiff of smoke it is, dissolving in the Infinite.
Photo by Designecologist from Pexels
Oh, I have heartwork to do with my neighbor also. Oh boy. I say to my stubbornness, soften. Thank you.