Welcome, world! A brief nod to the obvious fact that it's been quite a while since I updated this blog. A lot has changed in my life: new jobs, a new degree, a new business. What hasn't changed is my commitment to staying true to the values of meditation, yoga and massage: the combination "soft fist" of firm, unyielding acceptance.
The biggest change, relevant to this blog, is that I no longer participate in the same Dharma circle that I previously did. That circle, alas, has moved on. But I still belong to several awesome meditation groups, including the HUB Bay Area, Dharma Punx, and SF Insight. And I still practice.
One interesting thing about the Dharma, which separates it to some extent from Yoga, or massage, is that it truly is a life philosophy. That is, although you can use meditation as a practice which starts and stops, in reality it is a life-long habit, which is always with us. It's no coincidence that one dominant form of meditation practice, especially here in the Bay, is the vipassana, or breathing meditation. Much like breathing, meditation is a state which can and should follow us at all times - just as we never stop breathing, we never stop coming back to the breath, to our center.
Usually this constant nature of existence is just a background to our lives, but occasionally it shows itself, often when we least expect it. As if by gentle reminder, life pushes something into our path that drags us back to awareness of the wonder and mystery of life itself, and consciousness. And the other day, I had one of those experiences.
This weekend, I met my Ragnar team for a quick jog and brunch at the Vault Cafe in Berkeley (incidentally, try the mimosa: it's amazing). We sat down to eat and were waiting for one of our party, so we asked the waiter to set the table for 6 even though there were only 5 of us. He was a slightly older gentleman, who later revealed himself to be one of the owners - and he gave us quite an odd look. When we noticed his confusion, he stopped, started to speak, clearly came to some internal decision, and then began to tell a story.
"You may notice my odd look," he said. "And I apologize, but you see, for me your empty place has special meaning." And he told us this: one day, several years ago, a man came in to eat. He was young, younger than me - perhaps mid twenties - clean, well groomed, with a pleasant demeanor and a warm smile. He asked for a table for two, and was given one, complete with two place settings. The owner served him personally. When asked if he was waiting for someone, he said no. But when he ordered, he ordered two complete meals; two entrees, two drinks, etc. Of course these days a waiter might ask twice, but the owner clearly came from the generation that doesn't pry, and so he didn't - he just served two plates. He watched, in amazement, as the young man treated the second, empty place with dignity and care. The chair was pulled out for the (non-existent) guest to sit. Food was served. I asked the owner if he heard the young man actually speak to the empty chair, and he said generally no, but he was deferential and pleasant, as if an honored guest or a loved one was dining with him. He would fold the napkin, fill the water glass. This went on for the entire meal. The staff, bewildered, finally asked if he wanted the food boxed or saved. No, he said, just the check, thank you. He paid, and left behind a substantial tip.
The first time, they saved the food for hours, in case he might come back. But he did not; at least, not that day. But the following week, he showed up again.
And so it has been now, for several years, almost every week. The young man comes in, sits at a table for two, orders for two, pays and leaves a substantial tip, and leaves. Nobody knows why, nobody asks.
This story touches me in so many ways, but first and foremost is the power of love. For what else can you call it? This man is in love - with someone, something. Is it a past wife? A lover? A parent? Perhaps, he is, as they sometimes say, "in love with love itself". But this love, this deep and abiding respect, resonates out beyond this one young man, to touch the lives of many others. It has touched the life of the owner - he told us, with no mockery in his voice, that this young man is like a hero to him, and has taught him the power of love. Every time he sees him, he says, he is a little nicer to his wife and children, more pleasant to strangers, more *aware* of the magic and mystery that is all around us, ready to be seen at all times if only we look. "This man is a model for society," the owner said. "If only we all could follow his example."
I find myself touched as well, by the owner's deference and patience in not prying. When I asked him about it he just shrugged. "He is hurting no-one," he said. "Why should I not allow him to do as he pleases? In fact, I welcome him."
What is love? What is life? Why are we here? What is the meaning of our existence? Is it madness to fill an empty chair with love? Perhaps. Some might say this man needs help. One member of our table speculated on the nature of his mental illness. But I am not so sure. Are we mad to seek love where there is nothing? I have seen the power of love manifest on my own life, the joy that comes from being in love, from loving without any expectation of return. Perhaps this is the ultimate in unconditional love; the love that loves for its own sake. It's certainly true that it's more fun to love a real person than an empty chair.
Consider, though, how much time we spend on un-love for things that don't exist; past lovers, political ideals, imagined demons inside ourselves. The imaginary weight we need to lose, the trip to the gym that we didn't make. Like the empty chair, none of these things exist, and yet we often spend enormous amounts of time and energy hating them.
I don't know the answers. And, perhaps, in the end, that's the best lesson of all.
--A
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