They Owe Me.
Oooh, ouch. THEY OWE ME!!!
Can you find it in yourself? Can you find where you have held that thought? Or maybe it is alive in you this morning. Boy it was alive in me the other day, and when I believe it, do I ever believe it, and it hurts!
I was on a walk. High high on a dirt road where the grassy hillside plunges away over such a precipice you could leap and wish and be airborne, soaring over the shinning green.
I was thinking about people in my past, obsessing. Bitterness filling me as they paraded across my mind. THEY OWE ME!! I could feel the root of anger and hate shoved down deep, anchoring me in a sludge of sullen rage. I wanted to scream at each and everyone of them, grinding their faces into all I did for them until they got it. Got how I had sacrificed everything for them and got how they needed to repay me.
I looked at the blades of grass. Thousands, millions of them, swaying, gleaming silver in the sun. In not a single one of them could I find that they felt they were owed anything. I looked and looked, breathing in their multitudes, all of their All pushed up without hesitation to the eternity of sky.
I tried to make the thought stick to them. I tried to inject them with the belief They Owe Me. I couldn't do it. They Owe Me rolled off the grass like oil to water.
The grass IS. The grass IS, each second shed from the last. They Owe Me is an insult to the AM of the grass. How could they be owed anything thing when they ARE? To be owed anything would diminish them.
I looked further. The sumac, bare branches stark to the sky. The telephone pole, proud, study. The freshet of water bubbling over the road bank. No where could I find it. Nothing I saw held the thought They Owe Me.
What did I see? What I saw made my heart tremble with the naked vulnerability of it all. Right here. Everything is right here, complete, held up, nothing hid or apologized for or tucked away. The new leaves, silent, still, alive in the morning, open to the the breeze, the sun, the bird droppings. Open to the insects, the lighting, the dust. Here, holding nothing back. Ever.
Again I see if I can weave in They Owe Me into what I see. The dirt road winding off below, darkened black by the recent rain shower. Can I find it there? No. What a bitter road it would be if it held onto that thought! All those cars for all those years, decades of trash thrown out the window, all the scraping of the snow plow, the salt. It's possible that the road has never been thanked for its service.
And yet, I cannot find anywhere in its cracked surface, worn and crumbled by years of use the thought They Owe Me. Instead. Oh instead, instead is the place our hearts fall open, humbled, broken, cracked with a love so fearsome it fillets everything we thought we knew.
I'm pointing to something. You have to find it for yourself. It is everywhere. Look into the being of things around you. A curtain, a telephone wire swooping to the house, a piece of junk mail laying in the mailbox. Look at these things and let them tell you about being owed. Let them show you the hell you enter when you think you are owed, and the heaven laid before you when its gone.
All this time
The Sun never says to the Earth,
"You owe me."
With a love like that,
It lights the whole sky."