Honoring a Room Full of Teachers

For the past two weeks, I have felt a more general sense of well being. Put another way, I feel loved.

It's not a romantic, giddy feeling. But I feel it in my body as warmth, more relaxed, deeper breathing, and open. Perhaps this is fleeting as all things are, but I welcome it.

When I feel uptight or anxious, I think about my circle of teachers. In the past, these teachers came from all places, but lately there are very real humans in my experience who exude love and acceptance. All of these characters are in my Wednesday morning meditation group.

I want to recognize the importance of my ongoing spiritual friendships, people who nurture my soul. They are my friends. Then there are the people who are known as thorns-in-my-side or adversaries. I grow from them, too. What I am going to write about is something different – a small group of people who collectively became a guiding force.

The core of regular attenders in this small meditation group is mostly over the age of 70 years. Who else can come at 9:45 a.m. midweek? Everyone else is very, very busy. But having faced underemployed for several years now, I have had the opportunity to sit and meditate with these sages on a weekly basis for almost three years.

I don't think they would consider themselves particularly wise. What sets them apart has been their drive to seek the Divine/seek Truth/learn about the human condition and their willingness to share their spiritual journeys with others. As their bodies age, their spirits seems to grow. Through our conversations after a 45 minute period of silent meditation, the Spark ignites into a Flame. For those with eyes to see, we have our own burning bush.

The thing is that anyone who walks through those doors is a teacher. I have witnessed the honest sharing of difficult topics and have shared my own. I saw how each person was nurtured. When I talked about painful issues, I did not die, I was not shunned. The space was quietly held or a story told or a gentle precept offered. This, too, shall pass.

I wish I could film each person so you could see their ordinariness and their life force. I wish I could package what they bring to the room. I am reminded that in the Hindu tradition, students know the love of their yogi and experience it beyond this world, even after the death of their yogi. They have a love relationship that transcends time and space.

The love and joy that arises from this group of souls who has dedicated the merit of their practice for more years than I know is like perfume. Of the Buddhist traditions, theirs is a Vipassana-affiliated group or focused on compassion. I identify with the stark Zen tradition. But thankfully, through a series of losses, I have been led to a little church social hall in Lovettsville to meet with people who repeatedly say that they are more than Buddhist or Christian or Hindu or Agnostic.

They are seeking the broadest truth or perhaps the simplest truth. In our human frailty, we are all one.