Sometimes I wonder what mere words can do in these uncertain times. There is so much beauty, and so much suffering too. What could possibly make a difference?
Then I remember what a difference certain words have made in my life from time to time, and in honor of those words and the people who fashioned them I renew this quixotic quest to put down a few words that might conceivably be of some usefulness.
And so I ask myself: Have I learned anything at all in my journey on this planet, anything at all that might somehow make a difference.
Well, here's what happened today: A friend of mind came over who is going through a hard time, and in the end, after she told me about it, I just held her for a long, long time. It seemed to help. It seemed more appropriate somehow than any words I could say.
You know, all I can say is that love is the only thing that seems to make any real difference. Not even love; just the attempt to love seems to make all the difference.
Virtually anything we do, any action we take, anything we say—can be done with love, or without it. The same action, done with love, can be transformative. The same action, done without love, can be destructive.
Once, in World War II, in Poland, a number of at-risk Jews were gathered in the living room of a simple Polish man who was trying to make a difference in chaotic times.
Because of all the people being sheltered in this living room, dinner was late. The man's grandson was frustrated with all this and wanted his dinner. He shouted, "I want my dinner, I want my dinner!"
The cook handed the boy a crust of bread. The boy threw the crust of bread on the floor and shouted again, "I want my dinner!"
At that moment the grandfather happened to pass by. What did he do? Did he self-righteously shout at the boy and tell him to shut up and be patient, that there were people in that room that were far more in need than he?
Here's what the grandfather did: He said nothing, but just slowly picked up the crust of breat, kissed it, and silently handed it to the boy—who ate it.
We never know what our influence might be. Do you know, the boy later testified that he never forgot that moment. That that was the moment that he learned about true love.
His grandfather's act contained such humility and truth and compassion that it seared into the boy's consciousness in a way that he remembered all his life.
When we act today, whatever we do, can we bring that kind of transcendental love to it? When we talk today, whatever we say, can we bring that kind of transcendental humility to it?
If so—you never know—you might be transforming someone's consciousness forever.
It might be that very act of yours today, the one which seems so small that you may not even remember it, but the one which you perform with great humility and consciousness and love, that ends up transforming the world tomorrow.
—jim sloman, for 11/11/01
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