Refugee

I’ve long been drawn to the biblical story of Mary and Martha, especially contrasting the characters’ modes of being. I think of myself as having strong Mary tendencies–admiring Martha-type industriousness but not striving toward it, so I can set everything aside when the right moment arrives.

But, many who know me in daily life would see me as more of a Martha. 🙂

The two came to mind because with sudden urgency I went plundering a decade of emails last night, looking for my Buddhist refuge name; I’d shared it with one friend. I’ve newly taken on practices more comfortable than any in ages, so it seemed right to search for ‘my name’ as a locator…part of a set of coordinates, if you will.

I’m turning 52.

When I took refuge, now 12 years ago, my name was written on a small card I then promptly lost. The meaning of the name was written on the card as well, which I couldn’t read and was too shy to ask about.

Thankfully, although I couldn’t find it, my friend could. 🙂

It’s a funny name really; it’s visual representation would be something like this:

One note I happened upon when searching, was regarded the Mary and Martha story. In it, the same wise friend shared the sensibility that we’re both Mary and Martha at different times in our lives, or, he said, “More accurately, we are always both Mary and Martha.”

They may be presented as a contrast, but are not truly in competition.

I didn’t see this simple truth when first given this name, I felt I had to not place too much importance on what I thought of as the trappings of what I was embarking on. Perhaps I was untrusting of myself, suspicious of falling into cult-like behaviors. Praise from elders and connection within groups is a deep longing for those who yearn for family, and the idea of available love can be very seductive.

Certainly true for me.

Even so, ultimately I had a hard time ‘obeying’.

[In a a vivid dream of walking down a busy highway with Jesus, I
turned to ‘evangelize’ to a group of ‘unsaved’ people my age,
Jesus didn’t. When I noticed and looked back, he
was still walking, so I abandoned course and jogged to catch up
with him instead. It took me weeks to come to the conclusion
that I had to question, even go against,
what my church was urging. I’d prided myself then, as many seem to now,
on being willing to go so far as to embarrass myself ‘for my faith’.
Many can recognize this when they see it from others,
especially in political buffoonery, but don’t most
religions have some version of killing ego? ]

Thank Goodness. My rebelliousness, what my ex-husband called my feralness, won out. Perhaps the lama could see that as the case? I like to think now, that he picked up on an underlying ferocious beneath a more gentle exterior when he chose the name. 😉

“Emptiness and appearance do not negate each other. Just like a rainbow
can appear, but doesn’t have to have truly existing entity. Knowing this
true nature of all phenomenon is the darshan of Manjushri.”
-Dzongzar Kyentse Rinpoche

I described to my therapist the feeling when, after waiting and waiting, with many buses stopping and going, a bus finally approaches that seems to be your bus. The numbers are fuzzy but there are the right number of digits, then those digits slowly take shape. It’s within this context that I’m willing and happy to take on more structured practices now. It isn’t performative, and if it’s just for a time again, that’s okay.

Speaking of names (I’ve mentioned this before), I work across the street from the bus stop a boyfriend wrote as the setting in ‘our song’. The lyrics describe our second meeting, two years before we became involved–a very long time when young: “Won’t you be my friend, and tell me, what’s your name? Won’t you be my friend, don’t turn and walk away. Won’t you be my friend, believe me when I say, I have hopes that some day we’ll meet again.”

He was a lovely person, and although the relationship lasted a blink, the bus stop is a daily reminder to me that auspicious timing is worth waiting for, and names can be like signs over the doorposts of life chapters. When I later met my (now ex) husband, I asked him jokingly “Don’t you know who I am?” He startled, believing I might be someone ‘important’, which indeed I became to him.

So many worlds in play, none of them ‘me’,
Who may be sitting in a garden somewhere,
Under a tree.

Another favorite bus stop song:

Published by StephC

I write about virtual worlds, meditation, inquiry and play!

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