Three inches… about
the size of your finger. Well, at least mine. Not that three inches is the rule
of thumb for all hands (pun intended). We don’t often find significance in that
little of space, especially in a society that often glorifies size or distance
(trucks, fish, houses, mountains, how far our morning run is, etc.). I used to
play football. I know what its like to weigh importance in how much you can
lift. “The more the better” is a motto that underlies American socialization,
and becomes ingrained into our philosophies. I don’t think this is holistically
good or bad, but it is hard to get away from. And emphasis on one thing always
shifts our attention away from something else.
I’ve taken to
driving a motorcycle here in Phnom Penh, whose crowded streets move more like a
river of moto-bikes with cars sprinkled here and there. Traffic is fluid,
always spontaneous and congested... and exciting! Cars pull in front of you and
motos are keen on taking unexpected turns and detours. In the moments where I’m
only inches away from the moto next to me, however, there is nothing more
important than those inches. All of a sudden, a matter of inches becomes my
whole world.
Life, and time,
seem to move differently here. Life happens at a closer distance whether you
are driving on the street or walking through the crowded markets. Bumping into
people and ducking under tarps is simply how life functions. People pack onto a
single moto, sometimes up to 4 at a time! The kids at the orphanage sleep close
to each other in beds, on tables, or huddled on the floor under mosquito nets.
Wherever we go, I usually have a kid on my hand hanging close by my side. The
distance in which I interact with Cambodian life has taught me a lot recently.
I love wide open
spaces (not referring to the song). The horizon stretched out before you, the
clean, crisp air and the silence that holds you. But I’m forced to interact
with people at a much closer distance on several levels. Physically, mentally,
emotionally. And for me recently, life has been about finding God in the small
moments. An “inch” can be something as small as my response to a child after an
exhausted day. Even as small as my tone,
something so stinging and influential that often goes unnoticed. It could be a
simple conversation on the steps, or even a single word. The hard part is this:
you never know! You never know which
small moments matter, and what the “right” response is. There is no way to tell
which “inch” will be the one that grows into something bigger, something they
will remember. I will most likely never know if these small moments surmount to
anything, but I remember my dad’s words:
“Its not up to me
to know what happens later on down the road. I’m called to plant the seed
regardless.”
I recently finished
reading the Upanishads, the spiritual texts and wisdoms of Hinduism, while
sitting on the third story of the orphanage overlooking the city as the sun set
behind me and storm clouds rolled in over the horizon in front of me. A verse
from the Atma Upanishad read:
The supreme [God],
adored in the scriptures,
Can be realized
through the path of yoga.
Subtler than the
banyan seed, subtler
Than the tiniest
grain, even subtler
Than the
hundred-thousandth part of hair,
This [God] cannot
be grasped, cannot be seen. [Eawswaran, 286]
Beautiful words
that recognize that God is found in the subtle things that often go unnoticed
in our lives. That though God cannot be “grasped” or “seen,” maybe he draws us
close enough to where we can touch something. Close enough to be realized. And this realization is
discovered within the little moments of life. A raindrop, a conversation, a
tone, a single word. Yes, even within a matter of inches… those small moments
that can make all the difference.
The following pictures
speak to the “Cambodian distance” I’ve experienced.
“It took a while for you to
find Me,
But I was hiding in the lime
tree.
Above the city in the rain
cloud.
I poked a hole and watched it
drain out.”
I've enjoyed reading your posts, Kyle. It seems to me that each one reflects a continual fanning out of your perception, each one gains a subtlety, and simultaneously a nuance, in your thought. I have no doubt that you'll be ready to rock in the fall.
ReplyDeleteM'kay. Going to sleep mode.