I believe...

I believe... that when the student is ready, the Buddha will appear.  Last night we went to see Carrie Newcomer in concert. I've enjoyed her songs for some time, but now I cherish them - and last night's gig was soul food for me.  I've been blue and somewhat fragile for the past few days - always just on the verge of tears - and the littlest thing could open the flood gates:  a poem, a daffodil, the dead woodchuck in our front yard.  Sure, Levon's death was part of it, but sometimes even former cowboys get the blues, yes?  (And sometimes our soul's are just more aware of the thin places, too.)

When I bought the tickets a few weeks ago it was spontaneous - I REALLY wanted to see Springsteen in Albany - but didn't act on that one.  Instead, I got two front row seats for Carrie Newcomer in a small hall in Stockbridge.  All throughout the day, doing yard work and practicing the bass for Sunday, there was no sense of anticipation.  Not boredom - nor depression - just a hollow aching that over the years I've come to honor and listen to instead of fight, ignore or try to avoid.  Even on our way to the gig I had no idea how blessed I would be by her gentle music, her tender and careful words and a sense that God's love goes way beyond my feelings or insights.

At dinner we were surrounded by a group of people - at various tables - who head to the Berkshires whenever the weather starts to mellow:  the wealthy tourists (mostly from NYC.)  They clog the streets on the weekends, demand to be waited on in ways that locals detest and carry with them a sense of privilege and arrogance that can drive a person to violence. One woman in particular was a trip:  she gave the young, cute French waiter a laundry list of things she couldn't have in her dinner - it was huge - and then demanded that he tell her what she could eat.  He was sweet and non-plussed so we enjoyed our veggie entree, marvelled at his composure and hoped she didn't have a stroke from anxiety as she waited for a meal that was certain to disappoint and offend.  (NOTE:  Di works retail and wrestles with patience and grace whenever folks of this ilk come into the shop and demand obeisance, so at least a bit of this carping is born of experience, yes?)

Dinner was lovely and gave us a few minor laughs - and invitations to check our own self-righteousness, too.  But I was still blue by the time we arrived and only  mildly interested in the show.  And then Carrie Newcomer came on - and it was magic.  Truly, when the student is ready the Buddha will appear. 

In song after song, and story upon story, she shared insights about ordinary miracles, hope in the darkness, a love that will not let us go and the importance of being fully alive in every moment.  I was weeping by the second song and the tears kept flowing pretty much throughout the show.  But they were mostly tears of joy and beauty and they felt like prayers.  They still do...

And while driving home we both were struck by the deep, quiet and humble gift we had been given.

O, Lord, I am not proud; I have no haughty looks.
I do not occupy myself with great matters,
   or with things that are too hard for me.
But I still my soul and make it quiet,
   like a child upon its mother's breast
   my soul is quieted within me.
O Israel, wait upon the Lord,
   from this time forth and forevermore.