Serving Others is Serving Yourself

What makes someone offer their time and attention to someone else? Do we feel love? Obligation? Both? Some would say: even an apology, meant for someone else's ears, in for the giver. To give means to receive. I believe this.

This truth was made more clear a couple weeks ago when I went to go enjoy a massage from my favorite therapist at Osmosis Day Spa. The trip to this venue is long (though beautiful) and the treatment though always beneficial is expensive. I try to treat myself to this every so often as it is a healing modality that truly eases me on many levels. 

This day, unbeknownst to me, I had received calls while I was teaching my Zoom classes. Osmosis had called. My appointment was cancelled! So, needless to say, after driving in traffic for over an hour to get to my appointment, I was disappointed when I reached the doors for this news. 

Walking toward the door, I noticed a black woman putting on her shoes to leave. Since there are so few black woman in this area of California, I make it a point to say hello. She has just finished  her treatment. She looks relaxed, exactly how I imagine I will feel in an hour. 

But I wasn't. No, that wasn't the Universe's plan at all. 

I want to scream. The lady at the front desk wants to help me find a new appointment and asks me to follow her inside. I tell her, I'll need a moment. She tell me to join her when I am ready.  I tell her I will. If I'd have cancelled my appointment last minute, they would have charged me, so I want to take a moment to figure out how this might be upheld for me, and I definitely need a moment to gather some composure for the conversation. 

I did not know that this moment would be filled with a conversation, a meeting, a new acquaintance here for a long weekend to honor the loss of her mother and her birthday, retreating from her city life to a small cottage in Healdsburg. We exchange information, and then I go inside to deal with my botched appointment. 

The next day is my Osmosis sister's birthday! So, though I can't connect with her for her day, I think to connect with her the next day for dinner. I text. She is available and so we decide we'll go somewhere if the weather permits. Since there are fires in the county and the smoke can draw us back into hiding, not to mention COVID. 

Nothing is by chance, but I'll call it that, for now.

These chance meetings are not random for me, nor are they really chance to me. I know that I am always being led. Even when I do not want to go, when the Spirit leads me, even through I may complain or hesitate, I go. I ask. I speak up. I text. 

Thursday, I get a call. She has broken her ankle. She can not meet for dinner. Would I mind bringing her food? She can not drive; the car she rented returned to the rental company; she no longer has a way back home to the city. I hear something in my spirit encourage me to take her food, and to take her home. I am not sure all the reasons why, but as much as I want to stay at home and protect myself and, and, and... I offer. 

Our days can change in a heartbeat. The things we once thought we could do or should do become something else all together. If we resist going in the direction of the calling, are we saying no to the Universe? Are we saying no to Ourselves? The chances that we get to help another are not by accident. They are for us. They roll out before us like a carpet if we pay attention. Sometimes, they're bright red with flashing lights. 

Yoga reminds us of this, of union. It provides the practitioner access to a deeper awareness of the body-mind vehicle and as a result a deeper awareness of spirit. In this space, the ordinary becomes the extraordinary.  It is seeing the call to serve even before you are asked. It is noticing how you are in the right place at the right time even when you think it to be just by chance. It is a Punjabi term charhdi kala, a state of constant happiness, eternal optimism and joy, a contentment with the will of God. 

Taking this woman home became a chore to me. I'm not going to lie. I was not feeling charhdi kala. I want to say it was sweet smelling roses on a spring day. It was not. Luckily my son came along to help me. She had not packed when we got there, she was moving slowly (she had a broken ankle, so...) and she admitted to have slept in, even when I told her hours in advance when I'd be coming. She wanted help but was not really wanting or able to help herself. Argh! An hour and a half trip became the day, a ride to the city with a disgruntled woman with a broken attitude: me. No, I wasn't that bad. But, she didn't help. She couldn't. She needed help, help that I was called to offer. 

No doubt something is always looking out for us. Had we not met that couple days before when I was in my state, I would not have acknowledged her, or even known her, when she was in hers. 

So, what to make of all of this? 

Our lives are not our own-- Yes, we are living them, moving, breathing, talking. But what is making all that happen? What is making us go there and do that? What is making our discomfort our gain? What is facilitating our lives of service to ourselves and to others? Are we really to assume all of that is coming from us? 

Really?

OK.