I can’t imagine the other side of transformation, but I love the idea of it.
Transform, transcend—these words take me to a place other than where I am. Is that what is meant by a seeker?
I pick up another book and look at its title: Now Is Then. It’s a book of photographs, but the title is what grabs me.
I’ve been haunted lately about the idea that now is then. The old woman is the little girl, I think.
When I use the term old woman, I picture a dark bent creature wearing a black shawl.
I don’t see myself as an old woman, but I can see the little girl.
This little girl is so moody, so needy. She thinks that she is the only one suffering. Or surely, the one suffering the deepest hurt.
If I indulge her, she can wallow in self-pity the livelong day. So I take her out and we meet a friend at Gimme Coffee.
It’s air-conditioned inside the coffee shop—a comfortable temperature—but so noisy that I can barely hear my friend telling me her troubles.
After a few minutes we go outside where the tulips have sprung up all over town. We walk among them. I take my sweater off. It feels good to be warm in Ithaca.
Having a friend tell you her troubles is a great way to silence self-pity. It allows you to be instead a sympathetic listener—one who comforts instead of one who complains.
Both are good—the telling of troubles and the listening to troubles—a gift that friends can give each other.
Perhaps the transformation from a needy self-pitier to a compassionate comforter is all one needs in order to feel a sense of integration.
The little girl and the old woman smile in harmony.
