The Heart of the Matter
July 05, 2014
Standing in the Back of the Bus

mexican_bus.jpg

I am standing in the back of a bus in San Miguel de Allende, just beginning to exit, when I notice a short, heavy-set woman behind me, her long grey hair tied in a bun and a smile that explained a thousand years of Mexican fiestas. How could I not let her pass?

So I take a step to the side and, with a downward sweep of my hand, indicate she should pass me -- that indeed, it would be my pleasure if she did. And so she does, her eyes opening wider, the many laugh lines around her dark eyes, deepening.

I have the impulse to follow, to exit next, especially since I had just given up my place in line, but the boy behind her is obviously on his way somewhere and his need to exit seems to be greater than mine and since I am already standing off to the side, I let the young muchacho do his young muchacho thing.

A man with a guitar passes me, as do two small children.

I look to my left and see a lot of people standing up and starting to make their way to the back of the bus, me now feeling like an usher, perfectly placed to make their exit just a little happier today.

A dark-skinned man with fringes on his jacket passes by, as does a woman behind him whom I imagine to be his wife. She looks tired, OldMexican+WOman.jpg like there are many chores waiting for her at the end of the day -- the same chores her mother and her grandmother still perform daily as an act of worship to a Jesus whose image hangs from the rearview mirror of her husband's 1973 Chevy, along with the rosary beads and dice.

Each of these people pass me and, as they do, I notice that more people are getting on the bus -- the same number, mas o menos, as those who have just gotten off.

So I continue standing there, making way, and bowing to those who seem to be open to more than just a smile or nod.

And then, it dawns on me.

This is my work. This is what I was born for -- what my Buddhist friends like to refer to as "right livelihood" -- though I, in this moment, could not figure out how the universe could possibly compensate me for my service.

I didn't need to think about it for long.

Thirty minutes later, a woman with a turquoise barrette in her hair, brings me a grilled chicken in a plastic bag. Hot. Crispy. And ready to eat. And a 7-Up too, perfectly chilled.

Photo
Photo

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at July 5, 2014 09:55 AM

Comments

Very nice story. I understand. My calling may be similar. In fact, as a facilitator, I even see it that way some of the time..."Welcome, I am here simply to help you be comfortable, welcomed and dignified on your journey."

Gracias

Posted by: gary-canuck [TypeKey Profile Page] at February 10, 2010 12:37 PM

(what's a url?)

anyway, i don't know about buddhist this or that. I feel that if i am simply happy Right Now, that's it. and opening the door or bowing /greeting to someone is just the icing on the cake.

This is my work. This is what I was born for -- what my Buddhist friends like to refer to as "right livelihood" -- though I, in this moment, could not figure out how the universe could possibly compensate me for my service.

Happiness is compensation enough for me, yah?


I didn't need to think about it for long.

Posted by: Jaimo [TypeKey Profile Page] at February 10, 2010 08:32 PM

wow

Posted by: Dean Moriarty [TypeKey Profile Page] at February 16, 2010 07:22 AM

Excellent! Superb! Great! Love it! Keep on writing! Keep on! Pay no attention to the critics. As Camus said, "The dogs bark, the caravan goes on."

Posted by: Jon Lloyd [TypeKey Profile Page] at July 7, 2014 01:23 PM

Post a comment

Thanks for signing in, . Now you can comment. (sign out)

(If you haven't left a comment here before, you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then, it won't appear on the entry. Thanks for waiting.)


Remember me?


Welcome to Mitch Ditkoff's blog about what's really important in this life: Peace, gratitude, love, joy, clarity, and the effort required to wake up and smell the roses. Enjoy!

   Contact me   
© MITCH DITKOFF