I learned a Colombian expression: Me gustan los cuentos claros y el chocolate espeso. Which means, “I like clear stories and thick chocolate.” I like that. It makes me smile. I like them together, actually. A good book, a cup of chocolate and a comfortable chair? Heaven.
I had a thought: perhaps the failure of my recent relationship, and the generally lonely state of my existence, is a punishment for the wrong I’ve done in life. I’ve been insincere at times, I’ve hurt people. Maybe on the Day of Judgment, God will say to me, “Child, I deprived you of love because of your misdeeds. But you were patient. So because of that, I forgive your sins.” If so, I could accept that and I could even be grateful to God for giving me a way to atone.
Upon further thought, however, I reject that idea. I believe in a God that is compassionate, not one who would say, “You’ve made mistakes, so I’m going to hit you where it hurts the most. I’m going to shatter your dreams and wound you.” No. God is not petty. I would not do that to my daughter, so how can I imagine God would do it to me? So I reject this idea of bad things happening to us as punishment from God.
I know we all want to make sense of the pain that life brings. This is the nature of the human mind, that it always wants to impose order on chaos. Psychologists say that’s what dreams are: when you sleep the brain takes all the sights, sounds and events of the day and attempts to string them together into a logical narrative. But because it’s your subconscious, its version of logic is bizarre. I believe there must be more to dreams than that. I am a dreamer. Dreams have power, and they sometimes hold answers that the conscious brain does not recognize. Similarly, though I believe there’s a purpose to the suffering of life, the story is not always clear. At least the chocolate is still thick.
And by the way, Colombians know how to make hot chocolate. I never had such good chocolate as what they served me every morning at the San Francisco de Asis hotel in Bogota.
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I was watching a TV show where two characters were talking about where they were most comfortable, where they loved themselves the most. One was a musician and he said that in the recording studio his true self came out, and that it was the version of himself that he loved the most. The woman, who was a surgeon, said that for her it was the operating room.
I asked myself, who is the me that I love the most? At which moments am I most comfortable in my own skin? Seven things came to mind: 1. When I’ve completed my prayer and I’m sitting on the prayer rug, communing with God. 2. When I hold in my hand a book that I wrote and published. 3. When I’m teaching martial arts and my students are getting it right. 4. When I play frisbee with Salma, or when she tells me a joke, or when she hugs me. 5. When I’m in my house in Panama, and the birds are singing outside, and the world is peaceful. 6. When I go for a hike in a natural setting, then take a break to eat a sandwich or a fruit. 7. During those days when I was with Yajaira.
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Why is it that we humans don’t value that which is freely given? Do we imagine that if a thing is given easily, it must have no value?
When I first began studying Kali with Philip, he was teaching for free. Mostly he just wanted training partners to practice with. I saw his skill and the value of the art, so I attended faithfully. I went to every class, in the hot sunny summer afternoons, in the winter rain, when I was tired or injured – no matter what, I went to class because I saw that Philip offered something no one else had.
The funny thing is that for the four years I studied with him, I was often the only one. In a city where martial arts schools that charge $150 to $200 per month are busy! Yet here’s this man teaching for free in the park, and no one comes. Occasionally students came, stayed for a while, then left.
It’s like this with love as well, I think. Unfortunately we usually learn this lesson only after we’ve traveled to the depths of suffering and returned. We come to understand that someone who withholds love, or who treats us unkindly, cannot make us happy. We learn that a loving, true-hearted partner is more priceless than any diamond, more beautiful than a double rainbow, more rare than a jaguar. And if you want to win the greatest prize, you must risk the most valuable thing you have – your heart. That’s the immutable law of love. But risk it only for one who is worthy.
I regret nothing. I have learned from every mistake I made. God will give me what he gives me. For whatever I have lost in life, he has always given me something better. I trust and believe. There is no other way forward in this life.
