Looking for Speedtraps
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by Rose Mary Dougherty,
Several months ago, on my way to a meeting in Baltimore, I found myself driving faster than usual. I was running late because I kept finding things that I wanted to get finished before I left the house. As I drove, my thoughts alternated between the things I had still left undone at home and what I hoped we would accomplish at the meeting.Out of nowhere came a police car which commanded my attention. I pulled over and stopped and looked for the registration, while uttering a fervent prayer, "God, please not a ticket!" A policewoman approached and asked, "Do you know you were going seventy in a fifty mile speed limit?" I couldn't even appear to look surprised; I knew how fast I was going. I simply said, "I'm sorry." She took the registration which is in the name of my religious community, the School Sisters of Notre Dame. She studied it and me in my grubbies for what seemed like an eternity. Then she said, "Are you a School Sister of Notre Dame? I mumbled, "Yes." She said to me, "I'm surprised at you."
I didn't need a ticket. I was duly chastised. I was also concerned. From the tone of her voice I thought, "Oh no! Here's someone who has been waiting to get back at some teacher for years and I'm going to get it all!" She said a few more words to me, ending with, "God bless you, sister." She handed back the registration with the warning, "You might want to slow down. There are a few more speed traps up ahead."
I did slow down, and I was surprised to notice that I was closer to where I was going than I'd thought I was. I began to notice the landscape around me, a lake and some beautiful trees that I hadn't seen before, as often as I had traveled that route. And when I got to the meeting, I was so grateful for not having gotten a ticket that I forgot to be concerned about what we would accomplish. It didn't seem to matter.
A week or so after my encounter with the policewoman, I went to work early to catch up on correspondence before a day of meetings. As I got out of the car and started in the building a voice called out, "Stop! Listen!" It spoke with such authority that I did stop and look around to see who was there. It was a woman from one of the neighboring offices. I stood there with her, wondering what I was listening for. Finally I heard the birds around me. I couldn't distinguish any in particular, but at least I was hearing them. Then she said, "Hear that sharp trill? That bird just arrived back here." She added, "I've been tracking its migration from Central America with school children across the country. I'll go let them know I've heard it."
The day was a little different for me because of that woman. I went out for short walks between meetings. I stopped and listened. I heard sounds I hadn't heard before; I noticed beauty. And, to my surprise, I finished the work I wanted to do.
Not long after that, when I was into my pushing mode, I rushed out of the house one morning, mistakenly putting my watch on the arm where I usually wear my Tibetan medicine bracelet with its sanskrit prayer for compassion and my bracelet on the watch arm. It was one of those days when I had a tight schedule and thought I needed to hurry from one thing to the next in order to get everything done. But I kept forgetting where my watch was. So every time I tried to check the time, I found myself eyeing a prayer for compassion instead. No accident, I think. The prayer brought me back to the moment. I noticed what I was doing. I prayed for compassion for my compulsive self.
There continue to be unplanned circumstances that whittle away at compulsion and invite intentionality in my choices. This weekend is an example of such circumstances. I had set the weekend aside to complete many tasks, including this newsletter article. But then there came a last- minute call from a friend. She would like to come to visit for the weekend. Was it O.K.? My head said this just wouldn't work. I had too much to do. But my heart said, " Of course it's O.K." And it has been O.K., even though, or perhaps because, it altered my plans substantially. I haven't done all that I had planned to do, but I have had some wonderful conversations that have enriched me. And her appreciation of the beauty of spring in my neighborhood has helped me notice it more.
I am reminded of verse from the poet Rumi:
Today, like every other day,Old habits die hard. I need continual reminders to be where I am, to appreciate the moment. It's not a matter of having many things to do, or not. It has something to do with a quality of being within the doing. I envy the people who can move quickly and efficiently, yet intentionally and spaciously from one moment to the next, appreciating each moment as it is. But I'm not there yet. I need to move more slowly. I need the varied speed traps like police officers, bird calls, bracelets, and unexpected visits to slow me down. I need the voices that call to me, "Stop! Listen!" I need the invitations to kneel and kiss the ground right where I am.
we wake up empty and frightened.
Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading.
Take down the dulcimer.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways
to kneel and kiss the ground.
© 2008 The Shalem Institute.