On most mornings I am still groggy as I watch Buddy light out at a racetrack pace down the packed dirt trail, stopping here and there to sniff and mark various other claimants’ weeds and shrubs.(I no longer pick fresh dock to munch in the mornings along this or any other public trail for this reason. Lesson learned by observation, not experience.)
On a particular morning I might be happy or sullen or cranky or expectant. Moods come and go lately, none sticking for very long as they used to, except for the growing sense of contentment and general calm that has recently settled into place. On this morning I was quite happy, to the point of quiet joyfulness as I wandered behind my exuberant friend, noticing today’s offerings of freshly shed wild turkey feathers, flitting black phoebes, clouds of blue chicory blossoms, and the glint of morning sun off the trickling brook.
Coming upon my usual sitting spot – a high bank overlooking a charming bend in the creek – I sat to finish my dwindling cup of tea and light a cigarette (gross, I know, but easy does it...) I was mulling over events of recent days, events which had caused a stir in my group of friends; my ally and her sometimes-enemy had crossed swords over the issue of inappropriate overtures toward new members of the group, me in particular. As my mind wandered over what had been said and by whom, wondering at what it all meant in the grander scheme of our work together, I began to notice the trash left behind by human visitors to ‘my’ spot.
There were empty plastic water bottles, beer cans, broken bottles, a cardboard beer case that had been flattened for a seat, cigarette butts and gum wrappers. Moments before, in my calm, the litter and trash had been nearly invisible, but having returned to the turbulent thoughts and emotions of yesterday, the garbage now loomed enormously in front of me.
Full of self-righteous indignation, I chastised my fellow citizens for their insensitivity and irresponsibility in this place of natural beauty. Worst of all, right next to me, in my own special spot, at the base of a young oak that served as my personal backrest, was trash! Not down below, or hidden away in the brush, but right next to me.
What idiot, I thought, was such a useless waste of flesh as to be so lazy as to cast off garbage in a shared public idyll such as this? What selfish, mean-spirited urbanite had so little respect for nature and their neighbors that they would carelessly toss their bits of paper and plastic to the side as if this were a dump, not a park for the serenity it might gift its visitors? Why, this was the very proof and evidence of Man's utter lack of respect for the sacred, and I didn't need much more than that to condemn us all to an enternity of rag-picking in some hideous slum in some horrible third world country.
But then, looking closer, I began to see the bit of refuse not 2 feet from me more clearly, and suddenly recognized the offending bit of paper and string, dangling there on the bent blades of grass. It was a teabag. It was an English Breakfast teabag to be exact. It was, in fact, my English Breakfast teabag from the day before.
The day before, embroiled in the emotional turmoil, in a fit of pique and outrage, my anger with myself for my part in the controversy had been expressed in anger and disrespect turned outward toward any one careless enough to enter my sphere of influence. I remembered the morning before, sitting here, cursing God and the Universe for turning on me, for creating this unwanted disturbance in my fragile sense of right and wrong, of betraying my trust in this newly acquired internal peace, of allowing other people to violate boundaries I had just now learned to identify and was barely able to defend.
I remembered plucking the worn bag from my cup, and casting it aside as if to say, “To hell with you, to hell with nature, to hell with my fellowship, to hell with God!” My embarrassment, my humiliation, my ego in an uproar, I had done unto others that which I felt had been done unto me: I violated the sacredness of the very nature I had claimed to protect and serve. And here, a day later, I was again, perturbed, upset, angry with the world. How easily this sense of contentment can be shoved aside by trivial events! How in the world will I deal with the next major upset in my fragile little corner of the Universe if this is all it takes to send me teetering into an emotional tizzy?
Suddenly, my mood shifted. My perspective shifted. Suddenly, the air around me seemed to glow, the sound of the creek’s waters, musically roiling across rocks and fallen logs, the flight of birds from limb to limb, all surrounded me with a quality of light and beauty I had completely missed just seconds before. It was as if a scrim had been rolled away, and a giant spotlight had appeared from the heavens above. Illumination, insight, understanding.
I laughed! I laughed out loud. Then I apologized to God and Nature, the creek and its’ inhabitants, my fellow human beings, my ally and her sometimes enemy, my working group, and finally myself for my foolish part in creating both the original disturbance, and its ongoing effects.
I plucked the offending teabag from its grassy hook, placed it in my pocket to carry home to my garbage where it rightfully belonged. And then, I asked God, “How else can I make amends for my foolish ego?”
The answer was immediate and unmistakable. My attention was drawn to the creek’s edge where a discarded white plastic grocery bag rustled in the breeze amidst the strewn empties and flattened cardboard and stinky cigarette butts. "Done," I said, and ambled down the steep bank, picked up the bag and began filling it with everyone else’s garbage. Some of those butts might even have been mine...
“Thank you, God, for the opportunity to so soon set right my wrongs,” I thought and said aloud, as I and my faithful Buddy made our way home, cleaning up the messes of yesterday.
Today, with a teabag, I began my amends.
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