Imagine u have just had a wonderful afternoon at the beach with a fren. When u return home, u find a huge truck-load of dung has been dumped right in front of ur door. There are 3 things to know abt this truck-load of dung:
1. U did not order it. It's not ur fault.
2. U're stucked with it. No one saw who dumped it, so u cannot call anyone to take it away.
3. It is filthy and offensive, and its stench fills ur whole house. It's almost impossible to endure.
In this metaphor, the truck-load of dung in front of the house stands for the traumatic experiences that are dumped on us in life. As with the truck-load of dung, there are 3 things to know about tragedy in our life:
1. We did not order it. We say "Why me?"
2. We're stucked with it. No one, not even our best frens can take it away.
3. It is so awful, such a destroyer of our happiness, and its pain fills our whole life. It is almost impossible to endure.
There r 2 ways of responding to being stuck with a truck-load of dung. The first way is to carry the dung around with us. We put some in our pockets, some in our bags, some up our shirts. We even put some down our pants. We find when we carry the dung around, we lose a lot of frens. Even best frens dun seem to be around so often.
"Carrying the dung" is a metaphor for sinking into depression, negativity or anger. It is a natural and understandable response to adversity. But we lose a lot of frens, because it is so natural and understandable that frens dun like being around us when we're so depressed. Moreover, the pile of dung gets no less, but the smell gets worse as it ripens.
Fortunately there's a second way. When we r dumped with a truck-load of dung, we heave a sigh, and then get down to work. Out come the wheelbarrow, the fork and the spade. We fork the dung into the barrow, wheel it around the back of the house and dig it into the garden. This is tiring and difficult work, but we know there's no other way out. Sometimes, all we can manage is half a barrow a day. We're doing something about the problem, rather than complaining our way into depression. DAy after day we dig into the dung, day after day it gets smaller. Sometimes it may take several years, but the morning does come when we see that the pile of dung is gone. Furthermore, a miracle has happened in another part of the house. The flowers in our garden are bursting out in a richness of colour all over the place. Their fragrance wafts down the street so tat the neighbours, and even the passer by, smile in delight. Then the fruit trees in the corner is nearly falling over, it's so heavy with fruits. And the fruit is so sweet; u can't buy anything like it. There's so much that we r able to share with our neighbours. Even passer by get a delicious taste of the miracle fruit.
"Digging the dung" is a metaphor for welcoming the tragedies as fertiliser for life. It is work that we have to do alone: no one can help us. But digging it into the garden of our heart, day by day, the pile gets less. It may take several years, but the mornign does come when we see no more pain in our life and, in our heart, a miracle has happened. Flowers of kindness are bursting out al over the place, an dthe fragrance of love wafts way downour street, to our neighbours, to our relations and even to passers-by. Then the wisdomtree in the corner is bending down to us, loaded with sweet insights into the nature of life. We share those delicious fruits freely, even with the passers-by, without ever planning to.
When we have known tragic pain, learnt its lesson and grown our garden, then we can put our hands around another person in deep tragedy and say"I know". They realise we do understand. We show them the wheelbarrow, the fork and the spade. If we haven grown our garden yet, this can't be done.
posted by Whiteaura II @ 12:09 AM
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