Dear Readers,

This week, June 8, marks the 52nd anniversary of my son’s birth. The night yard will be filled with fireflies dazzling my eye as I recall the magic and the miracle of all that life brings. We are surrounded by what in Buddhism we learn to see as the ‘sorrowful-joy’ and the ‘joyful-sorrow’.

As I scribe this chapter our country is in a full-on breaking point. A deep fissure being called a double pandemic of an invisible virus and a buried racial inequality erupting. I find myself enraged by and also mourning our inhumanity. At the same time, I feel my heart open and expand seeing demonstrations of our better nature. I recognize the opportunity to sow seeds of positive growth. This is a perfect storm.

 

The highest end of government
is the culture of men;
and that if men can be educated,
the institutions will share their improvement
and the moral sentiment will write the law of the land.

Emerson

I travel with the band to northern Michigan. The old school bus feels to me like a moving island.

Being in the company of this happy group of artists singing their songs as the miles flow brings me calm. 

All is well.

The voices of L, her boyfriend, and the others drift in from the seats near the front door. The manager takes his turn driving. The group communicates mostly with guitars and tambourines, singing.

I nap and when my eyes flutter open, I gaze out the window, I eagerly explore the words and ideas in my gift of the Tao te Ching.

13

Favor and disfavor have been called equal worries,
Success and failure have been called equal ailments.
How can favor and disfavor be called equal worries?
Because winning favor burdens a man
With the fear of losing it.
How can success and failure be called equal ailments?
Because a man thinks of the personal body as self.
When he no longer thinks of the personal body as self
Neither failure nor success can ail him.
One who knows his lot to be the lot of all other men
Is a safe man to guide them,
One who recognizes all men as members of his own body
Is a sound man to guard them.

49

A sound man’s heart is not shut within itself
But is open to other people’s hearts:
I find good people good,
And I find bad people good
If I am good enough;
I trust men of their word,
And I trust liars
If I am true enough;
I feel the heart-beats of others
Above my own
If I am enough of a father,
Enough of a son.

67

Everyone says that my way of life is the way of a
simpleton.
Being largely the way of a simpleton is what makes it
worthwhile.
If it were not the way of a simpleton
It would long ago have been worthless,
These possessions of a simpleton being the three I
choose
And cherish;
To care,
To be fair,
To be humble.
When a man cares he is unafraid,
When he is fair he leaves enough for others,
When he is humble he can grow;
Whereas if, like men of today, he be bold without
caring,
Self-indulgent without sharing,
Self-important without shame,
He is dead.
The invincible shield
Of caring
Is a weapon from the sky
Against being dead.

I do not pretend to understand the meaning of the verses. I read and then read again. I choose one sentence and stay with it for mile after mile.

When a man cares he is unafraid,
When he is fair he leaves enough for others,

The bus pulls into a small town for gasoline. I have a delicate need. The shirt that L has loaned to me helps to hide the fact that my halter top stays wet. My engorged breasts are painful and they continue to leak. I feel the need for comfort and the protection/containment of wearing a bra. It has not yet been six weeks since I relinquished the infant and ‘returned from Chicago’. My body is very different now. I ask L if she will loan me the money and the manager if he will give me the time. He drives down the only street that goes through the middle of the nearly abandoned downtown. He pulls up across the road from a dingy store on Main Street. It is, of all things, a lingerie shop. 

The two dusty front windows of the store hold cracked and chipped mannequins, one on each side of the set-back entrance. From the bus L and the band watch. I keep looking back at them as they encourage me to go ahead, go on in. The mannequins wear wigs from another era set at odd angles; the curved wave of a page boy is skewed over the right eye of the one wearing the floor-length satin nightgown in my favorite color, magenta. The other plaster model is in a nude beige satin gown, lace bordering the neck and hem. Chipped toes on bare feet.  

I step back in time. A tiny brass bell tinkles as I enter. A curtain in the back-right corner moves gently to one side. I hear a bit of rustling around and then a woman dressed in a khaki shirtwaist dress, stiff and wood-like steps out from behind the drape. Her wig is also a bit off-kilter.

She inspects me. I feel like a suspect. She watched me exit the yellow bus. She sees the movement of the others. They wait for me. She watched me crossing the street. She watched me coming toward her store. She looks over my shoulder as if she is expecting someone to join me.  Does she think I came to rob her?  Does she think I came into her store to ruin her day?  She nods, coldly, “May I help you?”

My embarrassment escalates. I want to run. Instead, I say thank you, yes, I need a bra. She looks relieved that I am not needing her bathroom. She clears her throat. She inspects me again and points to the circular metal rack wedged in between the silky-satin baby doll pajamas rack and chenille bed jackets display. There is a lot of inventory in this little store. From my dress shop days, I can see that she is carrying more stock than space comfortably allows. I push between the racks and wedge myself in front of the undergarments. The movable circular display is packed too tight. The rack will not turn. Reluctantly I ask for her help.

How do I make the right choice? My body is so very different now. She sends me into the fitting room. My breasts tender swelled and leaking. I am shy and feeling extremely nervous as she places the tape measure over my shoulders and then around my ribcage. She returns a few minutes later, her fingers delicately balancing six or eight small hangers. She’s done this before. Her manner completely changes now that she sees me standing, undressed in this tiny enclosed space with the triple mirrors, her focus becomes tender.

She helps me.

She talks me through the correct way to place my swollen breasts into the cups. Her fingers are warm, she adjusts the straps with a lift and some tugs; she smiles kindly chatting as she checks the fit. She asks me a few discreet questions about my age and where I, and the others, are heading. She may be suspicious yet she is also caring. She reminds me of my boss at the dress shop, a good mother, a kind of guiding force. I wear my purchase. After she takes my payment and closes the drawer she steps out from behind her engraved brass cash register. She places a firm hand on my shoulder as I turn to leave. She reminds me to, wash my undergarments each night by hand using a gentle soap, like Ivory soapflakes. We smile at one another. 

I return to the bus, so very shy, yet with a bit more security, feeling less exposed.

The next two days while the band performs several sets to a packed house I stay on the bus reading and sleeping. Being inside the club with so much noise and people feels uncomfortable. I need quiet. The book draws me in. I make small pencil illustrations beside my favorites verses.

56

Those who know do not tell,
Those who tell do not know,
Not to set the tongue loose
But to curb it,
Not to have edges that catch
But to remain untangled,
Unblinded,
Unconfused,
Is to find balance,
And he who holds balance beyond sway of love or hate,
Beyond reach of profit or loss,
Beyond care of praise or blame,
Has attained the highest post in the world.

 

24

Standing tiptoe a man loses balance,
Walking astride he has no pace,
Kindling himself he fails to light,
Acquitting himself he forfeits his hearers,
Admiring himself he does so alone.
Pride has never brought a man greatness
But, according to the way of life,
Brings the ills that make him unfit,
Make him unclean in the eyes of his neighbor,
And a sane man will have none of them.

38

A man of sure fitness, without making a point of his
fitness,
Stays fit;
A man of unsure fitness, assuming an appearance of
fitness,
Becomes unfit.
The man of sure fitness never makes an act of it
Nor considers what it may profit him;
The man of unsure fitness make an act of it
And considers what it may profit him.
However a man with a kind heart proceed,
He forgets what it may profit him:
However a man with a just mind proceed,
He remembers what it may profit him;
However a man of conventional conduct proceed, if he
be now complied with
Out goes his fist to enforce compliance.
Here is what happens:
Losing the way of life, men rely first on their fitness;
Losing fitness, they turn to kindness;
Losing kindness, they turn to justness;
Losing justness, they turn to convention.

Conventions are fealty and honesty gone to waste,
They are the entrance of disorder.
False teachers of life use flowery words
And start nonsense.
The man of stamina stays with the root
Below the tapering,
Stays with the fruit
Beyond the flowering:
He has his no and he has his yes.

 

The words of the Tao te Ching fill me with wonder. Verse by verse I am compelled and carried into a new world. The manager invited me to talk about the book when we return to The Farm. I’m excited by the thought of sitting with him, asking questions. 

I lean my head against the cool glass watching the countryside whisk by as we return to The Farm.