When I picked my son up yesterday from his past time job at the local hardware store, he told me about this experience that he had during his lunch break. 

Sam walked into Burger King, placed his order and stepped aside to wait for his food. A scruffy young man with an unkempt beard, dirty jeans and a torn t-shirt was next in line. After ordering, this fellow proceeded to empty his pockets; nickels, dimes, quarters and pennies rained down on the counter. He carefully counted his change and pushed it towards the cashier. The woman looked at him and said that he was $2.00 short. It was then that Sam pulled out his wallet, handed the guy two one dollar bills and told him to enjoy his lunch. Hearing this story on the way home put a big smile on my face. Throughout his young life Sam has been know for these selfless acts of kindness, so what he did for that man at lunch came as no surprise.

Every time I pick up the newspaper or swipe up on my phone, I see a nearly endless stream of stories about the more odious aspects of human nature. Greed and hatred scream, getting most of the attention. Love and kindness whisper and are mostly ignored. By the way, Sam’s little gesture did not make the news today but the kindness he showed towards that man could have ramifications far beyond anything he could ever imagine. Perhaps after having a hot meal at Burger King, this fellow has the energy to go out and apply for a job. Maybe he gets the job. Maybe he begins to turn his life around. Who knows? One thing I do know is that all of our actions, big or small, have consequences. It’s within our power to chose to treat others with love and compassion; to pay it forward like my son did.

The reasons why there is so much anger and hatred in the world are varied and complex. I couldn’t begin to list them. Like many people, I’m struggling to find a way out of our current dilemma. It’s all so overwhelming. Maybe a good start would be to simply  follow the Golden Rule: Treat others as you’d have them treat you. I think back on my college days and a nugget of wisdom I heard once from an old friend that has stayed with me ever since.

One evening my buddy John Murphy and I were sitting around the local watering hole bemoaning the sad state of world affairs (if we only knew what was to come!). I asked him, “Murph, what the hell are we gonna do about all of these haters and greed heads?” Murph paused, took a pull off of his beer and sighed, “We’re gonna kill ‘em with kindness Lou, kill ‘em with kindness!” Sage advise. Let’s pay it forward. Let’s start now.

My wife and I were watching a movie the other night. About halfway through the film, a man pulled his car off to the side of the road to call his wife. He was in the process of leaving a message when it began to rain. The rain started slowly, gradually building in intensity until raindrops were pounding on the roof of his car. Rain covered the windows with thousands of silver droplets. It appeared as if this man was on the inside of a fishbowl looking out. He cracked one of the windows and held the phone outside so his wife could hear the sound of the rain falling. You see she is the commander on a spaceship headed to Mars. Both of them may have been thinking this could be the last time that his wife would ever hear rain.

As I watched this scene play out, intense feelings of longing and sadness flooded over me. I felt the way that couple were probably feeling. Would I ever hear the sound of rain again? Where I live it’s been nine months since there’s been any measurable amount of rainfall. I’ve nearly forgotten what the rainy day experience is like. The land is brittle and baked, covered with ash and dust from  relentless heat and wildfires. Rain; cool, quenching rain. I close my eyes and reimagine the experience.

What does rain sound like? It rat-a-tats onto the roof of our deck. It swishes through our fruit trees. It hisses under car tires rolling along rain slicked streets. It splashes over squealing, puddle stomping children. It rushes through a rain swollen creek. It drips down the rain gutter outside our bedroom window, lulling me to sleep.

How does rain feel? It’s cleansing and cool on my face as I tilt my head back to catch each drop. It’s cold and wet and squishy when I walk barefoot through the grass.

What does rain look like? Trees and plants bending under its weight. Raindrops forming perfect crystal balls on leaves and petals, each one reflecting an infinite piece of the sky. Cars and streets, sidewalks and trees all take on the glow of the freshly cleansed. The surfaces of lakes and rivers transformed into millions of glittering, dancing diamonds.

What does rain smell like? Wet hair and wet fur. Mud and memories. Hope and possibilities. Gardens and growth. Relief and renewal. The promise of a new day.

What does rain taste like? Life.

Scientists are convinced that water once flowed freely on the surface of Mars. Drenching storms fed mighty rivers which carved massive canyons more grand than our own. It’s been a few million years since umbrellas were needed on the Red Planet though; rain and flowing water there being memories more distant than the human mind can wrap itself around. Will intelligent beings studying our planet in the distant future say the same of us? “Rain once fell there, rivers flowed…”

The water in Bullfrog Pond is olive green and still. The breeze, ever so slight, is just strong enough to push a few leaves across the surface; small vessels who’s destinations are unknown. As I approach the lichen spotted and weathered picnic table from where I am writing I startle an enormous Great Blue Heron. With two flaps of its prehistoric wings it’s off in a flash of blue to hunt in peace somewhere else. A dinner plate sized dark shape glides slowly by, occasionally popping its periscope-like head above the surface of the water; it’s a Western Pond Turtle. A few unlucky insects land on the surface and are quickly gobbled up. I watch this creature move with stealth and grace until it’s body disappears beneath the green. This pond is so full of life, the beauty here subtle. The key to unlocking some of its mysteries is to stop, observe and breathe; a meditation on what it means to be here right now.

The cacophony of our world today is deafening and unbearable. I’ve come here today to press the “mute” button for a few hours. I’m realizing that in order to survive these insane times, I need to find the quiet spaces within myself and in the world at large. I’m being screamed at from everywhere I turn so it feels really nice to be at this peaceful spot today where the only sounds I hear are the occasional buzz of an insect, the chattering conversation of a pair of Acorn Woodpeckers and the ringing in my ears. Out here there are no screams, only whispers.

The hunter I’m watching now is a Black Phoebe. This elegant little bird swoops down to the surface of the water from it’s perch, catching an insect in mid-air and returning to enjoy it’s snack. I walk down to the bank of the pond and the stillness is broken by a chirp and a splash; my footsteps have startled a bullfrog, its camouflage so complete among the algae and duckweed as to render it invisible. Flame orange and cerulean blue dragonflies perform their impossible acrobatics in the still autumn air,  their vibrant colors are a stark contrast against the muted greens and browns. Tiny black fish occasionally break the surface of the water, each time creating the miracle of a perfectly concentric circle as fleeting as a shooting star.

Life in the latter part of 2020 is at times painful and devastating, full of fear and anger. Humanity lurches along on its self destructive path but thankfully the rhythms of nature continue as they have for millennia here at Bullfrog Pond and at other sacred places in the natural world. Long after the evil and the greedy have passed on, nature will continue to provide us with solace in troubled times.