Dare to Turn Off the Auto-Snooze
We’re a species known for turning on the Auto-Snooze whenever something like Truth comes along to wake us up.
We’re like Sleeping Beauties. When the Prince of Higher Consciousness smothers us in kisses, we want to simply roll over, saying, “Later…I need more beauty sleep.”
One by one, though, we are waking up, rising to accept our missions as idea-rich, talented, radiant, divine, golden bees at the hive of illumination, “making white combs and sweet honey,” as Spanish poet Antonio Machado says, from all our old failures.
This occurred to me a few days ago in Kona where I was catching my breath after my own share of success and failure, caffeinating my inner alarm clock with a cup of jet-fuel coffee when my friend Rita and her daughter Sue walk in.
“Marya,” she says, “Can you put Sue to work?”
“What can she do?” I say, inviting them to sit down.
“If she could do anything, I’d hire her!” says Rita, who is so ritzy, the bags under her eyes are Gucci. She wears a gold-plaited bra playfully exposing her cosmetically-enhanced bosom and 4-inch Graci slingback heels with bronze studs.
Sue, at 21, is barefoot and has natural brown hair, in sharp contrast to her mother’s red-dyed mane. Sue wears threadbare jeans so shiny they would make a good night light. Her ripped T-shirt hangs loosely on her emaciated body, and reads:
bq(center) _We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another._- Jonathan Swift.
“Forgive your mother, Sue,” I said. “She’s just having a bad day. I know you can do whatever you put your mind to.” The smell of freshly baked bread inspires us to order food. For Rita, food is a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. For Sue, it’s Peanut Butter Mousse Torte and diet Coke. I order a Raspberry Truffle in syrup with Double Fudge Brownie ice cream. I used to be on a diet, but since everything seems to be in retrograde, I now enjoy an un-diet.
“How’s it going, Sue?” I say.
“Aw, I’m living one day at a time.”
“Great! What kind of job do you want?”
“I’ve got a job. It’s called unemployment.”
“Very funny. Hard work never killed anybody,” I say.
“Right, so why take a chance?” She slumps down in her seat.
“Don’t you want to make a contribution?” I ask. “The world needs vital young women like you, to make history.”
“Look, I go to meetings, I stay off meth, I’m making a difference.”
“Right, but don’t you care about having zest for life? About creating a better world? About seizing the quicksilver of today?”
“Nah,” Sue says. “I’m just livin’ for today.”
“You see?” says Rita. “I’m so worried about her. She never worries about anything — about herself, about tomorrow.”
“Of course not,” Sue says. “I know everything is going to turn out wrong. Why worry?”
“Well, maybe you could take responsibility for making tomorrow a better day?” I venture.
“I do,” Sue said. “I take full responsibility for my actions, except the ones that are someone else’s fault.”
Rita shakes her head. “I don’t know what happened. We’re prosperous people. We gave her everything. Education. Money. A new car. Clothes.”
“Rita,” I say, “Prosperity is more than money. It includes peace of mind, taking time to listen to those you love, remembering the special moments that make life meaningful.”
“You’re accusing me of not teaching her right!” says Rita, biting her nails.
“No, I’m not blaming anyone,” I say. “I’m just pointing out that getting a job, enjoying abundance, having money…well, let’s face it…we’re living at a time in history when there’s hardly any money in money anymore.”
“We all have to face reality,” says Rita.
“True, but reality just isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, what is reality anyway, but a collective hunch?”
“But she’s got to make money.”
“I dare say it’s not about money as much as love, justice, serenity – you know, ‘the peace that passeth understanding’.”
Sue surprises us with a passionate outburst: “How can you have serenity in a world at war, with illegal wire-tapping, stolen elections, global warming…the list goes on and on.”
“What would you rather have instead?” I ask.
“That’s easy. World peace, civil liberties, prosperity, a pristine environment.”
“That’s your job then. Do what awakens your passion, what inspires a great sense of purpose.”
An alarm seems to go off in Sue’s head. “Excited, sweating, she pulls off her ratty T-shirt, revealing another T underneath. It reads: Well-behaved women rarely make history.
“Mom, Marya, I’ve got to go. I’m going to go see if that job with Greenpeace is still available. See you later.”
She’s gone in a flash, leaving Rita and I at the table.
“Looks like one person just dared to go off Auto-Snooze,” I say. “Are you still worried?” I ask Rita.
“Only a little. But I wonder, do you know what wine goes with fingernails?”
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