It was a routine Wednesday morning. I had just finished playing tennis and intended to pick up Nipun from the Bart station for our usual Awakin Circle prep. In between, I happened to have 30 extra minutes, so I opted to sit in my parked car and meditate.
Suddenly, I hear a loud thud. Entire back window of my car shatters. It's a kind of sound that would jolt anyone, but perhaps because I was meditating, I find myself holding it with a sense of curiosity.
Immediately, I open my car door and see an old man on my trunk. It's an odd sight. It appears that he was riding his bicycle, and somehow crashed into the car, and his helmet landed on the back windshield -- shattering it in an instant.
"Are you okay?" I ask him gently. "I think so," he replies. One of the passerby offers to call 9-1-1, but he says it's not necessary. I point out that he's bleeding a bit. "Where am I bleeding?" the disheveled elder asks me. I point to his chin. He wipes it down and it seems to be under control.
"Can I give you a ride home?" I ask with a somewhat pressing concern about his health. "Yes, that would be great. I'm not too far from here," he says while kindly thinking about minimizing inconvenience for me! We try to fit his bike into the back seat but it doesn't work. So he removes the front wheel. Still, it's hard. Eventually, I push the back seat down and we fit it via the trunk.
"By the way, I'm Dinesh." "Hi, I'm John."
Up until this point, we hadn't spoken about the particulars of the accident and whose fault it was. It was just a human connection. Then, he mentions how he doesn't want to involve the insurance company (which could presumably increase his premium) and would like to settle the situation himself. I'm not even sure how this whole scenario even occurred, but as we chat, my focus is less on specifics and more on making him feel stronger.
"Accidents happen," I say before we depart together.
His home is nearby. On the car ride there, I ask him, "Are you retired?" "Yes." And I am not quite sure how to ask the follow-up question in my mind, but the words that ease out of my mouth are: "Do you think ... you can pay for this?" If he can't pay for it, I figure I could cover it. After all these years of Awakin Circles, this feels like a native response. Filling my spaciousness with his generosity, John responds, "No, no, this is clearly my fault and I will be happy to pay for it." As we depart, he insists on carefully writing down all his personal information.
The whole episode feels a bit unusual. To be honest, I still can't wrap my head around how a grandfatherly elder on a bike can land head-first on my back window! But I suppose that doesn't matter all that much.
I make it the Bart station on time. Nipun reminds of a story where Rev. Heng Sure concludes, "Nothing is off, even by a hair." It's all a chance to cultivate. That rings true.
How did I choose to meditate in my spare time? Instead of taking photos and squaring off blame for the accident, how did I first choose to give him a ride home? How did trust and care overtake my mistrust and fear? In the face of uncertainty, how did my heart know to lead with generosity? I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with John, or maybe it has something to do with everyone I've ever met. Or both. I don't know.
It leaves me with a quiet sense of gratitude, for walking this way, for all the tiny influences that have brought me to a space of greater love. Thank you all.
Suddenly, I hear a loud thud. Entire back window of my car shatters. It's a kind of sound that would jolt anyone, but perhaps because I was meditating, I find myself holding it with a sense of curiosity.
Immediately, I open my car door and see an old man on my trunk. It's an odd sight. It appears that he was riding his bicycle, and somehow crashed into the car, and his helmet landed on the back windshield -- shattering it in an instant.
"Are you okay?" I ask him gently. "I think so," he replies. One of the passerby offers to call 9-1-1, but he says it's not necessary. I point out that he's bleeding a bit. "Where am I bleeding?" the disheveled elder asks me. I point to his chin. He wipes it down and it seems to be under control.
"Can I give you a ride home?" I ask with a somewhat pressing concern about his health. "Yes, that would be great. I'm not too far from here," he says while kindly thinking about minimizing inconvenience for me! We try to fit his bike into the back seat but it doesn't work. So he removes the front wheel. Still, it's hard. Eventually, I push the back seat down and we fit it via the trunk."By the way, I'm Dinesh." "Hi, I'm John."
Up until this point, we hadn't spoken about the particulars of the accident and whose fault it was. It was just a human connection. Then, he mentions how he doesn't want to involve the insurance company (which could presumably increase his premium) and would like to settle the situation himself. I'm not even sure how this whole scenario even occurred, but as we chat, my focus is less on specifics and more on making him feel stronger.
"Accidents happen," I say before we depart together.
His home is nearby. On the car ride there, I ask him, "Are you retired?" "Yes." And I am not quite sure how to ask the follow-up question in my mind, but the words that ease out of my mouth are: "Do you think ... you can pay for this?" If he can't pay for it, I figure I could cover it. After all these years of Awakin Circles, this feels like a native response. Filling my spaciousness with his generosity, John responds, "No, no, this is clearly my fault and I will be happy to pay for it." As we depart, he insists on carefully writing down all his personal information.
The whole episode feels a bit unusual. To be honest, I still can't wrap my head around how a grandfatherly elder on a bike can land head-first on my back window! But I suppose that doesn't matter all that much.
I make it the Bart station on time. Nipun reminds of a story where Rev. Heng Sure concludes, "Nothing is off, even by a hair." It's all a chance to cultivate. That rings true.
How did I choose to meditate in my spare time? Instead of taking photos and squaring off blame for the accident, how did I first choose to give him a ride home? How did trust and care overtake my mistrust and fear? In the face of uncertainty, how did my heart know to lead with generosity? I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with John, or maybe it has something to do with everyone I've ever met. Or both. I don't know.
It leaves me with a quiet sense of gratitude, for walking this way, for all the tiny influences that have brought me to a space of greater love. Thank you all.
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