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Examining the Idea of Abundance In Daily Life
Sometime in the mid-1990s, I became an acquaintance of a man who had served as a war correspondent in many “hot spots” across the globe. We were members of an online community and occasionally he would post snippets from the book he was busy writing about his experiences in Vietnam.
When I received my copy of his book once it was finally published, I expected to find the opening chapter encompassing some tale of his heroics, perhaps his valiantly saving the life of someone else. Or at least an exciting story well told of his surviving a firefight that had lasted long hours or even days and how well he held up while under attack. He had seemed the sort to promote a macho image, and so that was what I thought his opening chapter would emphasize.
So I was pleasantly surprised to find the opening chapter dealt with celebrating the liberation of a group of Buddhist monks from tiger cages where they had been housed and ill-treated for years. The scene was festive, with gifts of flowers, food, and other presents being offered to the monks.
The war correspondent asked them what thoughts they had on such a joyous occasion. They all mentioned the immense gratitude they were feeling at finally being rescued. But then they said how deeply they missed their brethren who had not survived the long years of torture.
“We regret they did not survive,” the men said solemnly.
“Is that because they are missing out on the celebration and happiness they would be blessed with today, after finally being released?”
He expected nods of agreement, but serious faces stared back at him.
“No, not so much that they missed this celebration. No, we are sad for them for dying so early on and so missed out on all the lessons we were able to learn from our time together while we were prisoners in the cages.”
Reading this, as a Westerner, I was taken aback. The thought that any human being could reflect gratefully on imprisonment and torture and view such activities as an “education” — and an abundantly rewarding one at that — was alien to my way of thinking.
The Irish Catholic tradition which had been my grammar school education did of course dwell on Christ’s suffering. Each year, the week leading up to Good Friday we were forced to do the endless Stations of the Cross. This ritual had us children focus on the many ways Christ was humiliated and tortured from the moment the Roman soldiers captured him in the garden until the moment he expired on the cross.
But for most of the year, the nuns taught us to pray to minimize suffering: that God in his mercy would restore our sick family members to health, our financially failing relatives would discover a lucrative job opportunity and even of course that our sports team would triumph over a competing team so our school would make it to the state finals.
So overall, the attitude impressed on me was that suffering and lack were bad, indications of a failing, an event that one should ask God to alleviate. Perhaps what I should have learned was to ask God to show me how to learn from my hardships, but I know I failed to do that.
I had somehow gathered that what an individual should strive for in their life were comfort and ease.
The society around me encouraged such thinking. This society was one of prosperity. The 1950s to mid 1970s were boom times for the middle class: a Golden Age. One paycheck allowed a family to secure a dwelling in a tree-lined community with good schools and many parks. Material goods abounded, and each year some new innovation cropped up that made the item being replaced obsolete overnight.
Yet material goods alone cannot bring abundance, for true abundance is both a gift and a virtue: of having enough without the anxiety and envy of always wanting more, of knowing your family and community can meet your needs just as you attempt to meet theirs, and everyone is doing so in a kind and happy manner.
At one point in the early 1980s, I read the book that comedian Gilda Radner wrote about her life and her experience of ovarian cancer. She detailed the tremendous enthusiasm she and other “Saturday Night Live” cast members had when they first were chosen to be on this fledgling comedy series. As bonds of friendship developed among the newly minted comics, they rode home together from the Saturday night performance in taxi cabs whose fares they split, stopping for nightcaps at exclusive restaurants where they were surprised to be treated as the celebrities they were becoming.
But within a season or two, it changed. The show was so highly rated that their producer arranged for each of them to have their own limo to drive them home separately. More glamorous perhaps, but the community feeling was lost along the way.
For abundance needs community to be true abundance. For some of us, it can be a community of one, if the individual’s needs are met. (I have never felt lonely in the mountains of Colorado, even if the nearest neighbor was three miles away. A good book, a half-filled ice chest, wood by the fireplace and I’m okay.)
For some of us, we find our community within the workplace, as we bring projects to fruition together as a team.
Or the community can be a couple who mean the world to each other. For some others, a community can be a circle of friends, while for others it is a large extended family.
These thoughts about the intertwining of abundance to community segue into a passage in a book an ethnobiologist had written. This scholar had immersed himself inside the traditions of the Navajo or Hopi for a number of months. Initially, his main goal was to establish relationships with tribal elders who could introduce him to native plants which were used for medicinal purposes.
Along the way, he became a participant in annual festivities and rituals to the point he felt he truly had an inkling of what it was like to be one of these people. Without realizing what was going on, he became part of the community: familiar with its many unique individuals, the sounds and sights and smells of everyday life, as well as the music and art of the holidays’ pageants.
At one point he mentioned to his closest friend in the tribe: “I notice so many of your people’s songs are about water. I wonder if that is because you have so little of it?”
His friend did not miss a beat in his reply: “I notice that as far as your culture goes, most of the songs are about love.”
We seek the arrival of what is lacking. Each culture on earth has its own struggles. For those of us living in a Western society, the struggle to maintain our humanity while achieving abundance, to not lose deep connections with others while gaining career and material success remains a precarious balancing act. As with all balancing acts, having a helping hand can bring about fulfillment.
Beautiful.
This is your writing at it’s best.
Ouch!
This is why I don’t take the limo to Ricochet Meetups . . .
Given what happened on your way to South Dakota, maybe you should…
Our November theme is “Feast, Famine, Fast.” Stop by today to reserve a day. Interested in Group Writing topics that came before? See the handy compendium of monthly themes. Check out links in the Group Writing Group. You can also join the group to get a notification when a new monthly theme is posted.
Beautifully written, and deep. Thanks for giving me something to think about.
@stad
Oh please, tell us more!
Good point!
I wrecked my car . . .
A few of us were standing by the front of the house where the main group was staying, when we heard a screech of tires and a loud bang from the road (out of a sight a few hundred yards away). I commented to one of the people standing there “I hope that wasn’t one of ours”.
It was.
Oh noes! I hope you weren’t hurt.
Nope, only my pride . . .