Author: Sukh

(Not inspired by Dancing with the Stars)
A Compassion Cell in Orange County on March 12th.

As I wrapped my arms around this woman of 81 years, I felt right at home. We swayed from side to side, not too fast as the workers of the Center had told me that her bones were fragile. She hadn’t danced for over 20 years, but she remembers that she used to love it. Her skin was soft and warm.

She recalls stories to me about how she used to go to all the parties and knew all the latest dance steps. Now, we just move from side to side. Her life is confined to the company of other elders at the senior center, and the workers we pay to take care of our parents.

Every now and then they get some entertainment. They play bingo weekly, go for walks, and because of some random occurrence, today a volunteer group dropped by with some ballroom music.

At first everyone was apprehensive, so we decided to let the music take over. It was like boys meeting girls. Everyone wondering who was going to make the first move. This time it was youth meets concealed youth, memory meets experience, action meets values, internal meets external.

As this 81 year old woman, who lost her husband a couple of years ago, wraps her arms around me, I know that in this one dance, we both are okay.

Just as things start to quiet down, Ben pulls out his Moroccan music and actually starts Belly Dancing. Watching an adult Moroccan male with a belly dancing skirt swing his hips is an experience that passes but only once in a lifetime. Ben endures through the embarrassment just to bring joy into the lives of a few ladies. Struck by his selflessness, we all take turns wearing the belly dancing skirt. Finally one of the oldest ladies in the center takes us up on the dance-off. She throws on the skirt and shows us that 90 year old hips can still shake.

Momentary pleasure as their journey continues to plough forward towards the unknown. … but for us, the memory will live a little longer.

A Compassion Cell in Los Angeles on March 4th

Things just work out sometimes. On Saturday, we were serving lunch to 60 women at the Women’s Homeless Shelter in Los Angeles. On Friday, volunteers were coming over to prepare the lunches. On Wednesday, we had no idea where the supplies were coming from.

Wednesday afternoon, my good friend Nirali came over and asked about the supplies. Having no idea how it would work out, but knowing quite well that whatever needed to happen would happen, we decided to sit on it.

After sitting in silence for one hour we opened the front door and on the table outside we found 25 loafs of bread, just sitting there, waiting.

To this day, we do not know who left them. Not even the neighbors saw who had dropped them off.

What is powerful about this story is how the good intentions of this secret do-gooder have rippled out into so many people. I shared the bread story with another friend and she instantaneous asked me to come to her office. When I arrived she handed me a check for $100 saying that she wanted to be a part of this holy bread. Another friend said the bread had literally dropped from heaven :)

Hours later we were at a grocery store shopping for the remaining supplies and volunteers were literally fighting over the shopping bill.

I shared all of this with our tax accountant, and he too was baffled. He now considers us the anti-thesis of every organization he has ever come into contact with. Most organizations fight to keep money coming in. An anonymous gift of bread is forcing us to give more away.

The ripple effect of this one person’s generosity continues to expand every time this story is shared. I can’t imagine the goodness that this one person carried in their heart to have their one simple action touch so many people. It is impacting me again, as I am writing this.

Friday night came, we celebrated the bread and all the goodness that surrounded it. As we chopped up vegetables and sliced onions, there was joy in the room. The dance of receiving and giving overwhelmed us completely.

Saturday afternoon, we finally served lunch to the women of the shelter. They were grateful to have had a nutritious meal, we were grateful to have had the opportunity to serve. The magic of service became a part of us all.

As my friend, Nirali, sat down to share a meal with the residents of the shelter, she was taken back by the hostility of one of the women. Living on the streets can impact people in many ways. Sometimes it seems like a systematic break down of one own human-ness. I guess Nirali did the only thing she could, remain human. After a few moments, the woman actually thanked Nirali for what she was doing, and expressed that the world needed more people like Nirali out there. Maybe goodness exists in everyone, or maybe it was just the bread talking.

Sukh