I often see an older man begging for money in the middle of a busy highway. He is just standing there. He never walks up and down between the rows of cars stopping for red light like many of the others do who ask for money. 

He just stands there with a sign saying that he is a homeless veteran and God Bless You. I’m always hoping for a red light when I pass his intersection so that I can give him money, usually a dollar.

Since I’m always traveling straight north on that highway he has to walk over the lane turning left to get to me. We have to be quick for it to work. I have to yell loudly and he has to make sure he is not hit by a turning car.

Going south on my way back home again there is no chance for me to stop since he is on the other side of the intersection from that direction. By the time I reach his spot the traffic is already moving too quickly.

All summer I saw him standing there in the middle of the hot sun. Sometimes bending over as if he were in pain.

The fall came and he was still there, the weather still hot. Then for several days, weeks, I didn’t see him. I was getting worried that he had died or taken ill. Every time I passed I hoped to see him. When three weeks had gone I decided I wanted to give 20 dollars for all the times I had stopped at red light and he wasn’t there. If I ever saw him again.

I thought: if it was my father I would want someone to do that, no matter why he was standing in the middle of the hot sun begging for money.

Then finally one day he was there again and luckily the light turned red. I called him from across the lane. I took a while because he couldn’t hear me. Then he came over and I gave him the 20 dollars. I explained that it was for every time I had passed and he hadn’t been there.

He smiled and said: you didn’t give me a twenty, you gave me a million. Then he told me that someone had died of acute yeast infection in the body. I seemed like he assumed I knew who it was, maybe he mistook me for someone else?

By then the light had turned green and cars were speeding on both sides of my car. I have to go, I said., worrying that I would cause an accident for him or someone else. He safely got over to his spot and I left feeling thankful, so deeply indebted to him for accepting my money. 

Sometimes when I feel alienated from the world (never from God) I call my friend.

When I feel like I don’t understand people’s behavior, when I just can’t fathom how it is that not everyone is acutely aware of how short life is, and what a blessing it is to be born on Earth.

When I see complaining, commiserating, resentment, jealousy, hatred, rudeness, rejection, abandonment; the list is long. (Not to mention the global scale.)

I wonder: Don’t you get it? Don’t you know how unlikely it is that you were born at all. And yet here you are. You have one chance on Earth and this is it. This is it! 

Not that people have to accomplish big things, change the world or carry out an important mission. Not at all. It’s enough to just know that you were awarded life, that you won the lottery.

Not only were you not born as a cockroach (well, who knows maybe they are actually great creatures) but you were born as a human being. Doesn’t that make you want to ONLY spend time on what is good for yourself, others and the planet? Or at least to immediately stop any kind of hatred floating around in your system?

Doesn’t that make you want to be kind and patient? Doesn’t that make you want to listen to others and at least try to understand? Doesn’t that make you want to spend as much time as possible with loved ones, with people that really matter to you? Doesn’t that make you want to adore them?

Doesn’t that make you want to accept and appreciate others’ love for you? Doesn’t that make you want to go out and adore nature? Even if you can't accomplish much of this, don't you want to make it your only aim?

Whenever I start thinking and feeling along those lines and having the sense that I am the only one feeling that way, I call my friend.

What a blessing to have a friend like her! She understands exactly what I mean. She knows that life is short. She knows that love is all that matters and immediately I know that all is not lost. She reminds me, again and again, that there are others who feel like I do. We both know that our friendship is rare and precious. We both acknowledge it to ourselves, each other and to the universe. I wish everyone a friend like that. 

I recently asked my yoga students to write something about their experience. My friend Tara sent her contribution (below). I remember it very well. Tara is extremely busy, fun, creative and smart and she does it all at an incredible speed while looking cool and in control. She is not your typical yoga student. I knew she would be a challenge! I still felt I wanted to teach her, it happens sometimes that I just ask someone if they want a class. Anyway, she came and here is her story. I also thinks it was one of those encounters...

"The true impact of my experience at Charlotte's yoga class is hard to appreciate if you don't know me.  So I will try to paint the picture: My name is Tara I am married, own and operate three cafes, I have three very active children who do everything and two step children, I run marathons, I have seven dogs,  I am on the PTA and volunteer to make costumes for ballet recitals and I go to every rehearsal, am show secretary for the horse riding shows and am the Manager of my son's football team just as a start.  I am one of those people who do too much, I am also one of those people who talks too much, ALL of the time, and I drink far too much coffee! 

So I met Charlotte and we became instant friends (despite all that I have mentioned), one day she asked me to do a yoga class with her at her house.  I added it to my rather large to do list, and put it somewhere at the bottom.  Charlotte reminded me a few times, and I decided to just get it done.  I raced up to her house, coffee in hand, a touch late (probably a lot late) and of course chatting about my latest drama.  The class proceeded, and I chatted on, but soon got the picture that the chatting was very one sided, Charlotte was focused on me, not on what I was saying.  So I decided to pay attention to her instruction as I realized she was very much attune to what my body was needing (marathon runners have lots of issues) and realized that I was receiving quite a gift and she took me through a routine that would fit in with my hectic lifestyle, something doable. 

However, the real gift caught me by surprise.  To end of the class Charlotte told me to close my eyes and listen.  Out of respect I closed my eyes and hoped we were not going to start any humming or some other such new age mumbo jumbo, and we sat in silence.  I think she told me to listen to the sounds, like the birds, and I thought, "What birds, is she nuts?"  Then almost like a switch I started to hear the distinct sound of birds singing, birds that must have been there in their trees singing all my life, but birds I had never noticed. The swirl and bustle of my life had masked something so pure, so sweet and so refreshing.  

So even as I write this I have stopped for a moment and listened out for the birds, that while I was doing so much I managed to miss all these years, and yes they still sing, it is only for me to listen to them!

A simple gift but a profound one, Thank you Charlotte for listening, really listening to me!" 

Last week I wrote about a special encounter I had. If you missed it you can read it here.

I’m sure that you too, dear reader, has had similar experiences. Please share! I will post your story in my blog. Use the contact form or send me an e-mail.

I look forward to hearing your stories!

My daughter’s guitar strong popped and I couldn’t reattach it. I got a number to someone who could fix it. I called. The man who answered the phone said he lived far away and that he would call me back and tell me when I could bring it in. I started to think it wasn’t worth the trouble, that I should find someone who lived closer. 

The man called back when he said he would and asked if I could come the next day. I had a hard time understanding his thick Barbadian accent. No, no he said. I will come to you, does that work? Oh, yes, of course, thank you. He had something to take care of on my end of the island.

The next day the man came to my house. He was old and was missing several teeth. He had brought a string and immediately attached it. He played the guitar and the music filled the whole house with beauty. I gave him twice as much as he had asked for compensation. He said he liked the simplicity of our home. We chatted. He stayed on and played some more. My husband came, said hello and left the room again.

The man looked at a print on our wall. I said it was from Jamaica, where my husband is from. He said he liked the wood that our furniture is made of. Was that your husband? I answered yes. Beautiful, he remarked, and I knew he commented on the different color of our skin.

As he was leaving he said he liked my personality. Then he asked me what I thought about the monkeys. I said they used to take all the fruit on our papaya trees. I said I love this area. He asked me if I had met Jesus. I understood what he meant and answered yes, although I give it a different name. Where do you go to church? I placed my hand on my heart. He again said he liked my personality. Don’t loose it.

I thanked the man, said I appreciated his help. I closed the door. After a few minutes he came back with a couple of pegs for the guitar, in case we’d loose one. I thanked him again. Drive up close to the gate when you exit, I said. It will open automatically.