it would have been enough

Each year on Passover, Jews worldwide partake in a millenia-old ceremony called a seder. In Hebrew, seder means "order," which is an apt moniker for this lengthy dinner that centers around the ritualized re-telling of the exodus from Egypt. We use earthy, tactile symbols to represent each of the aspects of our bondage and liberation -- parsley and saltwater for the bitterness and tears of slavery, horseradish and sweet charoset for the mortar we used to build the structures we were compelled to build by the Egyptians, dry matzah representing our hurried departure from Egypt -- as we fled, we didn't have time to allow the dough to rise.

We touch and taste these talismans to evoke, viscerally, year after year, the dark times through which we have passed. Yet there is another element that is powerfully present at the seder, that dances a balanced dance with our ritual re-entry into and through enslavement: freedom, of course.

Freedom is the sweet, miraculous promise already fulfilled, the fullness of being -- unfettered energy coursing through us, shimmering, even, just past our skin -- that we know is our home, that guides us and has always guided us through the narrow places. Freedom, the seder reminds us, is inherent, and our yearning for freedom can take us on astounding journeys which our minds never expect but to which our hearts quiver excitedly, knowingly, full of yes.

At the seder table we sing many songs, encapsulating our fears and our joys into melodies we release into the world and into one another. One of the songs we sing is called "Daiyenu," which means, roughly, it would have been enough. In this song, we sing out our appreciation and gratitude for the abundance of the gifts we've received. Daiyenu, it would have been enough if God had only brought us out of Egypt! Had God only given us the Torah, it would have been enough! Had God only given us the sabbath, it would have been enough! And so on.

The sky showers us with cooling, golden rain and the sun dances feathery flickers of light in our path, and our eyes widen -- this, too! We stand in awe. One blessing, any blessing, by itself would have been enough, but we learn again and again that life loves us too much to withhold any morsel of its love.

And so, after a three-day course last weekend called Arete and a retreat this past week at Mount Madonna called Reflections and Revelations, I am moved to say: had I just been able to come to the Bay Area five years ago, and make my life in this beautiful place with all of these people striving playfully towards personal and planetary transformation, it would have been enough.

Had mindfulness meditation only introduced itself to me during law school, once a week on Tuesday evenings at the school's meditation society, it would have been enough.

Had I only realized the peace and invigoration of walking deep into the forests and mountains of this region, it would have been enough.

Had I only have had the time and resources to crack through one or two of the frozen, painful places in my being, it would have been enough.

Had my community of friends only loved me so joyfully and unconditionally, it would have been enough.

Had I only discovered, through dance and yoga and play, the pleasure of inhabiting my body, it would have been enough.

And had I only been blessed to be in the same place at the same time as masterful, brilliant people who have answered Life's call and devoted their lives to serving the healing and transformation of others . . . oh, it would have been enough.

And yet here I am, and all of these blessings have converged, and I feel myself to be alive in a way that I have not felt before. I think I've said "oh!" a thousand times about a thousand different remembrances that bubbled up to the surface during the past ten days, but I tell you this: really, it is so very simple. None of it is outside of me. Freedom, it seems, is simply a matter of gently turning towards myself, of occupying my own belly, my own heart.

Nothing foreign or esoteric, just a clear and resonant yes, this too is welcome, this too can be. This, too, is me, and so belongs to life; and so is beloved on this earth.

All of these things would have been enough; and yet, at 9 p.m. last night in a quick pass through the grocery store, I gasped at the unmistakable yellow streaks and the gourd-like irregularities of a small pile of organic California heirloom tomatoes. Could it be? Is summer here? Does the earth gladden at our burbles of joy when this sweet, savory, multi-hued fruit-vegetable graces our mealtimes once again?

I am in such gratitude for this existence.