The Humble Offering

I haven’t been writing for the past six weeks because I haven’t been sleeping. When you don’t sleep, the days pass in a blur of exhaustion, wishing to sleep, being too tired to do all the good-life things that help you sleep, then finally sleep comes and it is sweet and delicious. But catching up after no sleep takes a few days and then before I know it, I’m back to not sleeping. I have spent years coping with this cycle. The current version is about as bad as it has been in awhile, but I am still trying to learn what I’m supposed to learn, still trying new adaptations that might help. And mostly, trying not to sink into self-critique and trying not to lose the capacity for joy.

Meanwhile, I’ve been reflecting on the symbolic significance of the humble offering. The commentary of the Bhagavad Gita I’m reading is rife with stories that juxtapose the erudite, learned, religious person -- whose rituals are impeccable, whose understanding of them is flawless – with the simple, humble being who doesn’t have an intellectual understanding of God, but whose devotion is unassailable. Over and over again, the stories emphasize the purity of heart and intention over and above pomp and status. There’s the story of a stoat whose coat turned partly golden from rolling in the crumbs of a poor family’s sacrificial meal offered up to strangers. When he comes upon a wealthy family’s endowed feast, he gets no lustre from rolling in the leavings.

There’s the story of a cowherd boy who begins to make offerings to Shiva without even knowing what he’s doing. But he’s so overcome with divine emotion that he continues, even after his master – a learned religious man – insists he stop because he is not duly qualified.

There’s the metaphor that holy ash comes from burning cow dung. From the most mundane comes the most holy and anointed.

These stories show another dimension to the relationship between Hinduism and the caste system. Whatever years of oppressive practice and tradition have wrought, there is certainly space in hindu theology for the unlearned, the dirty, the unqualified to still experience and contribute to the divine.

These stories resonate with me because I often think about my own offerings, and how humble they seem. Right now I’m attending yoga classes, when my schedule permits, alongside extremely accomplished full-time teachers who have devoted their lives to this practice. I know that I suffer in comparison. My poses are not as developed or as strong. Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up and sometimes I feel bad about it. But I try to remember that my humble offering is all I have – I have chosen to devote my life to a different kind of liberation and my devotion is no less for being outside of the mainstream of my yoga tradition.

And then there’s our political moment. What more beautiful or more humble offering than that of the two men killed and one man injured last week in Portland, defending two young women of color being attacked by a madman Christian white supremacist terrorist. It’s really the only thing any of us have – the ability to put our individual humanity on the line in the service of someone else, of some collective humanity. I know in the scheme of things my life doesn’t mean that much – eventually I will have lived and then died and all the things I believed or fought for may be gone. Or the people who might remember me will be gone. My life is precious to me, and hopefully to the people around me, but in a cosmic sense it is the most humble offering I have.

A set of humble but heroic sacrifices saved those young women. They also saved some measure of our ideals – they remind us all that goodness can stand up to evil and that even in loss we can experience such a gift. Who knows how they will be remembered in the years to come. But for now, they reminded us of something pure, a deep devotion. I wish for it not to be happening, but I’m so grateful there are people who will stand up. I am preparing myself to be able to do the same when needed, whether it is a simpler display of devotion or something that powerful. 

With love, gratitude, and solidarity.