twinklings and twinges, wood and water

The Bean Eaters

They eat beans mostly; this old yellow pair.
Dinner is a casual affair.
Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,
Tin flatware.

Two who are Mostly Good.
Two who have lived their day,
But keep on putting on their clothes
And putting things away.

And remembering...
Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,
As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that is full of beads
and receipts and dolls and cloths, tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

--Gwendolyn Brooks

Forgive my lack of posting the past few days. There's been some technical difficulties and a massive hangover in the way.

Love, love, love this poem. I remember my mom telling me years ago that the definition of adulthood is deferring gratification. So true. You give up what you want today for what you want to come. Buddhism tells us that the path to contentment is gratitude and acknowledgment of what you already have--not longing for what you don't. I believe that this is mostly what this poem is about. Our old yellow pair isn't resenting beans for dinner; they're taking it casually and grateful for the food that is there. Right now I am a bean eater. Happy for the roof over my head, the food in the fridge, the "Mostly Good" folks in my life. True, I also have a back room full of receipts and bills and uncertainty, but this is not what defines my life. It's the beans on the table in my favorite old bowls, the warm body beside me at night, the friends that make me laugh and give me perspective, the big sweet doggies lounging everywhere, my old cat with her funny expressions and opinions, my kitten who thinks he's a dog and hugs me back when I pick him up, the time to write, the time to think, long baths, and knowing I'm not alone.

One of my favorite zen quotes (I'm embarrassed to say I don't know its origin) is, "Before enlightenment, you chop the wood and carry the water. After enlightenment, you chop the wood and carry the water." Just as our couple keeps putting on their clothes and putting things away, so do I. These little mundane tasks that keep us rooted in this world despite circumstance are a comfort and a constant. This doesn't mean that there aren't "twinklings and twinges" for we must continue to dream and be thankful for the sparkly moments of the past, but they shouldn't haunt us. Chop the wood and carry the water.

Years ago when both me and my brother were undergrads, our dad would always give us a 20 lb. bag of pinto beans for Christmas. It was half a joke at our impoverished student life, but what I hope my dad knows is that it was also a good gift. Those bags of beans were always in the pantry, waiting to be soaked and seasoned and simmered on the stove. I make a mean pot of pinto beans, and I can do it with pretty much whatever I have. Sure, a ham hock, fresh garlic and onions, some tomatoes, and some peppers make them better, but I can also make do and the beans suffer not. I miss those big bags of beans, and the tactile pleasure of diving my hands into the bag, grabbing handfuls, sorting them for little rocks, and knowing that when I came home that evening dinner was there. For these kinds of things I've learned along the way while making-do and surviving, I am grateful. They serve me well.

So, cheers to all our bean eaters, wood choppers, and water carriers...continue on and live our days.