Gratitude: If you say only one prayer in a day, make it thank you (Rumi)

Rico Provasoli writes, “My goal is living in the house of joy. And how I get there, for me anyway, is by walking the path of gratitude.”

This morning when I turned on the kitchen faucet the simple miracle of having clean, safe, unlimited drinking water almost brought me to tears. Never mind the glaring fact of private corporations buying up aquifers in South America, charging outrageous prices for a gallon of life-giving water. Or the water-war disputes about the rights to the Colorado River. Yes, that is actually happening today. But I am focused on the countless daily miracles unfolding in my life. I drink 8 ounces of the most precious building block of life on earth, a thanks to my most fortunate of circumstances.

I sit on my meditation cushion and begin my prayer of thanks, starting with waking up with a roof overhead. No one broke into my home, no bullets flying nearby: I slept well, never dreaming of the constant threats millions of people deal with regularly. I had ultra-clean air drifting into my bedroom, no pollution anywhere near me. I had clean sheets, a soft bed, my neck didn’t hurt from the support from the pillow. Anyone who has suffered from chronic cervical spine complaints knows what I’m talking about.

And then I am inexpressibly thankful that I’d made it to the bathroom where I could void my bladder with no prostate cancer like so many, many of my friends. That the prayer on my lips can only be THANK YOU to life, to the good fortune to still be breathing with serious asthma, an open-heart surgery that beat the odds, that the medications I have lined up on the counter keep me healthy, that a daily meditation practice for decades keeps me joyous.

That I have reliable electricity (anyone who has lived in India or Italy knows what I am talking about), a natural gas heater to keep me warm in winter, friendly neighbors who drop off meals and groceries just out of generosity and kindness. How often do we read about that in the news?

At the risk of sounding blasphemous to certain groups, it sure seems like I’m living in heaven on earth. Maybe this is as good as it gets. No future other than this wonderfully rich and complete now. I don’t have to wait for an imaginary celestial existence that may or may not be awaiting me, to enjoy this life – right here, right now.

As I eat a hearty breakfast, a soft-boiled organic egg and toast, a cup of exquisitely smoked black tea, there is a joy in my heart and I’m out the door for my morning constitutional power walk. I recovered from a knee replacement and don’t take this miracle for granted. I feel my feet touch the earth, each and every step a prayer of thanks that my lungs continue to supply my body with fresh oxygen, my rebuilt heart pumps it to all parts of my body. That my eyes are still healthy and can see the vivid fall colors, the birds in flight, the newborn ducklings learning the waterways from their mother in the saltwater creek near my home.

A dozen neighbors greet me on my three-mile route every morning at 9, “Good Morning, our local Miracle Man,” a warm acknowledgement for having survived a handful of near-death medical emergencies. I wave hello, a generous smile on my wizened face, the scars from multiple skin cancer surgeries no longer a concern when I look in the bathroom mirror.

Later, I scroll through the news headlines. Shaking my head in disbelief, shock and sorrow, I bow my head, again, in thanks that I am the luckiest guy I know. How many people in our country assume that this most privileged reality is our birthright? That suffering only happens to those “others.” Rich white people learn to insulate themselves from the multiple horrors unfolding daily, whether racial violence or natural catastrophe. I am careful about what I read. Some might say that I am living in a bubble, like an ostrich with head in the sand. But I have learned that my focus is on what is happening in my neighborhood, my community. How can I be of help to those who need support?

And when I console a widow, or a friend laid up in bed for six weeks with a bad back, I am doing my best to be part of the solution of the world’s suffering. I have a direct experience of what Saint Francis wrote so many hundreds of years ago: Let me know the joy of giving. And that fills me with yet another mega-dose of gratitude. My goal is living in the house of joy. And how I get there, for me anyway, is by walking the path of gratitude.