Meditation Upon a Leaky Roof
It’s wet, she says. Why is the carpet all wet here? We have just gotten out of bed, and Pam is standing by the door to our bedroom. I go over and run my hand over the carpet. Soaked. I look up to see where the water is coming from. The ceiling looks perfect. I run my hand up the wall—dry, until I began to feel a dampness. Then I see it. A giant water balloon bubble on the sheetrock. The roof is obviously leaking, and the water is running down the inside of the wall.
I had been so thankful for the rain—a gully washer last night. Now I am worried, and worse. The forecast is storms today and more rain every day this week as the last of hurricane Debby drifts north.
It is 6:00 am. I get a ladder and climb on the roof. I can’t see any place water is getting in. I’m a worrier, so I get to work worrying. No contractor will come here in the rain and fix my roof. More water will pour in, day after day. The bedroom sheet rock will crumble in a wet mess, and the water will keep on running, down to the first-floor walls, and I start seeing $$$$$$.
Normally, I’d get to work. I’d go to Home Depot and buy a giant tarp. Anything to feel like I’m doing something. But we are hosting a retreat this week, and at 7:30 am Chris is coming to lead the small group in some mindful movement and his peace-filled guided meditation. I have to be there. I’m in no state to be quiet, though—too bollixed to meditate.
But the rain has stopped and there is nothing I can do right now except sit on my mat and take a deep breath. In a moment, Chris is reminding us in his calm, assuring voice that our little planet spins and whistles at warp speed around the sun, and we are so lucky to be alive and on this cosmic ride. Yes, I think, but there’s a hole in my roof. Don’t minimize that. I feel a powerful impulse to get up and get my phone and start—I don’t know—calling some contractor at 7:30 am. But Chris’s voice suggests gently that I return to my breath, and I stay there. I keep worrying off and on, until I forget to fret, and only when it’s over do I realize that, somewhere along the way, I dropped into rest and peace.
Why does it always seem smarter and better to worry, even when there’s nothing to be done and nothing to be gained by our suffering? Probably because it keeps the ego in charge and churning. Anthony DeMello is right: “Silence is not the absence of sound, but the absence of self.”
I saw a card recently at a Hallmark store that read “Inside every worrier is a warrior.” I can think of several people close to me it’s appropriate for. I have so many character defects but luckily worrying is not one of them.
“But the rain has stopped and there is nothing I can do right now except sit on my mat and take a deep breath..” I loved this line. You did what you could do and then just breathed, that sounds like progress to me. My business is slow (after all commissions pay tuitions!) – ok so I make my calls and push as hard as I can and then I let Providence take over (I wonder if Providence “takes over” on Wall St!). I believe my light bill will be paid. All that said, my ego is still alive and robust!
Thank you, Matt—and I do think Providence takes over on Wall Street, if people allow it.
My favorite passage—
“I keep worrying off and on, until I forget to fret, and only when it’s over do I realize that, somewhere along the way, I dropped into rest and peace.”
Dear God, may I be fully engaged in the quiet. May I be dropped into rest. May I forget to fret. Amen.
Yes, let’s agree to forget to fret. Amen.
Besides your comforting words, I love the accompanying drawing: such peace and contentment in the man’s expression! Who is the artist? Thank you!
The artwork is a combination of my prompts and an AI tool called Midjourney.