I wake up at 7.45am. Naomi's alarm is playing it's delightful ring tone. It goes on and on as it has done every morning for the past six weeks, through the snooze functions and beyond. One thing I'm grateful for on this appeal is that her alarm clock plays the most delightful tune, it's like listening to delightful fairy music in the mornings.
I get up, put on my jeans, and wander downstairs. I make one cup of builders tea with soya for Naomi, and one cup of rooboish with vanilla and dairy milk for me. I creep upstairs again, leaving her cup beside her as she emerges from her deep sleep.
At 8am we salute the shrine, chant the Refuges and Precepts, and meditate for 40 minutes. In the mornings I've been doing body scans followed by mindfulness based breath meditation. At 8.5oam I do some reading and reflecting, just clocking that I'm a bit obsessed with raising money these last two days and if I focus on things that I can't really control (like whether people sign up or not) then my head can feel a bit unmanageable. I realise that all I can do is the footwork, and stay present in the present moment, and that the Universe has it's own plan for me. I surrender and think about what my intentions are for the day. To do my footwork, stay present and let go of the outcomes.
At 9am I eat breakfast and begin cooking one of my favourite dishes - Mexican chilli, how my Dad used to make it for us when we were kids. It's my turn to cook and on appeal we cook between 9am and 10.30am and eat our main meal of the day at 1.30pm. It feels like time in the morning is tight but I enjoy the cooking.
I had a good night last night out fundraising. I hadn't made any money on Monday or Tuesday and had sunk into a dreadful mood by the time I was ready to go out on Wednesday evening. Abhilasa tried to cheer me up to no avail, and the only thing that really cheered me up was having a good old moan and whinge to our trainer on the phone, my friend Jo, who has been a rock during this appeal. Always sending loving and supportive thoughts on text or words on the phone, it's great to know that someone is there for you when you are going through a tough time sometimes.
I knock on Clare's door, she says immediately, "Oh, I know your charity!" - she sounds excited, she says "Yes, I gave you some money a few years ago". "Oh, that's great, were you a regular supporter of ours?" I ask. She says, "No, I just gave you a donation". "Oh, great". "Come in", she says, "I really like your charity and it's approach". We sit at the kitchen table, her daughter who is around 10 years old comes to join us. Clare gets out her cheque book. "I'd like to give you another donation". "Great, that's really generous of you, can I ask what it is that you really like about our approach?". We talk for a while. "Can I ask if you would consider giving us £100 each year rather than as just a one off donation?" "Yes, I would" she replies and I get out the standing order form. I chat to her daughter, she's interested in knowing what happens after we've given some medical care and vaccinations to children in a slum in Pune, India. "Do they get ill again later?" she asks. I explain that our projects are more longer term and that hopefully many children will benefit over many years.
I leave Clare's house feeling like there is magic in the Universe afterall. I've not scored all week then I knock on someone's door and reap the fruits of a previous Karuna fundraiser. What a coincidence that I catch Clare in a good mood, remembering Karuna, feeling positive and immediately open to giving. I realise I don't know who the previous fundraiser was, but I thank them in my mind, and realise that there is more to the Universe than meets the eye. I also remember that I may well be warming people up for other fundraisers in the future.
I get to Stuart's house. He's in this evening, yes, he'd like to sign up, but he's looking after his small child. He asks if he can take some paperwork away with him. My desire for standing order success is too large for me to contain, and I realise that if I leave the form with him I'll probably not see it again, and he may well be out the next time I come round. I explain it only takes two minutes to fill in the form and ask if I should come in with him and fill it in for him while he is with his child. He says it's ok, that he'll fill it in, that his partner is in the flat too, so his child will be alright. We stand on the doorstep and he explains that he's really glad I'm coming around doing this work and he's really pleased to be able to contribute to Karuna. I feel all warm.
Several doors later, I realise that there are going to be no more yellow forms for me this evening. Still, I have one last call back I've chosen to make to a woman called Wendy. She has looked keen each time I've been to see her (about 3 times) but has never gotten around to reading the booklet each time. I knock on her door at 9.30pm. She answers and her dog, Bo, goes mental, barking loudly and excitedly as he has each time I've called. He leaps down the stairs past me, and Wendy panics, thinking that he's making a run for the road. I turn and check where he is. The door closes, with Wendy, Bo and me on the outside. Wendy exclaims, "Oh, no" I look at her. "I've locked myself out!" she shrieks. I look at her, her face is warm and friendly still but there is understandably panic in her voice. She is in her pjamas. I ask if there's something I can do. We check the neighbours, they are not in. I ask if I can phone someone for her. She says, yes, great, she'll phone her ex-husband, Steve, he has keys. She borrows my mobile phone. We sit on the step, Bo is roaming around the garden, barking now and again. Wendy tells me that Steve is on a date with a new woman. I ask her how she feels about that, she looks a bit mortified to have to interrupt them. I ask if they get on, her and Steve, she says that they're really good friends. I tell her that's good, so we're not waiting for an irate ex-husband this evening, and we giggle.
Wendy is from Edinburgh and split up with Steve a couple of years ago. She's a stand-up comedian and just written her show for the Edinburgh festival this year. She's doing a show at the Hen and Chickens in Highbury on Friday. I tell her when tonight is done and sorted she'll get some great material from it. She keeps saying to me, anyway, there's plenty of time to tell me about your charity now. I'm reluctant to talk about it, more interested in checking that she's ok. Her kids are inside, they are 2 and 6 years old. She's clearly concerned about them. I offer her my jacket that's in my bag, but it's a warm night and she says she's ok. At the third time of asking, I concede to talking a bit about Karuna, I figure maybe she's asking because she wants to focus on something rather than the situation. We chat, and get to know each other a bit more.
She says to come back and she'll read the booklet and give us some money. When Steve arrives he seems really nice. She's really apologetic, but he seems to see the funny side. I leave them to it and bid them good night.
As I cycle home I think it's good to have a sense of humour about the things that happen. I vow not to take door knocking so seriously, and to ease off in my ambition to keep so solely focused on my target. Santavajri's words of just staying present to what is there in each given moment ring in my ears. Today they hum a gentle giggly tune.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment