Finding Beauty

This week, I visited the Juvenile Treatment Center for work. As I waited for the security screening, I noticed a woman looking tense. She picked up brochures, read for a few seconds, then moved on to the next one. She eventually began to read the inmate's Bill of Rights poster hanging on the wall, her arms tightly wrapped around her body as she leaned in, anxiety etching her face, searching and searching, endlessly. She was trying to hold it together.

Finally, she walked into the bathroom. Just then, an officer brought a young girl, maybe 14 or 15 years old, into the receiving area. I smiled at them in greeting, but the girl didn't notice—her eyes downcast, her face hardened. She seemed to deflate as she looked around. 

"Where's your mom?" asked the officer, "They said she was out here."

I spoke up, "I believe her mom might be in the bathroom."

A few minutes later, the woman returned. Her face dropped to expressionless, as cold and closed as the prison door her daughter had just passed through. She was all business and asked the officer, "What about the charges?" He calmly and officially explained the next steps.

When questions were exhausted the officer turned to go. In what seemed to be a timed instant, the mother and daughter latched onto one another as everything fell away, replaced with sobs and murmurings. They stayed like that for a few seconds before breaking apart, and the stoic masks slid back on. My mind held a kind of blessing, I whispered as they left—"may this soft center lead the way from here.” Mother walked briskly and daughter followed, her head down, unaware of the sun breaking through the clouds above her, unaware of her newfound freedom.

I was struck by the moment I had just dropped in on. Not long ago, seeing such an interaction would have struck a deep place of sadness, a place of memory. Now, however, when I go through security and walk through the maze of halls and doors, hope fills me. I look forward to witnessing the masks fall away on the faces of the teens I visit. Such moments stretch out and lengthen. In those moments we practice mindfulness—consciously touching our central core, our deep roots, the inexhaustible sources of compassion, peace, and forgiveness. We practice allowing these central tenets to lead us out of hardships.

Finding beauty in difficult moments has become a practice of mine. Find beauty and stretch it out. Last night at dinner, I sat with a man who has schizophrenia. Some days, he is unapproachable, unconsolable, and combative, but other days, he is wildly engaging. When I walked into the dining room, he tapped the chair beside him, "Sit!" he commanded joyfully.

I first met this man over 20 years ago at a NAMI meeting for families with loved ones with mental illness. He was there, blue eyes sparkling, as that was a happy day. He pumped my hand and beamed a beatific smile. I still remember the moment. 

Last night, he asked me my name, even though I had told him more times than I could remember. As I opened my mouth to speak, he said, "Karla. Karla with a K, Karla." 

"You got it!" I encouraged.

His next question was like a Zen Koan, "What did you look like when you were younger?"  

"I looked like this, only younger," I answered.

He laughed freely, "I remember!" 

"What did you look like when you were younger?" I asked.

He nodded and sweetly said, "You know...you know." 

A moment of connection. I live for these; they are my heart's work. 

In uncomfortable times, connection is even more precious, it is an absolute necessity if we are to get through this precious life smiling. May we all be guided by our soft, forgiving, loving, peaceful, and compassionate centers. Thank you for the open-hearted care you give—it’s what our loved ones and our world need most.