Enough

"Her search for God had been like a hand trying to grasp itself." from Lying Awake by Mark Saltzman

When will there be enough? Food, money, love, friends? Is there a point of satiation, satisfaction, ease, contentment, no more longings?

When Alice and I hiked up Mt. Olympus, we camped by a raging river, a stormy run-off from the glaciers above. The slim shore that hugged the riverbed was marbled with smooth stones which were hard and soft at the same time. We had come down from the mountain late late in the night (after a rather harrowing attempt at rescuing another climber who had broken his leg) and were luxuriating in the sun, the cold water, strong coffee. There was nothing missing in that moment of clear skies, fragrant massive conifers, the river. And if I had tried to hold that river in my arms, tried to gather it in and make its power my own, I would have lost everything.

This morning our yoga teacher told us that when you release the hands, the heart opens. Loosen your grip, even just a little, of the things that you can never really possess in the first place (a lover's heart, a child's smile, the candle light flickering in the darkness), and feel how your heart unfolds, petal by petal, opening to everything with love. Then there will be enough.