When conscious caring is a way of life, all good will follow. Many people respond to the needs of others as easily as they breathe deeply and well—and this certainly and sorely is needed. Others feel surges of compassion that remain unacted upon or are expressed in ways others cannot feel. But when we see deeply and understand and celebrate an all embracing kinship vision, see the sandwich on our plates and be drawn in our minds to the fields where wheat waves, where the lettuce bursts green into our gardens, to the dew on the tomatoes, to the cows (or soybeans) that gave us cheese we're about to enjoy— when we feel our connection with even the table where we're seated and give thanks for the tree that made our comfort possible—then how can we not protect the Earth.
With this understanding we realize we are divine. We appreciate and use well the power that we are.We join others in the pool of suffering, the pool of joy, and no longer feel alone. We understand that protecting Earth— protecting each other—is, in essence and in fact, protecting ourselves. For those who truly care, this understanding offers solace and inspires carefully considered action for the good of each and all. For those self-concerned this lifetime, the answer is the same: there is only benefit from conscious caring—we are "safe" only when everyone else is. A thread in common. A wisdom in common as well.
Celebrating the interconnectedness of all life, we are conscious in every moment of the miracles that bless us and of the miracles we are, as part of the wholeness and holiness of Life. We are grateful, no matter what our circumstances, no matter what our circumstances—no matter what our circumstances. We rejoice in the good fortune of others because they are us.
A story: When my beloved dog was missing three years ago and, after searching, I found him dead, I cried out to God, not knowing where I could find relief. Wherever I had gone, he had been with me. There was no place I could escape his shadow. And the people who knew us well—who I looked to for comfort withdrew—most of them, while others graced me with stories of their love for t heir own animals and stories of their own losses. They embraced me with their arms, as well, and with their kindness. And it was then I learned that love is love, and feels that way when it is true, no matter in what form it appears to us.
And something else I learned. Miraculously I was thrilled to see other people with their dogs. I found that their pleasure comforted me. Every dog I stroked and greeted, I again and again was greeting and stroking my own, who was gone, just as, when my dog was alive and it was he who felt my hand, so in some sense did every dog hungering in the world feel my presence. These two lessons liberated me. When love can come from anywhere—anyone—and please me, and when I can rejoice in another's wellbeing, even when suffering lack of what I have, I am free. Envy has no grip on me. And the entire world is a treasure trove of solace and of joy.
These and other bursts of understandings are what I write about in my books. They inspire my grassroots approach to business, writing and publishing, on and off the Web, and make my site as much non-profit as profit seeking. They are the touchstone by which I try to live my life no matter how often I fall (and I do fall often) from this grace of knowing and practicing what I know. There is a Sufi song I love. It goes something like this: "Come! Come! Whoever you are. This caravan knows no despair. Even though you have broken your vows—perhaps 10,000 times— Come, come again. Come, come again."
