Waiting for the Shoe to Drop
As I slipped into the chair, I heard my dentist call out a greeting as she entered the room. “How are you?” her voice sparkling with the tone of genuine care. Her office is in my old neighborhood, now a 45-minute highway drive, on a good day. Today is a good day. In a few moments, her hands will be in my mouth and I won’t be able to speak, so I take the moment to ask her how her family in Iran is doing. The timber of her voice is instantly sullen, her sunny disposition suddenly clouded over.
The pivot in disposition is something I have seen in the few other Persians I know. At least the ones I know who fled Iran in the late 1970s after the Shah fell and it became an Islamic state. They vibrantly express life through family, food, and laughter, but always lingering not far away, in the shadows, a sense that everything can be stolen away at any moment. Once I heard their stories about homes invaded by the police, family members imprisoned, people tortured or never coming back, and leaving their country with nothing more than a grocery bag of personal belongings, I felt humble in their presence with only prayers that the clouds disperse, heavy hearts be lightened, and humans find their humanity.
“My family is safe now,” she said with reserved relief. She continued to paint a picture of the situation. Tehran, the city, has about the same population as New York City, but the surrounding area makes the population much larger, upwards of 17 million people. “Imagine all those people trying to leave at once when they heard Trump tell them to evacuate. Where were they supposed to go?” she was incredulous. I got caught on the words about Trump telling them to evacuate, and the idea that people in another country would heed the warning. Of course they would. They’ve seen war. They’ve been close to the fighting side of the largest military force in the history of the human world.
She described how one of her relatives and their family tried three times to get out of Tehran in the crush of people trying to evacuate. They were in the car for eight hours the first time, making no progress, so they went back home. She added, there is a gas shortage, so her family feared they might not be able to get enough gas to leave the city. They tried again. This time they were stuck in traffic for six hours before deciding to return home. Finally, leaving in the odd hours of the night, they were able to make it out of the city to stay with family in another part of the country. She expressed how she feels pulled by emotions in different directions, knowing that the current regime needs to go, but not wanting people to suffer through the violence of war. I realize how difficult it is to get news about what’s really going on. For once, I’m grateful to have the dentist get started with my exam because I have nothing of value to say to her, only that I will pray for her family and the innocent people caught in a situation beyond their control.
I know that there is One Life, that is God’s Life, and that Life is my life. Right here and right now. As I know that I am of that One Life, I know that all of creation, and all of humanity, each and every person, is also an expression of the One Life. There is no real separation from the Source of Life, the entity we call God. Life, God, is all there is. We are all connected with one another by Life. Being expressions of Life Source, God, we are empowered with Love, Peace, Wisdom and Well-being. As Life Source expresses through our thoughts, words, and actions, we care for ourselves and others, and are guided to be the agents of transformation in the creation of the beloved world we know is possible.
And so It is.