"We must be aware of the real problems of the world. Then, with mindfulness, we will know what to do and what not to do to be of help."
~Thich Nhat Hanh

The sun is shining beautifully today. With the change in daylight saving time, it now seems brighter than it should be on a November day. Of course, at supper time, it will be dark and we will become aware of winter's slow creep up on us. For the moment,however, I am enjoying the light reflecting off the now bare branches of the large oak tree outside my office window. I will now begin my watch over its starkness, through the flurry of snow yet to come, and on until the ripe buds break open once again in the spring.

I ran across this saying of Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist priest who always seems to stop me in my tracks with his wisdom, his way of molding words. I have a friend who, when asked the proverbial "How are you?", always replies:"In all the ways that really matter, I am just fine." I believe when he says this he is thinking of 'what the real problems of the world' are. I believe he is also affirming his life of considerable comfort and privilege. In comparison to the real problems of the world….poverty, war, homelessness, grave illness…..all is well in his life.

I am thinking of how often we approach problem situations with the tenacity of a surgeon. Instead of taking the time to discern what our role is, we jump right in, at the ready like a cape-wearing superhero. Sometimes this swooping in works out well but often it can only make matters worse. My friends in recovery know the beauty of 'the wisdom to know the difference' in any step they take. I think this is wisdom for the real problems and the smaller ones as well.

All that wisdom begins with mindfulness…which begins with slowing down,even stopping….which leads to deep breathing…which often results in clearer thoughts…which can sometimes bring a crystal,clear vision of how the whole picture fits together. And every good solution to any problem,real or small, must begin with such a vision. Don't you agree?

The dead, dry leaves on the oak are fluttering in the November breeze. Under the ground its roots are doing the only work they know how to do. It has stood in this place for many decades in its own mindful way. Perhaps today, it is my teacher.