Boom Boom Boom
Rake the muck this way, that way it will always be muck. In the time I am brooding, I could be stringing pearls for the delight of heaven
— The Rebbe of Ger
A friend of mine came to me with a story. It was a difficult story, with many years of hurt in it. It was summertime some years ago. I listened and when he was done I told him it was my story, too. He even spoke a sentence that I remember saying myself, but several months before our meeting. He said, “I couldn’t find the blessing in it.” He was talking about his suffering, his hurt, he couldn’t find the blessing in it.
I’ve been there, I said untheoretically. As a matter of fact, I entered that place that summer, the summer of our meeting, and I was still crawling out I told him. I spent that summer boom boom boom bouncing the basketball on the black top near my house, shooting baskets. All my common activities, the ones I loved, I couldn’t apply myself to. I could hardly practice the guitar, I couldn’t write, I couldn’t read. I couldn’t sleep much, I couldn’t eat.
What I could do was exercise. Early in the morning and late at night, I was present on the black top near my house, boom boom boom bouncing the ball, shooting baskets and trying to find the blessing in it.
I had gotten trapped, my thoughts spiraling into negativity. I had always been attached to the notion that a change is gonna come, a change could happen in a moment, as it says in the Zohar b’shaita chada, in a single moment. I thought I had the facility to steel myself against circumstance and rise above whatever challenges faced me. That summer I couldn’t find that place, I couldn’t get there. My mojo wasn’t working for me anymore; I got stuck for a while and I couldn’t find the blessing in it.
All I had was boom boom boom the basketball on the blacktop and then another song, “a change is gonna come, oh yes it will,” over and over, all summer long, eight in the morning and eight later at night, boom boom boom and that song. All summer long. Where’s the blessing in it? I asked myself.
One day I found the blessing, I found a little piece of it anyway, I found enough to attach myself to. It may have been a phone call or a call for help in the hospital or somebody sick on the phone — it was someone else’s suffering that I remember — and I listened quietly sharing the heart of suffering with that person. I became the heart of suffering. This is what I remember: I had nowhere to go, I didn’t care when I had to get home, how long the person wanted to talk, how hot it was outside, how hungry I was, what I had to do, what I wanted to do, I didn’t want to do anything but be there in the heart of suffering. I found the blessing in it.
That is what I shared with my friend at lunch that day. He is a guy who likes answers, wanted my wisdom, what did I have? Nothing: boom boom boom and a bit of the blessing that had eluded him. I was finding it, a little at a time and I gave him that, and listened, and joined him there in the heart of suffering, not judging him, not wondering why he can’t get up and out, just the boom boom boom of the ball beginning to quiet in my ears and the willingness to be nowhere else at that moment but there, his black top. Can’t find the blessing? I threw him the ball. His ball now. Boom boom boom.