An Offering from the Well

Time traveling between the worlds

Monthly Musings by The Rev. Cynthia A. Frado

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            It is hard to describe what it feels like to travel to another world—a place so foreign to our own reality that it defies believability that it exists at all.  Waking-up in my own bed this morning, I wondered out loud if I had just awakened from an extraordinary dream that was both disturbing and exhilarating, confusing and enlightening, haunting and compelling.  Tapping my arm in a familiar affectionate way, my husband reminded me that, indeed, we had traversed many miles to momentarily dwell in the land of the ancient pharaohs and had returned safely with new memories.  But, I queried, is it possible for one week of memories to cling so deeply that MY world will never be the same?  What could Egypt possibly offer me that I don’t already possess? I already knew what it had taken away, and my husband’s gentle tapping was the first to go, forever.

            What it offered me in the Theban hills was a silence so pure, a serenity so profound in the afternoon glow that I wanted to hold onto it forever.  This was, after all, the gateway to eternity.  And beneath the azure sky, basking in the rays of Amon Ra, himself, I would pass away the hours contemplating the thousands of souls who had inhabited this land along the river Nile while my husband and our two other companions traversed the tombs and temples that did not accommodate my limited mobility.  My experience of Egypt was different in many ways from theirs, and while I was saddened by my limited access to the wonders of an age gone by, I also appreciated the time to reflect.  I also spent time talking with the locals, and learned much about the everyday life of Egyptians today.  There were as many donkeys as there were taxis, and for one ever-so-brief moment I contemplated renting one of the former and poke around the mountains.  But wisdom reigned supreme, and one grateful donkey was spared at least one arduous journey.          

Third world poverty.  Dirt.  Dust.  Pollution from car exhaust and small charcoal fires burning randomly in the streets.  Beautiful main thoroughfares lined with bougainvilla bushes to please the tourists.  Row upon row of exquisitely ornate cadeshes (carriages) drawn by weary horses.  Mud brick and straw dwellings around the corner from gorgeous stone museums and hotels.  Ancient monuments of extraordinary proportion next to the humblest of abodes without running water or electricity.  And the children…everywhere the children…selling trinkets or just plain begging.  And I, being the immobile one, was a magnate for them.  Madame, tap-tap-tap on my bad knee, please give money for food, the latter spoken only with hand signals that transcended language.  One young girl, despite my protests, tapped my knee for upwards of 20 minutes until our returning driver shooed her away.  And I did as I was advised many times from those more familiar with such constant poverty…I did not give in, for to acquiesce would mean an onslaught of others.  But I was not comforted by my rejection of them.  I was only reminded of my privileges of birth.  And I thought, not much has changed over the millennia.

Egypt has stolen a bit of my soul, and it has left me with a sense of gratitude and humility that comes from privilege and education.  It has also left me with a focus on mortality rather than immortality.  It is what I do with THIS life that matters most.  It is how I choose to reach out to those who are suffering that matters more than my own fame or fortune.  And at least, for me, the tapping on my knee by a young girl who was begging will haunt me until that day when I am called to the western sky.

We cannot help all the poor, but we can help some.  Please do what you can to reach out to those earthquake victims in Haiti.  There are many different worlds within the one in which we live, and sometimes our dollars can traverse them and give the gift of life and hope to those who cannot help themselves.  Sometimes…

Blessings and peace to each and every one of you,  

Cindy

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