It was my job.  I would drop off our car at the mechanic’s mechanic.  An unspoken place south of the city where mechanics send the cars they can’t fix.  They pay in cash . . . have to speak Spanish . . . and know the job will get done.  

However beforehand, I am embarking on a weekend Enneagram retreat with my sister to gain insights into myself, expand my sense of possibility and grapple with the meaning of existence on this earth.

It really did deliver.  As much as one can shed new light on oneself in two days, I felt enlightened.

An aside, I love these two definitions offered for enlightened, adj.,: 1) Having or showing a rational, modern, and well-informed outlook. 2) Spiritually aware.

My sister, Jill, and I left the retreat feeling rational, modern, well-informed, and spiritually aware. We were now clear that life was full of abundance ready to show us the way if we were open and insightful enough to receive.

But first we had to cross the highway and then the tracks into what felt like a desolate Mexican town.  It was a sketchy alley.  An empty almost haunted dump yard, with music playing from an unknown source.  Mangled, amped-up, neglected cars packed a concrete back lot.  I was supposed to leave my keys.

I left Jill to fend off the heat and the ghosts of drag racing past and began my cautious search. Eventually I uncovered a back office and called out until an old man surfaced.  With my husband on the phone as a translator we started spelling out the arrangement when I heard in the air . . . bells.  They reminded me of the ice cream man you heard growing up or on the beach, except they were coming from, yes, wait, . . . an ice cream man.

Out of nowhere, a leathered, round face appeared, wearing a hat that wasn’t doing its job; pushing a cart and fast approaching me.  I waved him off in disbelief, guarded and anxious to leave.

When I turned around I saw my sister waving frantically.  I watched her dive head first into the ice cream cart.  I couldn’t believe it.  She was actually buying a popsicle!

I slowly came to her side, studying his pocked face in detail behind the mirrored shades. “Do you have coconut?” I asked.

He pulled out strawberry, lime and chocolate.

“Do you have coconut? I repeated.

He pulled out rice pudding, watermelon, and cherry.

“But what about coconut?” I rephrased.

He pulled out cinnamon, pineapple, and mixed berry.

I settled for pineapple.  Jill paid.  We said thank you.  He grinned and started to push his cart along the concrete quiet into the alley.

Jill quickly backed out of our narrow spot as I held the dollar in change.  We knew we wanted him to have it, so we peered down both directions of the back street, but it was empty.

He had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Licking our melting wake up calls on a stick we laughed and got chills.  What part of our weekend learnings needed to be driven home?  The learned quick “no thank you” response when life tries to give us unexpected treats?  The frantic waving for life to see us so we can partake in dessert?  The abundant flavors of life that can be passed up in search of the single answer?  

Stay open.  Receive.  Know you are supported.  Try a taste, even when it's not what you ordered. And be generous with your blessings.

It really works.  Our Thanksgiving holiday is an annual built-in pause for gratitude.  Full tummies, time with loved ones, vacation days giving space for reflection, lovely autumn weather, Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving on TV reminding us of the Pilgrims’ quest for freedom, which we still benefit from today. Really, it’s perfect.

And we know we need it.  There is more and more research on the power of purposefully focusing on our blessings.  It shifts our biochemistry, health and emotional well being. We want to operate from this place.  It sounds good, so we make it a goal.  It feels good, so we periodically practice.

And on days like Thanksgiving, we stay in it. Can you feel this shift in yourself over this holiday? Expansion, energy, joy, patience, balance?

The space for reflection in my own life brought forward an interesting question.  Once we’ve landed in gratitude, what’s next?

My immediate answer was, “Action!”  I need to share my blessings . . .  partially out of desire, part obligation.  My husband and I have dug a little deeper into our pockets, responding to the year-end invitations to give.  I am volunteering at  Macy’s kitten window today with my daughters.  I reached out to make sure my circle of family felt my love.  It all felt good.  Appropriate.  Natural.

Yet the question hasn’t gone away. What’s after gratitude?

This morning I woke up with a different answer ~ Peace.

If practicing gratitude is a means, then I believe the endpoint is peace.   Peace that comes from lifting up out of our own place of scarcity, comparison, and suffering.  Gratitude gives us extra capacity for peace.  We are more able to be compassionate, to understand the truth of others, to share ourselves.

I always wished Thanksgiving wasn’t so close to the Christmas holiday season, but now I see the beautiful link and flow.  Giving thanks drops us into our own center of peace, preparing us not just to wish for Peace on Earth as we stamp our holiday cards, but also to bring peace to our corner of the Earth, through our energy, actions and our blessings.

She is 97.  With a beautiful heart, failing legs, and a mind that some would say is failing too.

I see it a little differently.  I see a mind that has loosened its grip in a way we all desire.  Letting go of anxiety, to do lists, the need for comparison, planning for the future, regret.

She’s my grandmother and she has dementia.  It’s a condition caused by the gradual death of brain cells.

The space that has emerged is filled with humor, freedom, candidness, peace, pointed wisdom at times and an innate ability to be in the present.

There is also confusion, the sense of something not being quite right, and a loss of memories.  For those who love her, there's a sadness when they aren't recognized. Yet we always have an intimate visit with my grandmother’s inner soul.

And in her moments of clarity, her most authentic self steps forward loving and appreciating this world.   She now relaxes into daily gratitude. She trusts.  She feels.  She sleeps soundly.  She accepts.

At this point, dementia has removed layers of the mind in my grandmother that bury the soul in all of us.  Layers of thought, personality, memories that become our story, fear of the future.

It’s too early to say it’s a gift, but for sure it’s a lesson in what is pure . . . how beautiful an untethered heart and soul can be.  And, no matter the age, when a soul bares itself, we must hold and love it with the same compassion we hold a child.

Today, maybe we try loosening the grip of our own mind. Let’s relax into the present, allow our emotions to surface freely, let go of self judgement, and rest in a space of trust.

Earlier this month I took my daughter to pick strawberries as a summer grand finale.  We walked among hundreds of rows of plants just waiting for us to rescue the ripe berries from the Pescadero sun.

Without words, we took our own path and found ourselves a shouting distance apart, “How are the berries over there?  Are there many?  How big are they? Are they sweet?”.  We continued to test different rows and sections while our fingers reddened and our buckets filled.

As we walked back to the entrance, I began to notice a pattern. It was an interesting discovery about human nature. The very first plant of every row had fully ripe bright red berries hanging in large bunches, waiting to be picked.

I, along with many others, marched right past them, on my search for the best pickings.  I didn’t see the fullness of their bounty because of my assumption:  there were more, bigger, better ahead of me, just out of focus.

It’s the same philosophy that keeps us searching for greener grass, comparing our current situation, concluding that others have it better.  And as the scarcity mindset grows, so does our search.

It can also feel as if you are standing at the edge of an acre, when you are faced with a decision, change, or a need for action.  My day in the fields was a timely lesson for me that I want to share.

Shift your lens to see the bounty you already hold.  Remember that one strawberry tastes as delicious as ten.  Then look up to see the field of possibilities as pure abundance, all delicious, and able to nurture you, no matter what you pick.