by Jerilyn Munyon, Executive Director, Open Gate Sangha
The biggest act of compassion starts within. When the self is no longer seen as a problem, this is the peace that passes all understanding. ~ Adyashanti
Since I started my current job at Open Gate Sangha 16 years ago, each day I drive to the office on a risk-filled mountain highway named one of California’s most dangerous roads, often encountering hazards ranging from curvy-dangerous to rainy-treacherous. Before taking this position, I had promised myself I would never commute “over the hill” as it is called, but that promise quickly disappeared when I found my perfect job working for Open Gate Sangha. The good news: I got my dream job! The bad news: I would be swimming through an alligator-filled moat twice a day to keep it—at least that is how I felt.
The very first week of commuting, I made a decision to “drive outside of time” by staying at 50 m.p.h. no matter what. Whether heading to a meeting at the office or picking up our son at daycare at the end of the day, my practice was to stay at 50 m.p.h. or, as I began to see it, the “speed of peace.” I decided to not let the pressures of my life intervene with my plan, even when arriving late for daycare pickup cost five dollars a minute, and, almost worse, the added pressure that being late insured—a lecture from the daycare director about being on time. Imagine me, an adult woman, feeling five years old, sitting in a tiny little chair, looking at my feet with my mismatched socks, as a litany of the inconveniences my lateness caused waft over me in the director’s very disappointed tone.
At my chosen speed, highway 17, which runs between Santa Cruz and Silicon Valley, became a country road lined with redwood trees and occasional vistas of the surrounding mountains, and I began losing the feeling of being immersed in a high stakes game of chance. This decision and commitment became my teacher, though the road did not become less dangerous.
The most harrowing example happened while I was driving on a long, curvy, downhill stretch. Suddenly the traffic stopped. This wasn’t a problem for me, as I had left space between my car and the car in front of me and was traveling at my cool and calm speed. However, having stopped, I looked into my rearview mirror and saw a large white dump truck speeding toward me from behind, quite obviously with no brakes. The truck driver was forced to decide between going into head-on traffic or hitting us from behind. He swerved to the shoulder, saving me, but the shoulder quickly disappeared. To avoid rolling down an embankment, the truck swerved back and crashed into the cars in front of me. All in the same moment, I experienced relief, regret, and compassion. I was relieved that I did not get hit. I was filled with regret that others did. And I felt the burden of the truck driver who did his best to make a bad situation better—imagining my own brakes going out, I was suddenly in the truck driver’s seat, feeling very humble. Fortunately, by some miracle, no one was seriously hurt.
Most days are not that dramatic, but they can be filled with a good supply of driving irritations. People change lanes without signaling, motorcycles appear out of nowhere to squeeze between me and the car next to me, or drivers are obviously triple-tasking between phones, radio dials, and their morning cup of coffee. I have actually seen people shaving or reading a book while driving!
When potential danger is at hand, we are built to react, and for me, fear quickly moves into a rise of anger and a discharge of energy. Historically, the only time I swear is in the car. It is also the only time I call people names and flip them the bird. Imagine me, my middle finger extended, hollering, “How dare you endanger me that way, you #%&*$ idiot!”
Probably the most embarrassing part of all this is that I have actually been in a formal practice of peace—Aikido—spanning 40 years. Still, I can have the instant reaction, judgment, and response to any interruption to my so-called peace. This does cause one to wonder a bit, doesn’t it? We start to realize that we don’t take the human to peace; we bring peace to our human selves—mere mortal selves who can be affected to the bone by the most seemingly superficial experiences. I call this the deeply superficial. Sound familiar? We might wonder, “Why am I so upset about this? It’s so petty, so small.”
Over the years, I have found that indignant persona waning a bit as I continue to commit to my “peace drive.” Along the way, listening to Tibetan chants, Indian ragas, or, more often, driving in silence, peace has been wearing on me. The indignant shout of “you idiot,” the middle finger waiting for action, the expectation of yet another interruption to my space have faded. “Idiot” has turned into “buddy,” and the middle finger has shifted into a half-hearted raised fist. Oddly, the number of idiots on the road has greatly diminished . . .
I can see now that peace is not a state of mind or a territory. It is a quiet that we can invite into our lives—a moment of not-knowing. Peace welcomes us to see what is real without the cloud of anger or judgment. It encourages us to let others be who they are, to forgive ourselves, and to question the dream of an enemy.
So next time you’re out for a drive, care to join me? There’s plenty of room in the Peace Lane.
