Handout 2: Story "These Are My People"
Last summer I heard the Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg speak to a gathering of Unitarian Universalist ministers. She was engaging and funny, led us in meditation, and shared many stories.One of her favorite stories was first told to her by Robert Thurman, Professor of Buddhist Studies at Columbia University. It goes something like this:
Imagine you are on the subway. In your subway car are all sorts of people, the kinds of people who would normally ride on the subway in a big city. A mix of working class, wealthy, and middle class people. People speaking many different languages, people of many skin colors and cultures, people of many ages. Some people who are clean and polished looking, others who are smelly and unkempt. Some who are quiet, some who talk too loud, some who talk to themselves. Some who annoy you terribly and some who you find attractive. All sorts of people are on this subway car, heading to their destination.
All of a sudden, Martians come and zap the subway car. And soon you figure out that as a result of this zap, everyone on the subway car is going to be together—forever.
How does that change the way you act? Think about it.
If they’re freaking out, you’re going to try to calm them.
If they’re hungry, you’re going to try to feed them.
If they’re arguing, you’re going to try to figure out what’s going on and seek resolution.
If there’s injustice, your going to try to make it just.
You do it because suddenly, these assorted people on the subway are your people. The ones you will dwell with forever. You care about them in a whole different way. What we do and what we care about matters. When we allow ourselves to see the bigger picture, we can see that we are all already on that subway car—Earth.
We are absolutely interconnected and interdependent.
How we are, what we do, they ripple out.
What ever happens “over there,” happens “over here,” too.
Because these people are your people. My people. Our people.
Now I’m definitely a bit introverted—remember I strongly prefer small groups to crowds—but took note of the mantra “these are my people” and packed it in the little book bag of my mind. As I attended the General Assembly of Unitarian Universalist congregations—at which 3000 to 5000 people gather—I began to feel overwhelmed by the crowds. But I pulled out my new mantra, “These are my people.”
When I would remember that, I could overcome my shyness and be outgoing, interested, and even playful. Waiting in lines with people, I struck up conversations, got suggestions for things to see and do, and ideas for books to read. I rejoiced in my discoveries.
On hotel elevators, I got more relaxed with greeting strangers, some of whom weren’t even in town for General Assembly. I enjoyed moments of good connection and shared laughter. I thought, “These are my people.”
I tried to carry that with me when I left General Assembly and went on a journey. I celebrated Canada Day in Victoria with 35,000 Canadians, dressed in red and white with maple leaves tattooed temporarily on cheeks. I would have been overwhelmed before, an American in a huge celebration I didn’t really understand. But instead tears came to my eyes as I stood with all gathered to sing "O Canada." “These are my people,” I thought.
In Seattle and Portland I walked on busy downtown streets. Sometimes I walked around with a psychological barrier between myself and others. Sometimes my eyes met other eyes, sometimes I spoke, sometimes I listened, sometimes hands clasped.
Sometimes my heart opened. “These are my people.”
When I read newspaper stories of all that is going on in the world—all the injustice, all the struggles, all the miracles—I think to myself, “These are my people and we are together forever.” I realize our deep interconnection. And I ask myself, “How does that change the way I’ll act today?”
Last updated on Friday, April 18, 2008.
