The Secret Words

“Open Sesame!”  My brother Dan and I had active imaginations, imprinting on our minds these words from Ali Baba, these words that opened the door to the secret cave of the Forty Thieves, opening to him the treasure within.  The secret words.  On the border of poverty as many families of returning World War II veterans were, Dan and I would fantasize about the power of such words, opening to us the abundance that we lacked, piles and piles of precious coins.  Ali Baba was, as in most such folk tales, a good man, in contrast with the thieves, who were not.  In my imagination now I animate the doors themselves, and find them aching to be opened by a good person, so that they can share what they have hidden.  I feel their joy as the words are uttered, the secret words, that free the doors to open, not only permitting entrance, but welcoming it.

This morning, finally quiet after a day of deadlines on the heels of our return from a visit to family in Chicago, I realize that my heart is full of memories of conversations, deep, loving conversations, piles and piles of precious words.   It was all in the secret words: “How are you?” 

Ali Baba had stood outside the cave in the forest.  I had sat:

• with my brother Bob on the tailgate of my brother Bob’s truck on the little patch of land near the Wisconsin river that is his new home;
• with my sister Darlene on the patio of her new house, over cups of hot coffee as the rest of the family slept;
• with my brother Dave on the stone wall overlooking the sunset;
• with my nieces  and nephews across the table at the backyard fiesta celebrating Dar’s birthday;
• with Dar’s husband Joe, on the couch in the morning after his quiet day of cooking, and hosting, and cleaning up after all of us;
• with Dave’s wife Deane, on the patio in the twilight of the evening after our return from Bob’s.

I had spoken my secret words “How are you?”  And the doors of their hearts opened, exposing and piles and piles of love within.  They spoke of the love of friends, the ache for the struggles of adult children, the hopes of lives of simple awareness, the gift of compassion for the elderly, the memories and wounds and healing of those who have gone on, the delights of those who remain, and call us to love. Sometimes the doors opened slowly, carefully, like the dawn.  Other times they sprang open eagerly, having longed for the words to be spoken.  But it seems that with time and presence, there is in these words the satisfaction of a mutual longing, and a sharing of riches enough to sustain all of us. 

Time and presence.  Yesterday at the table, Kathy asked me what reverberated in me after this visit with my family.  Though I was physically at the table with her, I was not present.  Preoccupied by a deadline later in the day, I did not have the time. So in my animation of the story of Ali Baba, there is another detail that I would add to my version.  It is the demand that the words be spoken in stillness, the speaker sitting down with heart slowing, breathing calm, ears open and hearing the movement of each leaf, present only to those doors, all deadlines forgotten. 

In my version of the story, Ali Baba would learn that the “secret” words were not even necessary, only the stillness and presence that are available to all of us, all the time.

 FreeLemonadeStand by John J. Daniels is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.