Hattie used to say “ya’ll point ya’lls finger at someone they’ll be three point’in right back at cha”. She would say this when after a terribly fun time in the family room-the den we called it-we would get to playing and playing turned to something getting broken. Hattie would run in from the kitchen, leaving the fried bologna in the pan and look at us-quiet now, looking down at the floor-never at the broken object-and she’d say:
“Alright now, who did it?”
I would point at my brother, my brother would point at me and the kid from down the street would shrug his shoulders.
Silence. Nothing but fingers. And shoulders. Stuck up right by his ears. Frozen.
“I told ya’ll not to be horse’in round. Now who did it?”
Fingers and shoulders stay where they are.
Frying bologna beckons
Hattie leaves the room throwing the dishtowel over her shoulder along with her finger pointing quote.
“Ya’ll keep point’in. Ya’ll got one finger in someones face and three pointing right back at you. Hmmmmmmmp.”
I think about it every time I find myself pointing-literally or figuratively. That one powerful finger pointing at someone else-and those three pointing right back at me. AS we navigate human error-community issues and worldly turbulence, it is easy to point the finger. That one defiant moment when blame goes right away-up and out through the very tip of the pointer. Mr. Pointer. And yet, and yet, what is held in the those three pointing back? Guilt? Weakness? Ignorance? More defiance? Times 3? So there in my quest to shift and be brighter, lighter and more Buddha like. There in those moments I am back on the road to a well lived life, I look a little more closer not at Mr. Pointer-but at those other three fingers that fold down and point back. And one by one I name them: Acceptance, and it unfolds. Courage, and it unfolds. Love, and it unfolds. I am now looking at an open hand-palm up-open. Mr. Pointer is now part of the pack-the whole hand. The whole.