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Mindstates
Grateful for What I Am Given
by Ginny Giblin
Here comes Thanksgiving, with visions of feasts, family, friends, and good times, as well as busy airports, holiday traffic, family drama, and maybe new ways of celebrating—because airfare just can’t be squeezed out of an unemployment check.
The truth is, sometimes Thanksgiving isn’t about giving thanks at all. It may be about 12-hour workdays before flying off for a week “at home.” On a limited income, it may mean food bank issued cranberry sauce and potatoes. For some, it’s about being lonely and for others, tropical vacations. Despite Norman Rockwellian imagery, there are myriad ways to “do” Thanksgiving, and most involve planning and emotional intensity. So, other than that brief—if existent—moment where heads are bowed before digging in, does anyone remember to be thankful?
Do we do it in the tempered mumbling of, “Thank you for this meal; I hope no one hassles me for not eating the creamed cucumbers?” Or the negotiable, “Thank you for my safe journey; please let the return flight be so easy?” Do we ever truly immerse ourselves in gratitude for what we have received? Does that moment of thanks extend throughout our entire being and embrace all the goodness with which we are graced in each sustaining breath? Especially in these truly challenging times, do we give thanks that provide access to the blessings within?
I ask this almost weekly as I volunteer at The Food Pantry, a food distribution center in San Francisco that fills the extended bags of 800 or more people in an afternoon. Hectic, maddening, intense and at times amusing, it is a microcosm of humanity on display.
Repeatedly, I reflect back upon my 2008 journey to India, to the Hamsa Yoga Sangh ashram of Yogiraj Siddhanath for the annual Festival of Shiva. The next day, as is traditional, Gurumata, the wife of Yogiraj, and a small staff of villagers set up outdoor kitchens to distribute a hot meal to over 500 schoolchildren from the village.
Wearing their one clean outfit—perhaps the only clothing they owned—they sat smiling and patient in the heat, shaded by lush mango trees, until called by the group to be served. We walked up and down the aisles of children and their teachers, now seated cross-legged under a large colorful tarp to protect them from the sun. We scooped rice, curry, vegetables, and jalabies—a hot, deep fried, sugary treat—onto their plates. Each took the servings shyly. Most said, “Thank you,” if they dared to look up. They often said it proudly in English, as pleased to be understood as I was to understand. Sometimes the girls were so movingly long-lashed and beautiful, that I would give them a bit more rice, or maybe another jalaby. They did not want it. “Bas,” (enough) they would say as their hands passed over their plates. 
They did not want more than their share. Clearly, they had learned well from the women amongst whom they sat, who also took no more than that which was given.
The boys, of course, were hungry, laughing and teasing in the local Hindi language. But if I did slip one little cutie an extra scoop of rice or another jalaby, the others did not clamor for the same. Each accepted what was given and ate. The men would take another, especially the local workers who had now joined in. At times, they would gesture for more. These were men who worked in the sun all day. How can anyone do that on an empty belly?
Upon my return to the States, I was unceremoniously downsized from my job and began volunteering at The Food Pantry—because I have the time and because the groceries I receive are a blessing. Week after week, I distribute food to those who line up hours before we open—some to make sure they get the best, others in hopes of getting the most, some just because they can—and I may only guess the intention of the others.
Some recipients are content and accepting of all they receive. Others want as much of each item as they can possibly get. Some will steal if a back is turned. Others continuously scan for something better, as if the next apple or loaf of bread is more perfect or prized than the one received. The hundreds of people in line behind them may be delayed because this person wants that larger cabbage head, or that loaf that appears to have six more slices. Some have stepped right up and demanded two more. Not one more—two more! The English of some is extremely limited, but the concept of more is clearly grasped. Still other folks look ahead to the next station even as I fill their bags. I can see the wheels turning as they scan, scope and plot. What’s next? How do I get more, more, more, more for me, me, me or for me and my family?
Some people say thank you. Many of them mean it. Others mumble and move on. I always reply, “You are welcome.” Most say nothing. Then I quietly say, “Om nama shivaya.” I give thanks for them. I make my task a prayer.
Each week, I receive a lesson in gratitude, and of relationships with the universe, with God, with Divine Flow, and yes, with humanity. When gratitude is expressed, we share a moment of connection in the brief exchange of “thank you” and “you’re welcome.” I can’t say that those who say nothing are ungrateful; it’s not my place to judge. Yet when some grab, others demand, and still others steal, I detect greed and a sense of entitlement. They want more of what is to be shared with all. They remind me of those people who are never satisfied, the ones for whom nothing is ever enough.
As months pass, I see the same faces again and again. I learn their personalities. I see who steals and who is picky. I also see who is smiling and grateful. For me, The Food Pantry has become a window onto a particular aspect of beingness. I know this action is wrong, and I know that it’s unfair, but sometimes, when no one is looking, I slip one more of whatever item I am distributing into the bags of the ones who are grateful. To my soul’s mind, they deserve it. They are my living lesson. Smile and be grateful for what I am given, and I will see more come.
This Thanksgiving, despite perceived trials and tribulations, take a moment to truly give thanks for all that you have. A moment may be a second, a breath, an hour, or a lifetime. And in it, recognize that your cup is full. Drink deeply and savor. Namaste.
Ginny Giblin has been practicing Kundalini Kriya Yoga for over eight years by the grace of Yogiraj Siddhanath. Information and the opportunity to donate to The Hamsa Children’s Fund and/or The Food Pantry, located at 500 De Haro Street in San Francisco, CA, can be found at hamsa-yoga.org or thefoodpantry.org.