Thanksgiving dinner was consumed with an Italian and a Pole in a Sri Lankan guesthouse. We tried to explain to the foreigners what Thanksgiving is all about. Gabe said that this American holiday denotes consumptive gluttony and empty symbolic thanks for stolen land. While I think that there is some truth to this, I tend to be more optimistic. I like to think that, even as the subtle profundities of this world succumb to capitalism, Thanksgiving can still be simply (and profoundly) about thanks.
So thank-you, universe, for winking sunlight off of palm fronds and for lightning storms and mountains and everything that is unequivocally beautiful. Thank-you for the preservation of mystery, for deep friendships, and for the absurd freedom to traipse across the globe as a learner and an asker of unanswerable questions. Thank-you for a family that gave me anything I could ever have asked for and then let me go unfettered to be confused and make mistakes. Thank-you for oceans and the tolling of bells. Thank-you for love.
After our Thanksgiving dinner, the kind Sri Lankan family that cooked our meal gave me fresh cloves from their garden, which I put in my pocket. I called my family this morning since that's dinnertime in the U.S., and my love for them felt immanent and real despite the oceans that divide us. After my telephone call a Sri Lankan man grasped my hand and said, "I am so so GLAD that you come to my country!" I gave a beggar some money, and the morning sunlight is laughter turned to photons.
And I am thankful.
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