Random Acts of Brahman, Part 3 of 3

By Chet

In part two we left off saying: “But Brahman and randomness were not done with us yet.”

Now for the rest of the story.

Hot, hungry, and thirsty, we started walking toward the parking lot—with the prized quahog shell tucked safely in my pocket—when the campers spotted a woman walking a small dog.

The campers ran toward the pair, eager to pet the dog.

Its owner was an elderly lady dressed in traditional summer white.

In our fast-paced world, most would have given a polite smile, allowed a quick pat, then, tugged on the dog saying, "We have to go now."

But this day did not belong to the rushed world of human schedules. It belonged to the unfolding mystery of the universe.

Noticing the campers didn't want to stop hugging her dog, and in an act quite uncommon in the hustle and bustle of life, the woman got down on her knees onto the grass with the children gathered around her.

For the next several minutes, she gave the campers a masterclass in canine wisdom.

The campers' faces were beaming. Looking at them, it was clear they weren't just learning about dogs; they were experiencing what happens when a stranger opens her heart completely to the moment. 

With the lesson on dogs now complete, and our lunch call approaching, we slowly started walking back to the car.

I whispered to one of the campers ‘have your camera ready’ and presented the quahog shell as a souvenir to our dear friend and final-year camper.

"The shoreline has a parting gift for you," I said, handing her what I hoped will be for her, a long-sought-after treasure and a nice reminder of her final year in the camp.

She turned it over, noticed the deep wampum purple underneath, and softly smiled.

We often look at our lives and see nothing but "scattered leaves"—broken plans, late arrivals, and random interruptions. But if we have the patience to look closer, we can realize that the universe is constantly and purposefully weaving those pieces together.

A four-year camp journey, a missed field trip tour, an unplanned excursion to the waterfront, and an unexpected lesson from a kind stranger in white—all of it implicitly etched like an invisible mural onto the face of that single, beautiful shell.

Linear human logic told us we had missed out on a field trip.

Cosmic logic knew we needed to go to the waterfront.

So, if we observe carefully, we might just discover that the random acts of our days are bound together by something far greater than what we ever could have planned—the love inherent in lila—the Divine play—a Divine Comedy indeed.