The Grifter
I’ve always thought of meditation as a string of pearls. Each daily practice is a single, luminous bead, complete and beautiful in itself. At first, I didn’t meditate every day—just occasionally. So I had a handful of pearls but no real continuity, no thread to hold them together. Over time, as I became more consistent, the pearls started to line up on a single thread.
The more I practiced, the more intricate the necklace became. Each pearl represented a moment of awareness, a connection to something deeper, and the thread itself became stronger. That thread wasn’t just a metaphor—it felt like my awareness expanding and weaving through my days. Eventually, I realized it wasn’t about the pearls at all; it was about the thread. The awareness that connected everything was the true essence.
Lately, though, my mind keeps wandering back to something else. It’s like I’ve been standing in the middle of a baseball game. On the surface, it’s just a sport—teams, players, rules—but underneath, it’s a metaphor for the world we’re living in. The game works because everyone agrees to the same rules. Without rules, there’s no game.
And yet, imagine one player decides to cheat—not just to bend the rules but to upend them entirely. He shows up with a glove that’s bigger than everyone else’s. At first, people laugh it off, but then he starts catching more balls than anyone else. His team doesn’t mind; they’re winning. Soon, the other players start getting bigger gloves, too. Before long, the field is a mess of oversized gloves and broken agreements.
But the cheater—let’s call him the Grifter—isn’t satisfied with just winning. He’s sharp, clever. He knows the game needs to keep going for his scheme to work, so he plays along just enough to keep everyone invested. He lets the chaos simmer until a critical moment arrives: a close play at second base.
The fans erupt. Everyone is shouting—“Safe!” “Out!”—and even the umpires are drawn into the chaos. The whole game grinds to a halt as the crowd floods the field, arguing and pointing fingers.
And that’s when it happens. While everyone is distracted, the Grifter calmly walks over to home plate. What no one realized—or perhaps had forgotten—was that home plate wasn’t just part of the game. It was the game’s foundation, the very thing that gave it meaning. And it wasn’t just home plate. It was gold.
He picks it up, tucks it under his arm, and walks away without a second glance.
By the time anyone notices, it’s too late. The game can’t continue without home plate. And as the crowd begins to disperse, the realization dawns: the Grifter never cared about the game. He only wanted the gold.
So here I am, threading my pearls, trying to keep the string intact. I wonder how many of us see the gold being carried away, how many of us notice the foundation being stolen while we argue over plays at second base.
It makes me think about that thread of awareness again. Without it, the pearls are just scattered moments, disconnected and fragile. But with it, there’s continuity, strength, and meaning. Maybe the real question is: how do we strengthen the thread before the Grifter steals more than just home plate?
Spiritual Gravity 