Ruth Dennison whirled through the Abhayagiri Monastery in good speed and with good deed. I was lucky to have traveled the 626 southerly miles a few days earlier and hence present for Ruth’s Dhamma. I was touched by her manners, her easy courage and natural strength. There she sat in the top corner of the darkened shrine room. Candlelight emphasized a sparkling mind and wrinkled body.
Growing up I hadn’t recognize a female role model to emulate. Understandably so as few could live up to the lofty standards scripted in the Catholic publications delivered weekly in our mailbox. There were so many amazing women, all of them strong, honest and dead. It was easy to project wisdom in their silence. At six years of age I could figure it out; my family wasn’t silent, so my family wasn’t wise . . .
Ruth didn’t care when she meandered or that she would sometimes fall asleep between pauses. It was all just part of her expression, part of her truth, part of her Dhamma.
At 53 I should be able to figure this out. I met up with a female I wanted to emulate, and she wasn’t silent, and she wasn’t dead.