An ordinary life does not throw one to one’s knees, wailing, clasping God’s feet, begging for mercy, mercy … Mercy!  The gnat-like exigencies of a tranquil life, and the easily-ignored blips of an ordinary day, present what may be the most difficult of obstacles to spiritual progress.

My hero is Jane Austen, a woman who struggled, all of her ordinary life, to renounce her recidivist tendencies.  Her anguish when she could not – or did not – curb her tongue, rein in her wit, and suspend judgment, was her Cross and her Crown.

Other heroes are Jesus of Nazareth, Paul of Tarsus, Augustine of Hippo, Omar Khayyam, Theo Roget, Sri Yukteswar, Vivekananda, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucy Maud Montgomery, Elizabeth von Arnim, and Elizabeth II of England.

What do members of this unlikely cluster have in common, that they all, each and every one, bring tears streaming down my face?

They were puzzlers.  They strove for self-control and for knowledge of a Greater Good.  They struggled, using the tools at hand.

Jesus resisted temptation.  Paul spurned his former self.  Augustine dissected his soul.  Omar sang his love.  Roget taxonomized his (and my) tools.  Sri Yukteswar wrote The Holy Science.  Vivekananda left me with a lifetime of ponderables.  Elizabeth Cady Stanton immured her talents in bon-bons and matronizing.  Lucy Maud Montgomery could dream of freedom.  Elizabeth von Arnim nibbled at the edges of spiritual greatness.  Elizabeth II has stuck it out, no matter what … and Jane Austen curbed her tongue, and used her wit to explore the themes of every woman’s life: physical imperative, foolish indulgence, ego, duty, patriarchy, and partnership.

My ordinary life has taken me far: from Sudra, through Vaisya, to Kshatriya, and to nibble at the edges of Brahmana[1].  Can any woman travel farther in an ordinary life?