Karma

Posted: May 1, 2026 | Author: David | Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent, consciousness |Leave a comment

Spring Break 2026 was, for me, no vacation but a grueling gauntlet, repairing wrongs, like a cat on a hot tin roof. The Quaker school where I work has its ongoing lawsuit, and the roofer – whom I shall call the Industrialist – had offered to provide an in-kind repair, at no cost. The quid pro quo was a release from all future claims. The lawyers worked hard on that language of release, and once done the work was allowed to proceed.

We agreed to make the repair when the school was on break, no children around. I hired carpenters to handle the non-roof repairs, plus a structural engineer to opine on the condition of the framing lumber, and a Forensics Expert to advise overall. My role is to oversee everything, and give final approval; redundancy was built into the plan.

The school was built to passivhaus standards – the highest voluntary standard of energy efficiency – and was the first passivhaus commercial building in the State of Maine, and the third passivhaus school in the nation. Built in 2015, the school was a model of hope for the future, but now the roof leaks; “The Audacity of Hope” once was a bestseller but today the “Art of the Deal” reigns, and when it rains water pours into the building.

The roof is covered in metal, beneath which is 6” of foam insulation. The roof should be dry, but 80% moisture content has saturated the foam insulation. Passivhaus construction is air tight, so once water gets in, it has no means to dry out; in other words, the building slowly rots from within, which will lead to black mold.

For the spring break, the Goddess and our daughter had gone to New Orleans, leaving my son and me at home, alone. On Monday morning, while my son slept, I was at work early when the Industrialist and his crew showed up.

Our agreement was to open four panels of the metal roofing – about 6 feet wide – and replace all wet insulation. But that section was so thoroughly saturated that when the foam was removed the wood sheathing was slick with water. It glistened in the sunlight. In stunned silence, we stood.

The Industrialist curtly told his crew to remove the entire roof. On the ground below, the carpenters waited at their trucks, nothing to do until their turn to remove the wet sheathing and see what lay beneath. And there was I, leading the charge, alone on behalf of the school. Neither a Quaker nor an employee, I am a part-time independent contractor and could have quit long ago. This task so far exceeds the basic maintenance I was hired to do, but when work and life are viewed not as transactional but relational, I chose to stay the course. Such is my karma.

I speak of karma not in the yoga-centric sense where present actions cause future results but from the Sanskrit root “kr” which means a movement (r) within space (k). “Kr” ‘does’ ‘works’ and is ‘action’ itself. Thus, karma ‘makes.’ Karma ‘creates.’ I came into the job as a carpenter, which is one who moves, while making, creating the built space.

This root definition of karma was entirely new to me, shared by my soul brother, after he saw photos from the work. His “Kr” lead me back to the Bhagavad Gita, which, over 5,000 years old, is an epic work of moral science, ethical duty and balance. Ghandi said, “Gita is not only my Bible or my Koran, it is mother…my ETERNAL MOTHER.”

Gita verse 3.19 states, तस्मादसक्तः सततं कार्यं कर्म समाचर।असक्तो ह्याचरन्कर्म परमाप्नोति पूरुषः।। १९ ।। which translates as, “Therefore, without being attached to fruits of activities, one should act as a matter of duty, for working without attachment, one attains the Supreme.”

That private school has been a source of tremendous experience, powerful relationships. Early in my tenure I arranged a donation of Peter the Polar Bear to the Pre-K class. I had helped build Peter, one of seven sea monsters from a Public Art exhibit. When the exhibit ended, the maker sought new homes for the sea monsters. The Quaker school welcomed Peter, gathered in circle for an assembly, after which the Pre-K cherubs lead Peter out of the Meeting Room, down the hall to his new forever home. I lead that march.

Another time I sat in circle among the 7-8 grade students with an elder, who, in 1965 for the Committee for Non-Violent Action, helped coordinate the Selma to Montgomery Marches. The elder gave voice, in the first person, to Martin Luther King’s presence and the enduring role of civility and non-violent civil disobedience.

And later, when those 7-8 grade students studied the Holocaust, I sat in circle again to share the story of my son’s Great-Grandfather and Great-Great-Grandmother, Jewish in Austria 1939; he, the Great-Grandfather, was persecuted but escaped on the last flight out, while she, the Great-Great-Grandmother, was exterminated. The official letter from the Ministry of Social Welfare, Repatriation Department – Tracing Section states she was deported “to Terezin (Theresienstadt) on June 20th, 1942, and from there to: Auschwitz (Poland) on December 15th, 1943.” The number of her transport was Dr – 1490, the official correspondence signed “For the Minister” with a counter signature vouching “For the Correctness.” Age 74 at the time of her transport, below the signatures, the certificate states, “Notice: Persons more than 50 years of age did not return.”

Dark is the cauldron of hate; our duty is to bear the light, without attachment. Having borne witness, my relation with the school grew profoundly deep, and so I stayed to fight on their behalf, to do battle over a roof and its design, even on Spring Break, when everyone else was on vacation.

The work last week was grueling. By Friday it was clear to a man, that all of us wanted to be anywhere else but there. One of the carpenters looked me in the eye and said, “The next time you need to remove plywood, don’t call me.” Forearmed, I replied swiftly, “You know I was thinking I never want to see you again!” Laughter broke the tension. We got back to work.

Ours is a testosterone-driven age of dominance, where the transactional drives pursuit of rational self-interest. The relational is different, a compassionate path which is the core both of the Homeschool Academy and my karma, which is how I teach my son.