No matter where you are, no matter what concerns you still hold within your heart, no matter what questions are emanating from your mind, they will be met with a response. T4:12.5
There’s been something churning in me the last week or so. Do you know what I mean? Have you experienced being in this zone? When something—neither a thought nor an idea—is in you like a niggling, a low murmur akin to the sound of distant thunder, or a rumbling, as of a truck two blocks away.
I can trace the coming on of this “not quite there” feeling, back to when my friend Christie came to visit, and when it felt like a day to sit in the cabin. In the last few years, since the house is often empty, my friends and I more usually share our visits there. In this way, the cabin has begun, once again, to feel more like a hermitage. A place of solitude.
As Christie and I walked out, I said, as I almost always feel compelled to say, “Excuse the mess.” And she said, “What mess? I love it.” As we passed the disintegrating fence and the rusting lantern hung from a tree, she told me, “They look like pictures from Maine.” And then yesterday, likely with that prompt, I took my camera out with me, and found my favorite photo to be of a dried and twisted grapevine. I know the beauty in this disarray. It reflects something that is passing in and out. As if mimicking my surroundings, what most often occurs is not a cognitive turning of the wheels of thinking that create structure, but a churning down-under that causes structure to fall away.
The harmony in the wild, the decomposing, the not yet formed and the in-formed that is losing its form—feel like existence in a blended state. That’s what my modest terrain reminds me of, very subtly, like a whisper come to replace (or compliment) the rumble.
Because there is, at times, a charge that exists between beauty and disarray—in the world and in myself. The recognition of the difference between the tangled webs I can weave with my thoughts, and the undoing that makes a spiral from a twisted knot, or a space that reveals the heart of the matter.
Then I understand about the movement from the entangled to the woven-together, that it is the next step, the movement from viewing what’s on the surface to seeing the depth beneath, and the blending of the two.
It’s taken me a long while to accept it all and not to call some of my thoughts by names that I consider slurs, like “ruminating,” and others of them by names I elevate, like “contemplation.” I am still discovering the subtlety of judgment. But I am making these discoveries.
If “I” can enjoy the coming of a discovery such as this, and not malign the tightly wound places as the untangling occurs, I know each of us can cease to evaluate our discoveries with judgment. We can hold it all together gently, compassionately, and allow ourselves to keep going deeper with whatever process takes hold of us.
When the deep is reached, the way of getting there has already fallen away.
Take delight in these surprises. Laugh and be joyous. You no longer have a need to figure things out. Surprises cannot be figured out! They are meant to be joyous gifts being constantly revealed. Gifts that need only be received and responded to. T4:12.6