Waking Up
March 30, 2009
Spirituality means waking up. Most
people, even though they don't know it, are
asleep. They're born asleep, they live
asleep, they marry in their sleep, they die
in their sleep without ever waking up. They
never understand the loveliness and the
beauty of this thing we call human
existence. Anthony de Mello
In Kidnapped, Robert Louis Stevenson's
abducted hero, David Balfour, is shipwrecked
off the west coast of Scotland. As he
struggles ashore the small island of Erraid,
he can see the smoke from the houses on the
main island of Mull. He can see his safe
haven. But the currents are strong, and he
is self-doubting, certain he would be unable
to swim the sea. Balfour feels stuck.
Trapped. Marooned.
He spends four days on Erraid. From his island, he sees fishing boats from Mull. Hoping to be rescued, Balfour wonders why the passing local Gaelic fishermen laugh and shout-in an unintelligible language-and refuse to rescue him.
On the fourth day, he sees yet another fishing boat, which he assumes is coming to his rescue. When this boat also passes him by, in their shouts and laughter he hears a word that he recognizes; Tragh, which means tide. As the fishermen point toward the other end of Erraid, Balfour realizes what a fool he has been. He is not on an island at all, but on a tidal inlet, and the fishermen are telling him that he could have walked off at low tide anytime, over the last four days.
As Balfour races to the other side of the "island," he finds the water is but a trickle, through which he wades to the safety of Mull.
David Whyte writes that, "Stevenson is asking us not to rage against our fate, but to look at the tidal flow of events surrounding us with a more attentive eye. Only those who put more energy into self-pity than into paying attention are truly marooned."
It is easy to focus on the other island. Because of what it represents-that life begins when I arrive, or am liberated, or set free, or when everything is put right.
However. If I am only focused on "getting rescued," I miss the life that is in front of me now.
A first grade class was asked to name the Seven Wonders of the World. They threw themselves into the assignment.
"Niagara Falls," said one.
"The pyramids," said another.
"The Nile River," said a third.
"These are great," the teacher encouraged them. And the children continued to answer, save one girl, who said nothing.
When asked, she said to the teacher, "I don't think I understand the question."
"Why?"
"Because I have all the wrong answers," she said.
"Why don't you read what you have, and we'll help you," the teacher told her.
The girl stood and read, "The seven wonders of the world are,
To see
To hear
To taste
To touch
To smell
To love
And to belong."
She got that right.
Life begins when we are fully awake--when we pay attention--regardless of the island of our circumstances, where we may feel trapped or in need or rescue.
I spent today in my garden. Spring is not far off, and the sun stayed high in the southwestern sky. I began by taking inventory of the winter carnage (twenty percent of our plants damaged or gone, enjoying eternity in the great garden-in-the-sky). So I fretted and fussed. And when that wasn't enough, I cursed the raccoons, seeing the havoc they wrecked on my stream, where they overturned all the river rock along the creek bed, looking for grubs. All of the stone lay mounded in the middle of the stream, as if altars to their persistence. To repair the damage would take an entire day. And I began to feel stuck on my island of if-only.
I sat on the back patio and let the sun soothe my regret, and decided that the repairs could wait for another day. So I planted a full flat of butter yellow daffodils. It is an unwritten principle of life that there is always room for more daffodils. I weeded and pruned roses and spent time on my knees where I could put my hands in earth and smell the terroir, smiling at the serendipity that the aroma is not too different from a really good French wine.
You Reading This, Be Ready
Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
Wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?
When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life-
What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
William Stafford
He spends four days on Erraid. From his island, he sees fishing boats from Mull. Hoping to be rescued, Balfour wonders why the passing local Gaelic fishermen laugh and shout-in an unintelligible language-and refuse to rescue him.
On the fourth day, he sees yet another fishing boat, which he assumes is coming to his rescue. When this boat also passes him by, in their shouts and laughter he hears a word that he recognizes; Tragh, which means tide. As the fishermen point toward the other end of Erraid, Balfour realizes what a fool he has been. He is not on an island at all, but on a tidal inlet, and the fishermen are telling him that he could have walked off at low tide anytime, over the last four days.
As Balfour races to the other side of the "island," he finds the water is but a trickle, through which he wades to the safety of Mull.
David Whyte writes that, "Stevenson is asking us not to rage against our fate, but to look at the tidal flow of events surrounding us with a more attentive eye. Only those who put more energy into self-pity than into paying attention are truly marooned."
It is easy to focus on the other island. Because of what it represents-that life begins when I arrive, or am liberated, or set free, or when everything is put right.
However. If I am only focused on "getting rescued," I miss the life that is in front of me now.
A first grade class was asked to name the Seven Wonders of the World. They threw themselves into the assignment.
"Niagara Falls," said one.
"The pyramids," said another.
"The Nile River," said a third.
"These are great," the teacher encouraged them. And the children continued to answer, save one girl, who said nothing.
When asked, she said to the teacher, "I don't think I understand the question."
"Why?"
"Because I have all the wrong answers," she said.
"Why don't you read what you have, and we'll help you," the teacher told her.
The girl stood and read, "The seven wonders of the world are,
To see
To hear
To taste
To touch
To smell
To love
And to belong."
She got that right.
Life begins when we are fully awake--when we pay attention--regardless of the island of our circumstances, where we may feel trapped or in need or rescue.
I spent today in my garden. Spring is not far off, and the sun stayed high in the southwestern sky. I began by taking inventory of the winter carnage (twenty percent of our plants damaged or gone, enjoying eternity in the great garden-in-the-sky). So I fretted and fussed. And when that wasn't enough, I cursed the raccoons, seeing the havoc they wrecked on my stream, where they overturned all the river rock along the creek bed, looking for grubs. All of the stone lay mounded in the middle of the stream, as if altars to their persistence. To repair the damage would take an entire day. And I began to feel stuck on my island of if-only.
I sat on the back patio and let the sun soothe my regret, and decided that the repairs could wait for another day. So I planted a full flat of butter yellow daffodils. It is an unwritten principle of life that there is always room for more daffodils. I weeded and pruned roses and spent time on my knees where I could put my hands in earth and smell the terroir, smiling at the serendipity that the aroma is not too different from a really good French wine.
You Reading This, Be Ready
Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
Wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?
When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life-
What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
William Stafford
Poems / Prayers
New Terry Hershey videos
http://www.terryhershey.com
Good is the Flesh
Good is the flesh that the Word has become,
Good is the birthing, the mild in the breast,
Good is the feeding, caressing and rest,
Good is the body for knowing the world,
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.
Good is the body for knowing the world,
Sensing the sunlight, the tug of the ground,
Feeling, perceiving, within and around,
Good is the body, from cradle to grave,
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.
Good is the body from cradle to grave,
Growing and aging, arousing, impaired,
Happy in clothing or lovingly bared,
Good is the pleasure of God in our flesh.
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.
Good is the pleasure of God in our flesh,
Longing in all, as in Jesus, to dwell,
Glad of embracing, and tasting and smell,
Good is the body, for good and for God,
Good is the flesh that the Word has become.
Hymn by Brian Wren (Hope Publishing)
Gates of Prayer
Our noisy day has now descended with the sun beyond our sight.
In the silence of our praying place we close the door upon the hectic joys and fears, the accomplishments and anguish of the work we have left behind.
What was but moments ago the substance of our life has become memory; what we did must now be woven into what we are.
On this day we shall not do, but be.
We are to walk the path of our humanity, no longer ride unseeing through a world we do not touch and only vaguely sense.
No longer can we tear the world apart to make our fire.
On this day heat and warmth and light must come from deep within ourselves.
New Union Prayer Book
Peace,
Terry Hershey
