Lost Keys
April 20, 2009
There are two ways to live: you can live
as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as
if everything is a miracle. Albert
Einstein
Fear narrows the little entrance of our
heart. It shrinks up our capacity to love. It
freezes up our power to give ourselves.
Thomas Merton
A man lost his keys.
On his hands and knees, he searched frantically.
Another man saw his predicament, and asked, "Can I help?"
"I lost my keys."
"Where did you lose them?"
"Over there," the man answered.
"Then why are you looking here?"
"Because the light is better over here."
Frantic searching. This feels familiar. We are searching, or at the very least, we're inculcated with the need to search, or hunt, or shop.
In a bookstore this week, I found a book that guaranteed to "give me my life back." Another gave me the tools to live the "life I deserved."
Both books made it clear that whatever the ingredients, I somehow (or for some reason) didn't have them, and needed to amp up my search (plus buy the book!). (What made it even more problematic is that, like the man with the lost keys, I felt the need to look in some place other than the one I was in right now.)
You can't help but walk away from those shelves thinking, "If only I could digest one of those books. . .my life would be better. . ."And it hits me, on the way back to the ferry, how much mental energy goes into navigating this bombardment. And how little mental energy is left. . .
. . .for sitting still,
. . .for listening,
. . .for giving,
. . .for making music,
. . .for sharing,
. . .for savoring the moment,
. . .for laughing with friends.
Every religion has a story about a man who leaves his home looking for treasure, or the meaning of life (sorry, but it's true, most religious stories are about men; and they are always getting lost, so what does that tell you?). The man travels many miles and any months, only to return home discouraged, where he finds the treasure he frantically sought under the floorboards of his own house.
While there is a part of us that knows this to be true (that which we seek is inside of us, around us, near us now), we know it would wreck havoc with the advertising industry.
It's inventory time in my garden. It's been a difficult winter, so many plants carry the gloomy air of the battered, disheveled and down trodden. At the mercy of public opinion, I spend my energy trying to tidy up. To somehow make it all "right." Why is it that I so badly need to "fix it?" My fears are reinforced whenever anyone visits my winter garden and asks, "So, there's not much to see now is there?"
I read Terry Tempest Williams write about the desert lands of Utah. The wild lands. She calls them alive. She writes, when someone says, "Look, there's nothing out there," what we are really saying is, "I cannot see."
It is in our genes, isn't it, this troubling pursuit of perfection? In my workshops, I like to use crayons and have people color a lot. Someone will inevitably ask, "Did I do this right?"
And I tell them, "Yes you did, right up until you asked me that question."
I spent a week at home. Looking after my garden, and resisting the temptation to make it look perfect. And here's what I learned. If I can stop the hurry and the need for perfection and the noise. . .
then the fragrance of the winter viburnum,
the joy of my son playing wiffle-ball golf,
the quickening of the morning air,
the new fragile shoots of white bleeding hearts,
the sound of the waterfall over moss covered rock,
the crushed chamomile smell of western red cedar,
all tell me that I am living this life, or this moment, or this conversation, or this event, and no longer need to focus on what is down the road, with its potential for some greater payoff.
Rilke once wrote of how he learned to stand "more seeingly" in front of certain paintings. That's what I want. To live this moment more "seeingly."
So here's what I know: We simplify our lives not by theory or a 7-step-program for life management. We simplify when we follow the example of the old man on his back deck. His wife asked, "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," he said.
"But that's what you were doing yesterday," she told him.
"I didn't finish," he answered.
Sitting let's us SEE. It's another way of saying that we are practicing the sacrament of the sacred present.
We have forgotten that moments of wonder or surprise or serendipity are not found in the well lit corners (the predictable, the presumed, the mandated, the party line), but in the small, the obscure, the out of the way, the unexpected, the shadowed places; places that allow our heart to swell and our breathing to slow. Tonight I watch the sunset over the hills in San Juan Capistrano. The air is still tepid from the hot day. The air is clear and the clouds that form near the hills are the color of pink grapefruit. Whatever is frantic inside of me, I let go, into the evening air, and listen to my breathing even in the discomfort of uncertainty, and allow the day to sing its subtler songs.
Or in the words of Therese of Lisieux, prayer is "an outburst from the heart; it is a simple glance darted upwards to Heaven; it is a cry of gratitude and of love in the midst of trial as in the midst of joy."
Notes from Terry
1. Mark you calendars
terryhershey/grace-in-the-garden
May 15 - 17 in Davis, California. Grace in Action, a faith-based ministry serving the homeless in our community invites you to GRACE IN THE GARDEN, a weekend celebration of gardening, spirituality, and embracing life.
Friday, May 15 -- Picnic in the Garden with Terry Hershey / Unitarian Universalist Church of Davis
Saturday, May 16 -- Grace in the Garden with Terry Hershey, Warren Roberts and Others / Davis Community Church
Sunday, May 17 -- Worship with Terry Hershey / United Methodist Church of Davis
A weekend benefit for Grace in Action
Contact: office@grace-in-action.org or call 530-792-1053
2. Terry's new CDs, Born to Dance and Sabbath Moments are coming soon. They have been slightly delayed in production. Thank you for your patience.
On his hands and knees, he searched frantically.
Another man saw his predicament, and asked, "Can I help?"
"I lost my keys."
"Where did you lose them?"
"Over there," the man answered.
"Then why are you looking here?"
"Because the light is better over here."
Frantic searching. This feels familiar. We are searching, or at the very least, we're inculcated with the need to search, or hunt, or shop.
In a bookstore this week, I found a book that guaranteed to "give me my life back." Another gave me the tools to live the "life I deserved."
Both books made it clear that whatever the ingredients, I somehow (or for some reason) didn't have them, and needed to amp up my search (plus buy the book!). (What made it even more problematic is that, like the man with the lost keys, I felt the need to look in some place other than the one I was in right now.)
You can't help but walk away from those shelves thinking, "If only I could digest one of those books. . .my life would be better. . ."And it hits me, on the way back to the ferry, how much mental energy goes into navigating this bombardment. And how little mental energy is left. . .
. . .for sitting still,
. . .for listening,
. . .for giving,
. . .for making music,
. . .for sharing,
. . .for savoring the moment,
. . .for laughing with friends.
Every religion has a story about a man who leaves his home looking for treasure, or the meaning of life (sorry, but it's true, most religious stories are about men; and they are always getting lost, so what does that tell you?). The man travels many miles and any months, only to return home discouraged, where he finds the treasure he frantically sought under the floorboards of his own house.
While there is a part of us that knows this to be true (that which we seek is inside of us, around us, near us now), we know it would wreck havoc with the advertising industry.
It's inventory time in my garden. It's been a difficult winter, so many plants carry the gloomy air of the battered, disheveled and down trodden. At the mercy of public opinion, I spend my energy trying to tidy up. To somehow make it all "right." Why is it that I so badly need to "fix it?" My fears are reinforced whenever anyone visits my winter garden and asks, "So, there's not much to see now is there?"
I read Terry Tempest Williams write about the desert lands of Utah. The wild lands. She calls them alive. She writes, when someone says, "Look, there's nothing out there," what we are really saying is, "I cannot see."
It is in our genes, isn't it, this troubling pursuit of perfection? In my workshops, I like to use crayons and have people color a lot. Someone will inevitably ask, "Did I do this right?"
And I tell them, "Yes you did, right up until you asked me that question."
I spent a week at home. Looking after my garden, and resisting the temptation to make it look perfect. And here's what I learned. If I can stop the hurry and the need for perfection and the noise. . .
then the fragrance of the winter viburnum,
the joy of my son playing wiffle-ball golf,
the quickening of the morning air,
the new fragile shoots of white bleeding hearts,
the sound of the waterfall over moss covered rock,
the crushed chamomile smell of western red cedar,
all tell me that I am living this life, or this moment, or this conversation, or this event, and no longer need to focus on what is down the road, with its potential for some greater payoff.
Rilke once wrote of how he learned to stand "more seeingly" in front of certain paintings. That's what I want. To live this moment more "seeingly."
So here's what I know: We simplify our lives not by theory or a 7-step-program for life management. We simplify when we follow the example of the old man on his back deck. His wife asked, "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," he said.
"But that's what you were doing yesterday," she told him.
"I didn't finish," he answered.
Sitting let's us SEE. It's another way of saying that we are practicing the sacrament of the sacred present.
We have forgotten that moments of wonder or surprise or serendipity are not found in the well lit corners (the predictable, the presumed, the mandated, the party line), but in the small, the obscure, the out of the way, the unexpected, the shadowed places; places that allow our heart to swell and our breathing to slow. Tonight I watch the sunset over the hills in San Juan Capistrano. The air is still tepid from the hot day. The air is clear and the clouds that form near the hills are the color of pink grapefruit. Whatever is frantic inside of me, I let go, into the evening air, and listen to my breathing even in the discomfort of uncertainty, and allow the day to sing its subtler songs.
Or in the words of Therese of Lisieux, prayer is "an outburst from the heart; it is a simple glance darted upwards to Heaven; it is a cry of gratitude and of love in the midst of trial as in the midst of joy."
Notes from Terry
1. Mark you calendars
terryhershey/grace-in-the-garden
May 15 - 17 in Davis, California. Grace in Action, a faith-based ministry serving the homeless in our community invites you to GRACE IN THE GARDEN, a weekend celebration of gardening, spirituality, and embracing life.
Friday, May 15 -- Picnic in the Garden with Terry Hershey / Unitarian Universalist Church of Davis
Saturday, May 16 -- Grace in the Garden with Terry Hershey, Warren Roberts and Others / Davis Community Church
Sunday, May 17 -- Worship with Terry Hershey / United Methodist Church of Davis
A weekend benefit for Grace in Action
Contact: office@grace-in-action.org or call 530-792-1053
2. Terry's new CDs, Born to Dance and Sabbath Moments are coming soon. They have been slightly delayed in production. Thank you for your patience.
Poems / Prayers
New Terry Hershey videos
http://www.terryhershey.com
Music to soothe your soul --
Ordinary Miracle by Sarah MaLachlan
www.youtube
ORDINARY MIRACLE
It's not that unusual
When everything is beautiful
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today
The sky knows when it's time to snow
Don't need to teach a seed to grow
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today
Life is like a gift, they say
Wrapped up for you everyday
Open up, and find a way
To give some of your own
Isn't it remarkable?
Like everytime a raindrop falls
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today
The birds in winter have their fling
And always make it home by spring
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today
When you wake up everyday
Please don't throw your dreams away
Hold them close to your heart
'Cause we are all a part
Of the ordinary miracle
Ordinary miracle
Do you want to see a miracle
It seems so exceptional
That things work out after all
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today
The sun comes out and shines so bright
And disappears again at night
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today
Sarah McLachlan
For Everyday Blessings
Dear God,
Open my eyes to the beauty of this day.
The yellow of an egg yolk in a blue bowl.
The scent of bacon frying in the pan.
The soft caress of the morning breeze.
The sound of children at play.
Awaken my senses.
Let me see, hear, and feel the beauty around me.
And be aware of the presence of the Great
Artist in my everyday world.
William Webber
Peace,
Terry Hershey
