Reminiscent of last night’s moon
I received news this week that I didn’t want. Didn’t ask for. Didn’t need.
Here’s what surprised me. Just how easy it is to absorb any “news”–or report–without question (or reservation? or discernment?). And how easy it is for that news (or information or report or pure unadulterated blather for that matter), to consume us. Like an old-fashioned pin-ball machine, our life is on tilt.
It’s as if we believe, quite literally, that this news commandeers our identity. It is the bushel we read about in the Gospel of Matthew, the one that covers the candle of our life. You remember, this little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine. . .
There are several metaphors that fit here: bushel or label or weight or a suit sized too small. Regardless of the metaphor, I do know this — When I believe that whatever is external owns me, it feels as if the light in my spirit flickers, and for a brief moment goes out, as if something (unnamable) is extinguished. And the heart of my life or hope drains from somewhere deep inside of me, and the last thing I want to do, is talk about it. Although (if I’m honest) sometimes it feels good just to nurse it. You know, for a little while. . .
A friend told me about Anhedonia, a diagnosis meaning “absence of pleasure.” You find yourself “going through the motions.” Yes. I do know that symptom.
So. I take my own advice.
I get up from my desk, leave my study and walk out into my garden. Inevitably, I see all the parts that need tending. Weeds that need pulled. Plants that need care. And, I see the sprouts of perennials coming from the ground, emerging from their winter rest. I cannot suppress a giggle. I am on my knees now, digging with my hands, remembering how dirt under the fingernails is the perfect antidote to the weight of anhedonia. God, this feels good.
It is spring in the northwest, so the sun begins to fill our sky, and everything, literally everything, comes to life. I spent Friday evening in an Island hangout, listening to my friend sing about “hitching a ride on a Tramp Harbor moon.” He got that right. Another antidote to anhedonia. Walking to my truck, I see the moon, now three-quarter, appearing as if it is emerging from a great blue sea.
When one door of happiness closes, another one opens,but often we look so long at the closed doorthat we do not see the onewhich has been opened for us. Helen Keller
8 Comments
I understand–at least the sentiment you are expressing, especially the first half of your post. I often experience a “tilt” of my soul. At Mass today the priest reminded us that Palm Sunday is also known as Passion Sunday. I’ve long tended to see through the somewhat rose-colored label of “Palm” Sunday, as if it were trying to mask the true (or at least truer) reality of that fateful ride into Jerusalem. Talk about the ultimate “Tilt.”
Alas, I don’t have a local island pub in which to hang out (sounds as if you are truly blessed by an enviable geography). There are plenty bars in the Mile High City that I could, and sometimes do, patronize, but I intuit that’s a very different experience than an “island hangout.” Of course that doesn’t stop me from imbibing my share of bourbon on the rocks or Sapphire and tonic (the perfect elixir for the current season and all through summer). I do have the loving presence of my family—especially two young daughters who demonstrate (usually—grin) a sweet, and I like to imagine, edenic kindness and innocence in so many ways. I also have the fortune of sensing the electric buzz of baseball season approaching after the thaw of winter. I’m a huge fan of the Pastime and look forward to rooting the Rockies on en route to the NL West pennant. It’s strange, but the long (my wife complains about how long it is and also suggests to me that it should be more like the football season—ah, but she misses the point altogether, at least on this point) journey of the baseball season is a comfort and reminds me that, at least for a spell, all is well with the world.
I ordered your “Becoming More by Doing Less” DVD to accompany your book that I picked up serendipitously a couple of months ago. I’m eagerly anticipating its arrival.
Think of snakes shedding skins or hermit crabs hopping off to find a new shell. In both cases landmarks change, colors morph, tastes take on a new cast and "tilt" occurs. We just don't expect it. Snakes take it for granted, and who knows, maybe the hermit crabs look forward to the adventure.
All is well as Hildegaarde says. Some little voice in my ear is whispering Chaucer as though a brief revisit to the Canterbury Tales might be helpful (don't know why).
Peace!
A serious storm front and several tornados blew through our small Bahamian island today leaving a tragic loss of life in the wake of destruction at our harbour. At least four people lost; possibly more. In the shock-waves that we're all feeling island-wide there are prayers going out to all those who have lost loved ones (and as connected as we all are in a small community, that's pretty much everyone), and a renewed sense of gratitude for all the roofs that are still intact. There is also a huge sense of that tilt you talked about. It is too rainy and windy still to go out into my own garden for some sense of solace and centeredness, so I turn to the familiar cyberspace plantings of more news and drama and messages in the midst of a numbness that takes over when the fragile nature of our existence here is sometimes too much to fully take in. When our illusion of safety is stripped away. I log on and find your blog post. Your comfort. Your garden. And understanding. I hesitated to write this right now, but it helps to write this, and I wanted to thank you for opening your heart and sharing your story, and to send my empathy for what you're going through. I find myself taking a deeper breath as I type this … the breathings of our hearts do bring us back to our rhythm, our gardens inside, no matter the weather. Amazing. The first ray of sun just peeked out as I finished that sentence. Thank you, Terry.
Terry,
Gorgeous moon-rise! Thank you for sharing.
This particular blog strikes a chord deep in my heart. Why do we allow ourselves (even for a moment!) to be defined by 'bad' news? We know our hearts, minds, souls, and bodies belong to God in service to others, so why do we allow ourselves to be swept away with 'bad' news? I don't know…. Perhaps with more prayer, more reflection, more 'pause', we will become less fearful and more faithful.
Anyway, thank you for this blog today– it was needed and appreciated. I wanted to share with you a version of Helen Keller's saying that was coined by Andrea of All People's Lutheran Church in Milwaukee: "Whenever God closes one door, he always opens another– even though sometimes it's hell in the hallway."
"What we are is God's gift to us. What we become is our gift to God." Eleanor Powell
I will have to remember this when I next have anhedonia (and now I know what to call it!)! And I love the quotes from Paul Tillich and Helen Keller! God bless!
Your transparency touches souls, Terry. Thanks for the strength you possess to be just that. You allow us to honor each others' challenges without fear of judgment. It is so very comforting
http://redshoeswalking.blogspot.com/2010/03/fluffy-grey-bundle-of-grace.html
Presently reading an excellent book by Terry Hershey called "The Power of Pause" (see links to visit his page/blog).
Terry is on about the importance to pause, to take time out, to smell the roses. His book should be mandatory reading for all over including students studying for their final exams and trying to find some space. It should be compulsory for their parents. It is brilliant (Terry, if you read this, have I given it a big enough plug?)
Friday afternoon I took Monty the dog for a walk and we sat in on the edge of the lake near our house. The bird life was spectacular as was the fish jumping in the late afternoon sun. Around the corner came a family of black swans, a dad and mum resplendent in their deep black regalia and a small fluffy grey cygnet.
They feed quietly along the bank and, as if to show of their prize possession, came right up to the bank where Monty and I was sitting, only a few feet away. They stayed and fed and made sure I got a good look before gliding away as a flotilla of three.
It took my breath away. Awesome in the full sense of that word.
How great it is too share special moments like that, sitting and simply being present to the naked now (another excellent book I am rereading by Richard Rohr – see links for his website).
I did nothing but sit and God revealed his grace, beauty and wonderful creation to me.
I think I will sit some more.
Hi Terry,
Woke up and couldn't sleep…again..oh the joy of sleep after 50. So I found this post of yours and hope the news you received is not keeping you up at night. Oh how often I have found myself in this same place…thinking how will I survive this news or this station or chapter of life I find myself in….then days, weeks, months, years pass and we realize…we do survive. You remind us to thrive in these times of survival…and for this I will be eternally grateful. I just finished Power of Pause…yes..I literally paused through the book over many months….savoring it and not wanting it to end….the sign of a really well written book. So now I will go back and do the little assignments suggestions at the end of each chapter and this way I get the book to last even longer. Thank you for writing this awesome book…it's sort of like a bible to me…for those days…and I seem to have way too many lately..that life just befuddles me. So my friend…I hope you are sleeping peacefully and now I will return myself to that place I love…slumber…and pray for a good dream….thank you again….just keep those books coming…they really are gems!