Silent for so long;
A grey wanderer far below
grappling with ancient foe
wounded and wounding.
who can give account
of the dark things stalking
old and hell-bent and unseen
gnawing at the roots of the world?
who would trouble the idle laughter
of those untouched by darkness?
thank you John Ronald Reuel for the only imagery that fits
20 November 2003
04 November 2003
"What do I do, Dan? I can't do it all!" Characteristically, I gave her the wrong answer. I don't deal well verbally with surprises, or women, and her words threw me off. "Uhh...close your eyes and paddle hard. That's what I do when I'm kayaking and I realize I'm about to be in over my head." Grit your teeth and bear it, woman! What a wise and sensitive thought.
Friday I went kayaking for the first time since February; instead of sensibly boating the tame and familiar Letchworth, we hit a new route in Caneadea. The farther we dragged our kayaks upriver, the more I realized just how technical this day was going to be. The fact that this would be the last chance to kayak before Tanzania kept me going. Minutes later, and against my better judgment, the river was carrying me swiftly towards the crux of the creek: a little pourover, where the river stops, drops several feet, and rolls on. The last time I met one of these small waterfalls, I got tubed and tumbled, bailed out of my kayak, and injured my shoulder. One thought: I can't do this. I'm going to fail again and life will be cold, wet, miserable and not fun.
I stop. I close my eyes. My life has stopped and all that is is the river, the rapid in front of me, and the line that I must take in order to be safe. Worries, daydreams, that nagging desire for sleep--all gone. In kayaking, the only way out is through. You cannot go back or get out. Wishful thinking, panic, and distractions are dangerous hindrances. So I stop, breathe deep, and I remember: loose hips, no flips; keep your paddle in the water; hold your weight forward; take the time for a deep mental breath underwater.
And above all, I remember that failure is not important. I have a life jacket and helmet; I have survived tougher rivers; Tim and Charlie have scouted the river and are confident that I can take it; and most importantly, those amazing paddlers are waiting on the other side, ready to snatch my boat and I out of the water and put us back together again.
Life is overwhelming. Sometimes I think I am in over my head. Sometimes I am. Don't get lost in the busyness. Stop. Take a walk. Close your eyes. Remember He Who is essential, what is important, and what is not. Pull back, fight your emotions for the high ground of perspective, and choose what to let go. Figure out what you truly stand to lose if you do fail, and above all remember the one who scouted out every drop in the river that lies before you and waits for you on the other side of this difficulty. Then open your eyes and paddle hard.
Friday I went kayaking for the first time since February; instead of sensibly boating the tame and familiar Letchworth, we hit a new route in Caneadea. The farther we dragged our kayaks upriver, the more I realized just how technical this day was going to be. The fact that this would be the last chance to kayak before Tanzania kept me going. Minutes later, and against my better judgment, the river was carrying me swiftly towards the crux of the creek: a little pourover, where the river stops, drops several feet, and rolls on. The last time I met one of these small waterfalls, I got tubed and tumbled, bailed out of my kayak, and injured my shoulder. One thought: I can't do this. I'm going to fail again and life will be cold, wet, miserable and not fun.
I stop. I close my eyes. My life has stopped and all that is is the river, the rapid in front of me, and the line that I must take in order to be safe. Worries, daydreams, that nagging desire for sleep--all gone. In kayaking, the only way out is through. You cannot go back or get out. Wishful thinking, panic, and distractions are dangerous hindrances. So I stop, breathe deep, and I remember: loose hips, no flips; keep your paddle in the water; hold your weight forward; take the time for a deep mental breath underwater.
And above all, I remember that failure is not important. I have a life jacket and helmet; I have survived tougher rivers; Tim and Charlie have scouted the river and are confident that I can take it; and most importantly, those amazing paddlers are waiting on the other side, ready to snatch my boat and I out of the water and put us back together again.
Life is overwhelming. Sometimes I think I am in over my head. Sometimes I am. Don't get lost in the busyness. Stop. Take a walk. Close your eyes. Remember He Who is essential, what is important, and what is not. Pull back, fight your emotions for the high ground of perspective, and choose what to let go. Figure out what you truly stand to lose if you do fail, and above all remember the one who scouted out every drop in the river that lies before you and waits for you on the other side of this difficulty. Then open your eyes and paddle hard.
03 November 2003
"Often our spiritual quest becomes a search for the right technique, the proper method, the perfect program that can immediately deliver the desired results of spiritual maturity and wholeness. Or we try to create the atmosphere for the 'right' spiritual moment, that 'perfect' setting in which God can touch us into instantaneous wholeness. If only we can find the right trick, the right book or the right guru, go to the right retreat, hear the right sermon, instantly we will be transformed into a new person at a new level of spirituality and wholeness...'It is the quest for the short cut which brings insight.' "
"A few years ago, I had a little boy. Then, within a year, he became a man. He went through one of those adolescent growth spurts. He grew almost a foot in height, his voice dropped into a deep bass, he began to shave, his body filled out--he was a different person. The same thing happens in our spiritual life. For a while we may live on a plateu of life and relationship with God. Then one of those moments comes in which we experience a growth spurt and find ourselves on a new level of life and relationship with God. We experience God in a new and different way. We see ourselves and life in a new perspective. Old things pass away, and new things take their place. But if we mistake such a growth spurt for all there is in spirituality, then we are not prepared for the long haul toward spiritual wholeness. We will tend to languish as we wait for another spurt to come along. Or we will try to reproduce the setting in which the previous spurt took place, hoping to create another such experience." --M. Robert Mulholland, Jr., Invitation to a Journey
The dark night of the soul; the waiting and hoping and despairing through long, cold desert nights, doing nothing, is not the absense of life and growth. It is an essential leg of the journey. It is the mile upon mile of plodding in silence and watching the backpack in front of you that must proceed the ecstasy of climbing mountains.
"A few years ago, I had a little boy. Then, within a year, he became a man. He went through one of those adolescent growth spurts. He grew almost a foot in height, his voice dropped into a deep bass, he began to shave, his body filled out--he was a different person. The same thing happens in our spiritual life. For a while we may live on a plateu of life and relationship with God. Then one of those moments comes in which we experience a growth spurt and find ourselves on a new level of life and relationship with God. We experience God in a new and different way. We see ourselves and life in a new perspective. Old things pass away, and new things take their place. But if we mistake such a growth spurt for all there is in spirituality, then we are not prepared for the long haul toward spiritual wholeness. We will tend to languish as we wait for another spurt to come along. Or we will try to reproduce the setting in which the previous spurt took place, hoping to create another such experience." --M. Robert Mulholland, Jr., Invitation to a Journey
The dark night of the soul; the waiting and hoping and despairing through long, cold desert nights, doing nothing, is not the absense of life and growth. It is an essential leg of the journey. It is the mile upon mile of plodding in silence and watching the backpack in front of you that must proceed the ecstasy of climbing mountains.
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