On, In, and Around Mondays: The River Waves

I go to be alone. It's been a long week. And I took note, this morning, of a headline about how the most successful business people really know how to take a weekend.

My weekend has been okay so far. But my mind can hardly wrap itself around the day. Even though I've trimmed bushes, watered the cucumbers, scattered two children's treasure bags of seashells into my little herb garden.

Under the pine, I've stood and sprayed the white parasites from the underside of the branches, noting how such tiny, tiny insects have begun to suck the life out of my dear tall loved-one. (Maybe you remember how I sat under her, days and nights, for a year.)

Such tiny deaths, over and over, I think. These are what could bring her down.

I spray and think of the contrast. My pine slow-dying. My garden, slow-treasuring into a miniature memory of the sea.

And me?

How does a life slow-die, or slow-live? Can it be as simple as taking it one day at a time, and choosing the treasuring?

It might be.

So I listen to the tiredness inside me, and I go to the river, where I see pairs of geese and pairs of boats bobbing on the waves. A rolling repetition that soothes anyone who would take the time to see.



I watch the joy of children, so self-possessed in how they touch the day.





The water mesmerizes. Its motion. Its diamond dazzle. Its sound against the rocks.



I let it all wash over me. The breeze, the joy, the sounds. I can feel the fatigue falling away.



Yes, I stay longer than I planned. The sun begins to set. And I am one now, with the waves. We move together, it seems, to lap our treasures to the shore.


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On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)



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This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...

Arrested

Empty. Wordless. Unmotivated. Arrested in my thoughts.

Not the usual fare for when I go away. In fact, I often do my best writing, my most poetic writing when I travel. But my last two trips in the last two weeks, to the "T" states, Texas and Tennessee, yielded nothing.

I didn't write one poem. Didn't do a single journal entry. I only wrote this because I'd made a promise to Jim to do a co-post. It was a real effort, a near-miss.

Perhaps it is not fair to say yielded nothing. Because what I found was a deep sense of connectedness with these places. I found that my eyes were wide open to hummingbirds and mallard ducks, my ears attentive to the unique whispers of creek and lake, canyon and sandbar. And I felt a profound sense of connection to people.





At Laity Lodge in Texas, I was particularly touched to meet a new friend named Perri (that's us holding hands above). And at a hospitable home in Tennessee, I was greatly moved by spending a few hours in the company of a group of women who had read Stone Crossings and who wanted to meet me. The circles of hands and feet are Sandy, Christine, Laura, Lue, Joan, Twila, Esther, Lee-Ann, Kathy Y., Mona, Cate, Kathy E., and Mary— sorry if I've misspelled any of your names! (Oh, and on Sunday I met their pastor, Dennis Mullen and we had a great discussion about books.)






Tonight, I thought I may tell about this meeting in my next book. Because it felt like a turning point for me, in which I was dearly open to embracing and nurturing a group of women. I just might put it in my chapter on submission. We'll see. In any case, these women with their poignant stories of pain, their longings, their loves and humors and questions, truly entered my heart and gave me joy.

I also had occasion to chat with Erin one day while I was in Tennessee. I told her how empty and wordless I was feeling. How I didn't even feel like writing about God anymore. She told me to look at the grass blowing in the breeze, just because it is pretty. There was no grass, but I went out on the deck and gazed at the lake. I watched a grey heron fly out over the water. I marveled at the roundness of tiny pinecones and tiny unidentified birds. Turtles made little plopping sounds and ducks talked softly. I was arrested by the beauty of the place.

And when I came home, I found words.


Lake in Tennessee, Perri and LL, Tennesse Book Club photos. By L.L. Barkat.

STONE CROSSINGS:

Heather's Stone Crossings Video

Ted's book club post: Sugar Face: Forgiveness

Wordless

It seems that after a vacation and perhaps especially after a hectic time like Christmas, we find ourselves nearly wordless. The blogosphere embodies this, as we see people posting less, commenting less, or simply commenting in fewer words. (At least this is how it goes in my blog communities.)

I think this is okay. Healthy. Even desirable. To accept silence.

Regarding silence, Ruth Haley Barton says,

[It] helps us drop beneath the superficiality of our mental constructs to that place of the heart that is deeper in its reality than anything the mind can capture or express in words. It is a place of longing and desire and reaching for that which we do not yet have....When we give in to the exhaustion that comes from trying to put everything into words and mental concepts, we give our mind permission to just stop. We give ourselves over to the experience of the Reality itself. (p.74-75)

I'm thinking that this is a small reason why I first made a commitment to go outside every day, into silence, beginning last January. We need those places where we can be wordless, where we can listen to the voice of God while we ourselves sit quiet, free, and open to a much-needed rest.

Maybe we should simply declare January as a month of wordlessness. Or at least seek out a secret place where we needn't speak. Not even one little word.

Old Fashioned Typewriter photo by L.L. Barkat.

Taking Care

Over the break, I read Invitation to Solitude and Silence by Ruth Haley Barton. Almost every page left me thinking, "Yes, this is how life should be! Relaxed, meaningful, steady."

But relaxation, meaning and steadiness don't simply show up. We must engage them in a courtship. Spend time alone. Take care of our bodies and souls.

Of course Barton spends a whole book on this topic, but one of my favorite parts was her discussion of taking care of our bodies. "It can be hard and humbling," she says, "to pay attention to your body, whatever state it is in, because it brings you face to face with your finiteness, your vulnerability." (p.64) But we should pay attention. After all, as she quotes from Dorothy Bass...

As the place where the divine Presence dwells, our bodies are worthy of care and blessing and ought never to be degraded or exploited. It is through our bodies that we participate in God's activity in the world. (p.66)

To assist us in beginning to take care, Barton ends by offering a "practice", which I think is worth sharing here...

Take three deep, slow breaths— long inhalations as well as exhalations. Close your eyes... [rest] openly and simply in God's presence for a few moments. Notice how things are with your body these days. What feels tired? What feels energized? What hurts or aches or feels tight? What feels good and strong and well? Does your body feel loved and cared for or unbalanced and abused? (p.68-69)

After this, she simply suggests that we accept whatever gift we might need. Rest. A walk. Or just sitting down and continuing to relish in God's presence. Whatever. Yes, whatever we need to do... to take care.


Amber Field photo art by J Barkat. Used with permission. Seedlings Invitation: If you write a post related to this post and Link It Back Here, let me know and I'll link to yours.

NEW LINKS TO THIS POST:

LL's Comfort and Care