"I wish there were shortcuts to wisdom and self-knowledge: cuter abysses or three-day spa wilderness experiences. Sadly, it doesn't work that way. I so resent this." Anne Lamott, "Stitches"
*****
I was once told that it wasn't technically an experience in the wilderness if it looked familiar and came with a roadmap...or a Starbucks drive-thru. That simply experiencing discomfort, or putting half of a foot outside of the beloved comfort zone doth not a trek into the wilderness make.
Pity. I could sure use some landmarks right now. And that was my second clue that I had crossed into a thin space that holds the possibility for transformation. The first clue was the inner desire to run screaming in the opposite direction toward what is familiar and known.
Definitely thin space. Liminal space. Misty. Foggy. Steeped in possibility. All I have to do is breathe deeply and settle in for the journey and stop fighting it - stop focusing on the feeling of panic rising deep in my brain that connects immediately to my gut and pumps up the adrenaline and sends me running toward where I think the exit might be - but it is misty - foggy - and I can't find the exit, so in a panic I start looking for signs of the familiar...signs to lead me back to what I know...
...and that is not helpful (stop). I remember this from prior experiences in the wilderness - you can exhaust yourself trying to run back, and waste heaps of time in the process. And going back is not really your heart's desire. So you stop looking for signs that take you back, and instead (after a rest), start making peace with the wilderness. I remember - you do not leave until after you have settled in for a stay. Sadly, Annie is correct - there are no three-day spa wilderness experiences.
The journey is lonely, so I've asked John the Baptist to keep me company - whether he does so as a saint, story or root metaphor is up to him. I want an experienced traveling companion as I get acclimated to this wilderness, and he seems to know his way around. He is not afraid of the real - in real time - and has no need to pretty it up. He lets it be - and takes it right back to the basics. Repentance - change of direction - change of heart - metanoia. He is not so interested in hearing me carry on about why I find this time in the wilderness to be distressing - after all, I signed on for this. It is the desire of my heart to deepen my relationship with God - to live more fully in Spirit - to reflect more deeply that which is Christ. That happens here.
I feel the fear - that is real. And trust me, I hold no judgment against the people of Israel as they looked back over their shoulders and longed for Egypt - I get it. But as I let those feeling pass - and they do - I start to settle in to the stark beauty of this place of passage. And I know that all is well.
Time to look and listen from my heart - and to allow this to unfold, in its own time, and in its own way. (Which means I am not in control - and I truly hate that). But I do have control over some very important choices:
- I can choose to release the panic and stop racing towards the exit
- I can choose to settle in to this place of transformation, even though it is so - so - wild
- I can choose to put into practice all I have been learning about a balanced, contemplative life, and
allow these lessons to sustain me on this journey
- I can trust the process, and stop searching for the map leading out of this wilderness - I will
emerge when it is time
- I can open my heart to the many ways that God lovingly "gentles" me through this time of passage
- I can be. Now.
The early morning drive to church was beautiful, with an amazing rosy sky before me, and my head full of thoughts. "Will I know what to do, or where to go? Will I know which way to go? Will I see clearly?" As these thoughts raced on their familiar circuit through my brain, that quiet voice in my heart told me to look to my left. Off to my left was a hotel - and high on top of the roof ridge stood two Canada Geese, surveying all that was before them. And the voice said, "when it is time, you will see clearly." And I laughed - these two webbed creatures on top of a hotel roof ridge taking it all in - picking the right next spot to land. The voice said, "you've got this." I took a deep breath and said, "I've got this." Then I added, "we've got this" -
- this is not a journey to make alone.
Resting for the night,
Kim
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