However it just can't be helped. We return through different questions to the same central issue: How do we live fully? How do we live in such a way that the wonder of being in joy outfuels the pain of breaking?
"I'm not sure," Mark Nepo writes, "faith seems crucial; the ability to inhabit the breadth and depth of our compassion, to know, even in the dark center of our pain, that somewhere out of view there is joy and wonder; that even when we tumble we are part of a current larger than our own design. This is a tough bit of consciousness to ask for," he says, and yet even failing, faith--the life of intention-- is possible.
The question has cycled around me throughout my lifetime. No matter how eloquent I may be, or studied and informed, even smack on the mark, the question dogs me, humbles me, and even terrorizes me. How the heck do I LIVE? I mean getting up in the morning, finding my way through the morass of lethargic and whiney complaints my other selves insinuate, and like osmosis, infiltrate the best fortifications of myself. I would love to say that I awaken with God on my lips, and love in my heart, and all fears quieted by the restful sleep and peaceful dreams I have been gifted to receive. Not so. Mostly I'm awake, and I've forgotten all the words. All the smart systems that will delineate and extol the tools and structures of the psyche have fled, and often what is left is a simple 'oh'. Then, not long after the 'oh', I put on my remembering. In the re-membering is a mere hint of my call to the day. "Here I come", I say as my feet hit the floor and as they conform, so my spirit begins to coalesce the shadowy form of God's conscious love. "Oh yes," I say, "I forgot. I forgot how the Creator calls me and surrounds me with love. How the creator calls me the beloved." There is intention and meaning in my small view of life, even if it needs a cup of coffee in order to fully awaken from the blur.
On these particular days I yearn for the insistence of children calling or crying; habitual routines that skip jump me past what seems to me to be a deeply myopic way of awakening. I don't necessarily want to awaken to me, I am so better programmed to awakening to someone else, sometimes anyone will do. Their insistence brings me to and moves me into the mechanisms of my day, so that somewhere along the way, I can truly say 'good morning' to myself and become present.
How then do I LIVE is the question of the first few moments of my day. Often before daylight I hear the psalmists words 'during the watches of the night, I yearn for you O God (Ps. 61, 68). Even my own words dog me. ' Remember the liturgy of our days, rising, gratitude, love and work and relationships that over time become so sweet.'
Indeed, I begin my day's work with such a sense of humble solidarity with those who come for solace, instruction, for hope and care, and direction. "I don't know much", I want to cry. And yet in those nanoseconds of my first consciousness, the Spirit wafts in, materializes within me and I follow. Even though wakefulness sometimes begins with a hint of confusion, yes, I follow, and as the daily business of resurrection begins, fear somehow gives way, and control gives way, for it is no longer a living for, but a living out and once out and kept open, the Belovedness of Christ flows in. Faith then, can be no more than the daily willingness and courage to walk along with the mystery of grace, practicing resurrection step by step.
A blessed Easter to you all. Lets all walk together.