Good grief. How quickly hope fades to anxiety.
I walk the beach, am inspired by brilliance - laughing gulls; the breeze-kissed top of a softly curling wave; velvet sand. I'm soothed, cradled. I can breathe deep. God, it's been so long since I've been able to take a deep breath. The kind that's just a part of living; not the kind that comes in sighs that just can't get down there and empty things out - that shallow kind of grasp. Deep breathing is.....peaceable. It's like a floating helium-filled balloon. And yesterday, I was a dirigible. Not a hot-air balloon, but a flat out Goodyear blimp.
I soared. I could believe in anything and everything. I did not feel speck-like next to oceanic vastness, but rather, largess infused me. Tidal rhythm became my own pulse. I felt tethered to Creation - to a Sea-Mother pumping umbilical cord Life, inflating my very cells. Of course! Now I could see it. Dreams were the point; hope was the avenue. The present absurdity of my life was irrelevant. In this incubator of Creation, nothing was impossible.
And then I went inside.
Moving into the routine of tending - clicking on the TV, chopping tomatoes, setting my plate - helium started hissing. The Dream of a few hours ago now seemed so, fantastical, ridiculous, impossible. What the heck am I doing? This is reality, Carol. You are living over a garage, for Pete's sake. You need a job. You are 57 - you are aging; you gotta figure how you're going to take care of yourself. You are crazy! This is not the stuff of dreams, this is plain ol' husbandry - roof over your head, food on the table, an occasional trip to the beauty salon.
By the time I crawled into bed, a heavy-duty, northwest coastal storm began whipping and screaming outside. Like a startled child, I pulled the covers over my head to muff out the squalls and I heard instead, my own muffled cry. A panicked tantrum, insisting on battle lines - that something's got to win out. It's either hopes and dreams, or practical reality. I want the soaring of hope to banish the fear of an uncertain life. I want the dream to rub out the storm. I don't want the storm. I don't want the storm.
But this morning, the storm is still here....raging in gusts over 70 miles an hour. I pull up the shades and face the howls, and realize - both are true. Storms and dreams. Practicality and hope. Fear and peace. Husbandry and provision.
Now the question - how to live the paradox? How to live out a redemptive dream in the midst of a storm-ravaged dwelling?
4 comments:
Trust, faith and hope are an essence of your being. You ARE where you are supposed to be RIGHT now. Continue to hope.......never fail to trust and always dare to dream!
The Threshold of a Vision Quest:
"On the Vision Quest, you will go to "the Sacred Mountains" (or the Oregon coast) where for four days and nights you will throw yourself at the feet of what you hold to be sacred and pray for whatever the longing in your heart cries out for. As you surrender to the process, your cries will be answered: You will awaken to a new way of seeing. You will see through the boxes and story lines that have limited your vision of yourself and reality. You will face and let go of the personal demons that have held you back from flying into the freedom of your authentic presence and greater life fulfillment".
Yemanja be praised!
God has so much he wants to show you...trust in him.. for he is your best friend and more.... let him take you for the ride of this new life....
Aunt Carol,
I was thinking about you last night and this morning as the storm whipped through our neighborhood, too. It sounds like the storm's not over yet. I'm thinking about you- thank you for sharing so raw-ly (not sure if that's even a word), you're giving a lot of people a lot to ponder. You are so brave to put yourself out there in such a vulnerable way; just know that we are cheering for you. Big sloppy kiss from sophie:)
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