Becoming oneself

An extra  half-cup of not-especially strong coffee, looking  around the kitchen as I plan supper, checking out what needs to be cooked before it goes off (those big brown mushrooms, the slightly wilting Swiss chard, the last two tomatoes) , what can be done with left-overs of boiled rice and  baked butternut.

 

Thinking too about the woman, a friend of a friend, who came and spoke with me yesterday about doing a spiritual  retreat, somebody who  has never as far as I can tell, spent any time alone with herself, let alone with silence or  any sought presence or  mystery. I know many  people like her, who have grown up  in churches where the  crucial question ‘Is any of this true?’ is never asked, in families where ingratitude or cruelty are the norm, where sons and  daughters emerge into adulthood obscurely guiltridden about themselves, and without any hunger for mystery or strangeness. People to whom religion  only signifies lies and  hypocrisy.  Who would rather  believe in ‘nothing’ than ‘something’ so as not to find oneself disappointed.  Or who  believe  what they were taught as children in order to stay children. Unparented  adult children of  disengaged parents, incurious, discontented or complacent, blinkered, adrift.

We have all been there and  many of us have  then found ourselves thrown into some dark night of suffering or awakening. We sit down in silence and  ask, ‘What else might be possible?’ and a new journey begins, we change direction, we  venture into unknown territory where the horizon lies in shadow.

 

The turning point of the year, the  seasons of lights in Hannukah and Diwali, Advent’s candles and wreaths, the  winter solstice for  some, the  high white midnights of mid-summer, the year about to end, turning and burning in darkness. I  go on reading Frederick Buechner each evening by lamplight, making notes to myself and  letting those sentences sink in.

Frederick Buechner:

“The original, shimmering self gets buried so deep that most of us end up hardly living out of it at all. Instead we live out all the other selves, which we are constantly putting on and taking off like coats and hats against the world’s weather”