Recently, I've been dealing with some serious decisions. I'm not going into them specifically. It's more about how I'm making them and facing them.
It is stretching me in some ways I hadn't noticed needed stretching. That's when the story of Jesus and the Rich Young Ruler came to mind. I realized this is my story right now. I'm that guy.
The story is that a wealthy young man came up to Jesus and, calling him Teacher, asks what he has to do to receive eternal life. Jesus says, "You know the commandments." To which the man replies, "I've done all that since I was a kid." Obviously not convinced this would do it for him. Jesus looks on him with affection at this and says, "You still lack one thing (one version says, "if you would be perfect"): sell everything you own and give to the poor, so you'll have treasure in heaven, then take up your cross and follow me." The man goes away sad at this because it says he had great wealth.
A couple things jump out to me. One, the guy really wants to know. He came to find Jesus and he knows keeping the rules is good, but he needs more. Jesus realizes this and loves the guy for it. Jesus isn't being dismissive or argumentative. So I think he tells him what he really needs to do. But the guy is obviously struggling with how to do it.
Here's the thing. I'm being faced with this exact choice. While I'm certainly not rich by American standards, I am above the median in my area and worldwide, that's in the untouchable category. I lack nothing material. I can afford anything I want within stretch of reason. I'm far better off than many people around me. But I'm faced with an opportunity that will require me to sell everything I own and leave this life.
So I know what this guy was feeling. I have everything we're taught to strive for. Everything we're told is a blessing. I have a great stable job, in my field, with lots of freedom and good benefits. I have no debt and my kid's college is totally paid for. I could sit back and save up, travel, do good with my money, and retire comfortably into a life where I could do the good work I want to do fulltime...of course none of this is certain, but barring unforeseen changes, it'll happen. But here I have this choice foisted in my lap. I have asked Jesus to make me like him. To perfect me. And here I have the same dang choice. Family is on board, advisors are on board, friends are on board. I'm just reluctant to give up this stuff, the security of material things and familiar ways. What if I'm wrong? What if this or that happens? But at the root, I know what I'm worried about.
You see, I'm this guy! Jesus has just said, "You can stay, you know the commandments, you have lived it; do that." But I'm still not satisfied and I asked the question, half afraid of the answer...and I got the blasted answer. If I want to be perfect, I have to sell all my possessions (or give them away) and step into this life which is no slouchy opportunity and quite an honor at my age, but potentially much less materially lucrative and less stable. I've counted the cost. It's not totally unknown to me. But what if...what will I be capable of? what kind of life will open up to me? Maybe the life of adventure and discovery I've dreamed of. Maybe a life of peace and goodness I never thought actually possible. Maybe a disaster that burns away all my dross and refines me into polished folded steel, a true Glass Dog. I'll never know if I don't go.
So here's the thing. The story ends there. We don't know what the guy did. But if he is me, I can imagine he thought about it just like I am. We are of one mind here in some mystical way, I'm sure. I know I'm loved, that's why Jesus offered me this opportunity. It is building that one thing I lack in me. How much do I want it? Will I sell everything to buy the pearl of great price, to mix in another story? When I see it like this, this strange feeling overcomes me and from deep inside my soul jumps up and yells, "Here I am, SEND ME!" Yes! I want to go! I want to do it. I am a follower of Jesus, not in name only, but in heart and action. I have to. What else can I do? I asked to get out of the boat and deuce if he didn't say, "Come." And I'm standing here like, "Well that wasn't what I expected." And he's saying, "Did you think I wasn't serious? Did you think I wasn't real? You don't have to. Take the blue pill and all is well, I won't even mention it. But if you want to be perfect..."
Good God, I'm coming! Don't let me fall! I'm about to walk on water.
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
Monday, March 31, 2014
Majik...or something like it
People used to say that certain places had a strange effect on people. It's picked up in stories, novels, movies. There's a sort of Majik (I spell it this way to refer to the sublime natural sort of mysterious power as opposed to the trickery people do on stages or the evil sort of sorcery) that can make people get lost, hurt themselves, forget, disappear, or a variety of other things that vary in ominousity. I've long known that the further away from the things of man one goes, the closer to the Majikal, one gets. I've also always believed that many natural happenings are explained in a sort of mythical fashion as an innate way of transferring oral knowledge...like storytelling. Thus there is truth in many myths. Recently, I had occasion to take these beliefs out for a test run...Or rather I was tossed out of the boat with them, so to speak, and left to see what floats.
My bushcraft is pretty strong. I've been in the woods, swamps, oceans, mountains, all my life. Every week, I strip down to the barest means I can handle and run in the swamps that surround my area of Florida. Mostly this means me in a pair of shorts and some Feiyue Tiger Claws, (think shaolin shoes). Sometimes I ditch the shoes too. but no shirt, no phone. Just me. It's my time to "Walk with Him in the Garden". It's my truest house of worship, just like Jesus went up in the mountains or gardens to pray.
Over time, I've gotten to know my favorite spots. If you know the area, I start out in the Morris Bridge Trails. It's a dirt lot with a trail head that hikers and mountain bikers frequent. From there, I disappear into the woods, heading downhill into the slough, a ribbon like swamp of virgin cypress, elms, and other hardwoods. Half of the year, it's under water, but at this time of year, it's mostly dry. Trails slip through at various points, but in the deepest part, I frequently veer offtrail into the slough itself and "chase the spirits". Here I can hop the logs, balance across spans, dodge cypress knees, and let go. I'll frequently find myself exhausted and stop for a rest, where I encounter other denizens of the nonhuman sort. I've eavesdropped on a coversation between a mama raccoon and her two kids. Talked with otters, charged and been charged by hogs, hopped with deer, and angered a good deal of squirrels just by being in sight. I've also seen God part the veil and speak to me in amazing ways. I'm totally at ease here. I've even dozed off in the flowers once or twice.
After a bit, I'll make my way back to the trails and head back to civilization. On occasion I've overshot my mark and had to run around the long way to get back or popped out unexpectedly in a place I didn't realize I was heading to. But there are days, like this past Friday, where the world there is different.
This Friday, there was no sun. It's rare here in the Sunshine State, but we do get a few totally overcast days where the brightness of the sun is not discernible through the grey blanket. This day was one of those. It makes the colors of the swamp come alive. The greens and reds and yellows explode in vivid splashes. Particularly at this time of year, the open areas under the trees are a solid field of yellow asters, waist high. So on this day, I found a nice piece of chert, a type of flint. I decided to try napping it into a tool, like our ancestors did. So I plunged offtrail into the sea of yellow far enough to not be a distraction to the few bikers who might zip by on the trail in the early afternoon.
The smell of the flowers was dizzying. Bees swung around full and drunk. I found a large tree with a flat root, perfect as a base for chipping. I protected it with bark and went to work. In 15 minutes I had a useful hand ax and tried it on the branch of an elm sapling. It cut quite nice for my unexperienced hand. I then cached it and my striking stone in a hollow and headed back.
Running in the woods is different than walking. You aren't focused on the distance as much as the nearest step, because you have to adjust your foot placement rapidly to avoid the many obstacles. So it's common to zigzag a bit as you make your way back. So when I didn't hit the trail where I expected, I figured it turned and I overshot it, so I veered left to meet it again. Pretty soon, I realized, I must be much further east than I thought. The trail was just not there. The endless field of yellow was crisscrossed with hog and deer paths. I even woke up one sleepy pig who stuck himself under a log and had to frantically dig himself out while I stood overtop encouraging him. Nothing looked familiar, as it usually doesn't, so I just kept moving ahead thinking I'd hit the powerline eventually and work back that way.
About 30 minutes later, I hit a trail. OK, I thought. This must be my usual trail, just east of my turn, I've been there before when I overshoot, so I turned left and ran on. But pretty soon the trail widened and I began to see horse prints, then manure. I was in the Equestrian park to the south! As shocking as this may seem, to be heading south instead of north, it has happened before. That time, I fell asleep and then jumped up and ran the wrong way out. With no sun, I couldn't tell. But this time, I had not lost my orientation. I had distinctly headed back north from the tree, the way I had come in.
So these woods, must be the majik kind. It is a virgin swamp afterall. It's not the first time trails had seemingly moved on me in these kinds of places. But I could hear traffic, so I knew that must be the interstate. In a few minutes, I should pop out on the edge of the equestrian trails and could shoot back north through a familiar part of the slough. I ran on.
Then, I spotted the clearing. But beyond it was not the mound of spoil I expected by the canal. It was a house! OK, I must be still east where the houses come up to the equestrian park. I'll just head right and find the spoil. (Keep track of these directions and see if I'm not correct.)
Soon, I hit a fence and a street. There should be no street. The houses back right up to the park. I had no idea where I was and for the first time a larger than normal spookiness shot through me. Still, experienced, as I am, I simply slid through the barbed wire and looked for a street sign. 200 meters down, I found one...My blood chilled. I had no idea where this street was. I looked left, then right. I looked up at the grey blanket. I had no idea if I was looking north or south, east or west. I didn't know this street. It could be anywhere around a large range of wilderness. But not to panic. I could always swallow my pride and knock on a door to ask where I was. Then run very fast if the homeowner levelled a shotgun at the half naked man covered in mud and leaves on her porch. I listened and heard traffic again very close. I ran that way. Over a short rise, I could see it. It wasn't the interstate, so it had to be Fowler or Morris Bridge Rd. For those out of the area, these streets are on the south and north of the wilderness respectively. If Morris, I was closer to the parking lot than I thought. If Fowler, I had a long run back, but no big deal.
At the intersection, I was stunned again. This was neither of the streets I expected. This was US 301! This highway runs north on the eastern edge of the wilderness from east Tampa up into Zephyrhills. I hadn't crossed a river, or a road, so I had to be on the west side of the road. Plus cars were zipping from right to left, which at that time of day, must be northbound. But I had no idea how far along the road I was. I didn't recognize the intersection. So I turned right, or south (I hoped) since I was praying to be close to Fowler.
That's when I saw that I was north of County Road 579. Good grief, I was in Thonotosassa! I couldn't have gotten farther from where I wanted to be without crossing a major feature like a river or other blatant directional landmark. That takes a certain kind of bad luck; almost intentional. I didn't know where my little street went the other way, and didn't want to get twisted up in the swamp again this close to dusk, so I decided there was nothing to it, but to hoof it along the road.
I ran, and walked some, and struggled to find saliva in my now dry mouth. Then I ran some more, and some more. I couldn't buy a drink because I had no money. I couldn't go into a store because I had no shirt. I couldn't call anyone because my phone, along with my water, and wallet, were in the truck at the COMPLETELY OPPOSITE CORNER OF THE DANG WOODS!
Eventually I debated sneaking up to a house and swigging some water from a hose, but in that part of town, the thought of shotguns and dogs were quite real, especially for a half-naked, dirty, long-haired mutt like me. Of course, hospitality would have easily prompted anyone to spare me a cup if I'd asked, but I truthfully wasn't in that sort of need and didn't want to pretend to it, which would not only be dishonest, but would likely prompt them to also help me more than I wanted. So I followed the tenet of "get yourself in, get yourself out" and pressed on around the Big Top Flea Market and up the canal toward relief.
After one more short detour around the mouth of the creek I had started in, followed by one more quick twist of directions in the woods, I wound up right back on the canal where I gave up and decided to cross through the caretaker's property despite the glaring signs prohibiting it. Of course, right as I neared the sign on the far side of the property, my leg gave up and cramped. And of course right as I hobbled on past it, the caretaker's wife rolled up in her truck and asked me if she could help me in that tone that says, "you know you shouldn't be here." Having been thus humbled, I dropped my head and sheepishly declared I had gotten lost and just found my way out. She nodded understanding, asked if I was alright otherwise, to which I responded by pointing to my truck a few hundred meters away. She bid me a kind good day and I stumbled into the truck where I downed a bottle of water, answered some texts from my now worried wife, and drove home to a sick stomach, which was quickly cured with ample does of salt and simple carbs. The only lasting injury is my pride, and that's for the better.
In the end, I was in no real danger, other than being overly tired and late. I could find my way out to some point simply by following traffic noise, so I wasn't going to die in there. I had prayed for God to do with me what he wanted on that run and he obliged. I had asked for him to show me what he would, and he did. Once more, I learned about myself, both my abilities and my limits. I learned about His care for me, even in seemingly uncontrolled situations. And I learned that my granddad knew something when he said in his slingblade accent, " 'ere's sump'm in 'em 'oods a'makes ee'n 'em 'at knows 'eysef go a bit auter hids."
My bushcraft is pretty strong. I've been in the woods, swamps, oceans, mountains, all my life. Every week, I strip down to the barest means I can handle and run in the swamps that surround my area of Florida. Mostly this means me in a pair of shorts and some Feiyue Tiger Claws, (think shaolin shoes). Sometimes I ditch the shoes too. but no shirt, no phone. Just me. It's my time to "Walk with Him in the Garden". It's my truest house of worship, just like Jesus went up in the mountains or gardens to pray.
Over time, I've gotten to know my favorite spots. If you know the area, I start out in the Morris Bridge Trails. It's a dirt lot with a trail head that hikers and mountain bikers frequent. From there, I disappear into the woods, heading downhill into the slough, a ribbon like swamp of virgin cypress, elms, and other hardwoods. Half of the year, it's under water, but at this time of year, it's mostly dry. Trails slip through at various points, but in the deepest part, I frequently veer offtrail into the slough itself and "chase the spirits". Here I can hop the logs, balance across spans, dodge cypress knees, and let go. I'll frequently find myself exhausted and stop for a rest, where I encounter other denizens of the nonhuman sort. I've eavesdropped on a coversation between a mama raccoon and her two kids. Talked with otters, charged and been charged by hogs, hopped with deer, and angered a good deal of squirrels just by being in sight. I've also seen God part the veil and speak to me in amazing ways. I'm totally at ease here. I've even dozed off in the flowers once or twice.
After a bit, I'll make my way back to the trails and head back to civilization. On occasion I've overshot my mark and had to run around the long way to get back or popped out unexpectedly in a place I didn't realize I was heading to. But there are days, like this past Friday, where the world there is different.
This Friday, there was no sun. It's rare here in the Sunshine State, but we do get a few totally overcast days where the brightness of the sun is not discernible through the grey blanket. This day was one of those. It makes the colors of the swamp come alive. The greens and reds and yellows explode in vivid splashes. Particularly at this time of year, the open areas under the trees are a solid field of yellow asters, waist high. So on this day, I found a nice piece of chert, a type of flint. I decided to try napping it into a tool, like our ancestors did. So I plunged offtrail into the sea of yellow far enough to not be a distraction to the few bikers who might zip by on the trail in the early afternoon.
The smell of the flowers was dizzying. Bees swung around full and drunk. I found a large tree with a flat root, perfect as a base for chipping. I protected it with bark and went to work. In 15 minutes I had a useful hand ax and tried it on the branch of an elm sapling. It cut quite nice for my unexperienced hand. I then cached it and my striking stone in a hollow and headed back.
Running in the woods is different than walking. You aren't focused on the distance as much as the nearest step, because you have to adjust your foot placement rapidly to avoid the many obstacles. So it's common to zigzag a bit as you make your way back. So when I didn't hit the trail where I expected, I figured it turned and I overshot it, so I veered left to meet it again. Pretty soon, I realized, I must be much further east than I thought. The trail was just not there. The endless field of yellow was crisscrossed with hog and deer paths. I even woke up one sleepy pig who stuck himself under a log and had to frantically dig himself out while I stood overtop encouraging him. Nothing looked familiar, as it usually doesn't, so I just kept moving ahead thinking I'd hit the powerline eventually and work back that way.
About 30 minutes later, I hit a trail. OK, I thought. This must be my usual trail, just east of my turn, I've been there before when I overshoot, so I turned left and ran on. But pretty soon the trail widened and I began to see horse prints, then manure. I was in the Equestrian park to the south! As shocking as this may seem, to be heading south instead of north, it has happened before. That time, I fell asleep and then jumped up and ran the wrong way out. With no sun, I couldn't tell. But this time, I had not lost my orientation. I had distinctly headed back north from the tree, the way I had come in.
So these woods, must be the majik kind. It is a virgin swamp afterall. It's not the first time trails had seemingly moved on me in these kinds of places. But I could hear traffic, so I knew that must be the interstate. In a few minutes, I should pop out on the edge of the equestrian trails and could shoot back north through a familiar part of the slough. I ran on.
Then, I spotted the clearing. But beyond it was not the mound of spoil I expected by the canal. It was a house! OK, I must be still east where the houses come up to the equestrian park. I'll just head right and find the spoil. (Keep track of these directions and see if I'm not correct.)
Soon, I hit a fence and a street. There should be no street. The houses back right up to the park. I had no idea where I was and for the first time a larger than normal spookiness shot through me. Still, experienced, as I am, I simply slid through the barbed wire and looked for a street sign. 200 meters down, I found one...My blood chilled. I had no idea where this street was. I looked left, then right. I looked up at the grey blanket. I had no idea if I was looking north or south, east or west. I didn't know this street. It could be anywhere around a large range of wilderness. But not to panic. I could always swallow my pride and knock on a door to ask where I was. Then run very fast if the homeowner levelled a shotgun at the half naked man covered in mud and leaves on her porch. I listened and heard traffic again very close. I ran that way. Over a short rise, I could see it. It wasn't the interstate, so it had to be Fowler or Morris Bridge Rd. For those out of the area, these streets are on the south and north of the wilderness respectively. If Morris, I was closer to the parking lot than I thought. If Fowler, I had a long run back, but no big deal.
At the intersection, I was stunned again. This was neither of the streets I expected. This was US 301! This highway runs north on the eastern edge of the wilderness from east Tampa up into Zephyrhills. I hadn't crossed a river, or a road, so I had to be on the west side of the road. Plus cars were zipping from right to left, which at that time of day, must be northbound. But I had no idea how far along the road I was. I didn't recognize the intersection. So I turned right, or south (I hoped) since I was praying to be close to Fowler.
That's when I saw that I was north of County Road 579. Good grief, I was in Thonotosassa! I couldn't have gotten farther from where I wanted to be without crossing a major feature like a river or other blatant directional landmark. That takes a certain kind of bad luck; almost intentional. I didn't know where my little street went the other way, and didn't want to get twisted up in the swamp again this close to dusk, so I decided there was nothing to it, but to hoof it along the road.
I ran, and walked some, and struggled to find saliva in my now dry mouth. Then I ran some more, and some more. I couldn't buy a drink because I had no money. I couldn't go into a store because I had no shirt. I couldn't call anyone because my phone, along with my water, and wallet, were in the truck at the COMPLETELY OPPOSITE CORNER OF THE DANG WOODS!
Eventually I debated sneaking up to a house and swigging some water from a hose, but in that part of town, the thought of shotguns and dogs were quite real, especially for a half-naked, dirty, long-haired mutt like me. Of course, hospitality would have easily prompted anyone to spare me a cup if I'd asked, but I truthfully wasn't in that sort of need and didn't want to pretend to it, which would not only be dishonest, but would likely prompt them to also help me more than I wanted. So I followed the tenet of "get yourself in, get yourself out" and pressed on around the Big Top Flea Market and up the canal toward relief.
After one more short detour around the mouth of the creek I had started in, followed by one more quick twist of directions in the woods, I wound up right back on the canal where I gave up and decided to cross through the caretaker's property despite the glaring signs prohibiting it. Of course, right as I neared the sign on the far side of the property, my leg gave up and cramped. And of course right as I hobbled on past it, the caretaker's wife rolled up in her truck and asked me if she could help me in that tone that says, "you know you shouldn't be here." Having been thus humbled, I dropped my head and sheepishly declared I had gotten lost and just found my way out. She nodded understanding, asked if I was alright otherwise, to which I responded by pointing to my truck a few hundred meters away. She bid me a kind good day and I stumbled into the truck where I downed a bottle of water, answered some texts from my now worried wife, and drove home to a sick stomach, which was quickly cured with ample does of salt and simple carbs. The only lasting injury is my pride, and that's for the better.
In the end, I was in no real danger, other than being overly tired and late. I could find my way out to some point simply by following traffic noise, so I wasn't going to die in there. I had prayed for God to do with me what he wanted on that run and he obliged. I had asked for him to show me what he would, and he did. Once more, I learned about myself, both my abilities and my limits. I learned about His care for me, even in seemingly uncontrolled situations. And I learned that my granddad knew something when he said in his slingblade accent, " 'ere's sump'm in 'em 'oods a'makes ee'n 'em 'at knows 'eysef go a bit auter hids."
Friday, December 27, 2013
Cages
A couple of things are rolling around in my head. One has to do with joy. What is it? I've read the definition, but it seems inadequate. Maybe I've just not experienced it. I know peace (which is an inner quiet). I know happiness (which is dependent on circumstances). But I can't say I've ever known an abiding gladness...Perhaps I have, there was a time I think I had it. Things weren't perfect, but I just seemed to be glad, positive, most of the time.
Though, it seems this had much to do with the circumstances, which would pull it into the realm of happiness, right? I distinctly remember frustrations and difficulties then, so I know this isn't a rosy memory (though I don't have those anyway). Truly, I tend to see always the bad, so to remember a time of happiness that was longer than fleeting is something.
Just recently, I have felt a deep need for joy. I even almost felt it yesterday, but it escaped me before I could fully feel it. It was like a shadow of it, or a snatch of music heard indistinctly. And then it was gone.
This transitions nicely into the other thing in my head...I'd wondered how they would relate. I have blogged previously about my naturally darker nature. I have to accept it. I have tried to change it, ignore it, etc. But it is part of me, and this is not necessarily a defect.
So what stands in my way? I think it has to do with cages, fetters. I despise them. I hate being tied down or restricted. Not all restrictions; some are necessary, I know that. But the unnecessary tangles of life, those I hate. Mortgages, bills, tenuous family obligations. These are drudgery and torture. Give me one day when I am stuck at home with nothing to do and unable to leave because of something like, my son is out playing and too young to leave alone...and I'm prowling the floors like a tiger, looking for anything to occupy the restlessness. Read, watch pointless TV; this only goes so far. Sleep; that too only covers so much. This is why I make so many things with my hands...anything to occupy my mind when I can't go and do.
My wife seems to like those times. Relaxing, she calls it. It's torture. I want to rip the walls down. Sometimes I'll go outside, but I'm surrounded by acres and acres of more little cages with small caged streets and bigger caged streets and fences, all hemming me into this world of cushy padded nothing.
Granted, it is good to be safe and secure. This is a blessing I would not withhold from anyone. I think what is missing in it is meaning. Real depth. Challenge. I am so in love with adventure stories, books, movies. I want to be swept away on some quest or mission. I want every moment to feel vibrant and real. Then when I return home, I'll want to be here. To rest and enjoy the peace. But eventually to go back out into the world again.
I do not pretend to have missed my calling. I am what I should be, or on the journey toward it. But at times like these, especially around holidays when I am sitting around endlessly, it gets to me. I want my family to join me. But they are not that type. I can't make my wife into what she is not. My son will join some, but is also content to sit and putter.
I work my life to be as free as possible, but everywhere, people throw fetters on. We're not good citizens if we aren't chained down a hundred ways. And so I sit, and prowl, and make something, and prowl. I may even get fed up and disappear for a short time, but the chains of responsibility will pull me back again.
I will step out on the road and wish for something to happen that breaks the chains.
Actually...I think I've just hit something else. My anxiety from being around other people comes precisely because I am so looking for this kind of life. I feel like the Ranger sitting cloaked in the corner, ever watchful, ever ready to strike, to move, to go. But outside is nothing but padded walls and fat docile pets. With expectation of something more and no where to direct it, everywhere becomes a source of irritation, anxiety. It's like the tiger who attacks the one who feeds it, or an innocent bystander. I just want out of the cage.
Though, it seems this had much to do with the circumstances, which would pull it into the realm of happiness, right? I distinctly remember frustrations and difficulties then, so I know this isn't a rosy memory (though I don't have those anyway). Truly, I tend to see always the bad, so to remember a time of happiness that was longer than fleeting is something.
Just recently, I have felt a deep need for joy. I even almost felt it yesterday, but it escaped me before I could fully feel it. It was like a shadow of it, or a snatch of music heard indistinctly. And then it was gone.
This transitions nicely into the other thing in my head...I'd wondered how they would relate. I have blogged previously about my naturally darker nature. I have to accept it. I have tried to change it, ignore it, etc. But it is part of me, and this is not necessarily a defect.
So what stands in my way? I think it has to do with cages, fetters. I despise them. I hate being tied down or restricted. Not all restrictions; some are necessary, I know that. But the unnecessary tangles of life, those I hate. Mortgages, bills, tenuous family obligations. These are drudgery and torture. Give me one day when I am stuck at home with nothing to do and unable to leave because of something like, my son is out playing and too young to leave alone...and I'm prowling the floors like a tiger, looking for anything to occupy the restlessness. Read, watch pointless TV; this only goes so far. Sleep; that too only covers so much. This is why I make so many things with my hands...anything to occupy my mind when I can't go and do.
My wife seems to like those times. Relaxing, she calls it. It's torture. I want to rip the walls down. Sometimes I'll go outside, but I'm surrounded by acres and acres of more little cages with small caged streets and bigger caged streets and fences, all hemming me into this world of cushy padded nothing.
Granted, it is good to be safe and secure. This is a blessing I would not withhold from anyone. I think what is missing in it is meaning. Real depth. Challenge. I am so in love with adventure stories, books, movies. I want to be swept away on some quest or mission. I want every moment to feel vibrant and real. Then when I return home, I'll want to be here. To rest and enjoy the peace. But eventually to go back out into the world again.
I do not pretend to have missed my calling. I am what I should be, or on the journey toward it. But at times like these, especially around holidays when I am sitting around endlessly, it gets to me. I want my family to join me. But they are not that type. I can't make my wife into what she is not. My son will join some, but is also content to sit and putter.
I work my life to be as free as possible, but everywhere, people throw fetters on. We're not good citizens if we aren't chained down a hundred ways. And so I sit, and prowl, and make something, and prowl. I may even get fed up and disappear for a short time, but the chains of responsibility will pull me back again.
I will step out on the road and wish for something to happen that breaks the chains.
Actually...I think I've just hit something else. My anxiety from being around other people comes precisely because I am so looking for this kind of life. I feel like the Ranger sitting cloaked in the corner, ever watchful, ever ready to strike, to move, to go. But outside is nothing but padded walls and fat docile pets. With expectation of something more and no where to direct it, everywhere becomes a source of irritation, anxiety. It's like the tiger who attacks the one who feeds it, or an innocent bystander. I just want out of the cage.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Walking
Today I saw an old friend that I stay in touch with, but rarely see. We had planned to visit a nearby place that he found interesting and through a slight miscommunication, we ended up walking there. To tell the truth, this was totally ok with me. I had figured that would be the mode of travel. But of course, the Florida heat took its grueling toll.
Despite the challenges, maybe because of them, walking is a very healing thing for me. I enjoy the rhythms it creates, and the very connected sense of space it creates. We live in such a fast world that distance is a relative thing. How far is a kilometer? How about 2? What does it feel like when you've walked it? Uphill or down? If you don't know, then you too have a distorted sense of distance.
CS Lewis said that cars evaporate distance. It's true. We move at various paces in cars that allow us to see the world passing, but not to experience it. And we can change speed without really feeling it. On foot, the difference between moving 6 kph and 8 kph is quite noticeable. But this effect isn't just in cars. We take trains, we fly, we use the internet...all of which evaporate distance and make it hard for us to tell how far or near something truly is.
Of course, there is true walking, and approximate walking. Many people live in such a way that every day activities for most of the world are special events for them. If they want to walk, they drive to a suitable location, wearing special clothes, with all necessary accoutrements, and walk. Some may even pay to have access to private circles or little belts that let you walk without going anywhere. This is not walking. This is an approximation of walking and while it is physically healthy, it will not lead to the benefits that I describe. By stepping out the door and moving on foot we are far freer than most other modes of transit. We can stop or stay anywhere. We can eat anywhere. We can change our route at any time. And we don't have to return to a parking place.
Then there's the adventure aspect of walking. Tolkien said that stepping out on the road is a dangerous thing. If you don't keep your footing, you could be swept off to anywhere. This is so true, if you walk a lot. Even a regular daily walk has its adventure. There is no end of possibility, and things that would feel very random can occur. For example, my friend was asked by another friend to take a picture of any odd looking fire hydrants. I have no idea why. But sure enough, we found a very odd fire hydrant on a certain point that we randomly came to.
While walking we truly encounter the space around us. We feel the wind, the heat, the dampness of the air. We get dirty with the soil of the road. We become a part of the place in the sounds we leave, the exhaled breath, the drops of sweat, and the impressions of our feet and hands. And the place becomes part of us, carried away in our ears, our lungs, our eyes, our muscles.
Today in particular the heat was impressive (some might say oppressive). The experience was marked by it throughout. At first we were merely hot. Then we were wet with perspiration. Then we reprieved and found drinks. Then again, the sweating. The sun began to alter our route...to chase us away from its full gaze. And eventually, the youngest of our band could take no more, and we stopped. Of course, we had to return. But this too was part of the adventure, as our heads began to ache, and we longed for cooler surroundings. We talked of water and swimming. Our minds driven to it by the heat. It was affecting us in a very real way. We weren't going looney, but it was certainly affecting, almost dictating our experience.
By the end, we welcomed the technological advancement of air conditioning. The cool of running water. Even on this simple urban trek, our illusions were shed from us. No more did abstractions matter. There were pressing matters of hydration, rest, temperature, to contend with. And as we rested in the cool air, our muscles and skin carried the memory of the walk. A walk that will never again occur in that way, even if we walk that route a thousand times. And, true to any adventure, the experience belongs to us alone. It is part of our story. We can tell it as we like, from our own perspectives. We shared it together, and no one who was not there, no matter how similar their experiences, can truly understand what the waves of heat radiating up from the pavement felt like, or how the breeze through the trees was so welcome.
Walking is real. Walking is purifying.
Despite the challenges, maybe because of them, walking is a very healing thing for me. I enjoy the rhythms it creates, and the very connected sense of space it creates. We live in such a fast world that distance is a relative thing. How far is a kilometer? How about 2? What does it feel like when you've walked it? Uphill or down? If you don't know, then you too have a distorted sense of distance.
CS Lewis said that cars evaporate distance. It's true. We move at various paces in cars that allow us to see the world passing, but not to experience it. And we can change speed without really feeling it. On foot, the difference between moving 6 kph and 8 kph is quite noticeable. But this effect isn't just in cars. We take trains, we fly, we use the internet...all of which evaporate distance and make it hard for us to tell how far or near something truly is.
Of course, there is true walking, and approximate walking. Many people live in such a way that every day activities for most of the world are special events for them. If they want to walk, they drive to a suitable location, wearing special clothes, with all necessary accoutrements, and walk. Some may even pay to have access to private circles or little belts that let you walk without going anywhere. This is not walking. This is an approximation of walking and while it is physically healthy, it will not lead to the benefits that I describe. By stepping out the door and moving on foot we are far freer than most other modes of transit. We can stop or stay anywhere. We can eat anywhere. We can change our route at any time. And we don't have to return to a parking place.
Then there's the adventure aspect of walking. Tolkien said that stepping out on the road is a dangerous thing. If you don't keep your footing, you could be swept off to anywhere. This is so true, if you walk a lot. Even a regular daily walk has its adventure. There is no end of possibility, and things that would feel very random can occur. For example, my friend was asked by another friend to take a picture of any odd looking fire hydrants. I have no idea why. But sure enough, we found a very odd fire hydrant on a certain point that we randomly came to.
While walking we truly encounter the space around us. We feel the wind, the heat, the dampness of the air. We get dirty with the soil of the road. We become a part of the place in the sounds we leave, the exhaled breath, the drops of sweat, and the impressions of our feet and hands. And the place becomes part of us, carried away in our ears, our lungs, our eyes, our muscles.
Today in particular the heat was impressive (some might say oppressive). The experience was marked by it throughout. At first we were merely hot. Then we were wet with perspiration. Then we reprieved and found drinks. Then again, the sweating. The sun began to alter our route...to chase us away from its full gaze. And eventually, the youngest of our band could take no more, and we stopped. Of course, we had to return. But this too was part of the adventure, as our heads began to ache, and we longed for cooler surroundings. We talked of water and swimming. Our minds driven to it by the heat. It was affecting us in a very real way. We weren't going looney, but it was certainly affecting, almost dictating our experience.
By the end, we welcomed the technological advancement of air conditioning. The cool of running water. Even on this simple urban trek, our illusions were shed from us. No more did abstractions matter. There were pressing matters of hydration, rest, temperature, to contend with. And as we rested in the cool air, our muscles and skin carried the memory of the walk. A walk that will never again occur in that way, even if we walk that route a thousand times. And, true to any adventure, the experience belongs to us alone. It is part of our story. We can tell it as we like, from our own perspectives. We shared it together, and no one who was not there, no matter how similar their experiences, can truly understand what the waves of heat radiating up from the pavement felt like, or how the breeze through the trees was so welcome.
Walking is real. Walking is purifying.
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