Absence and Being

I have missed writing. At first, we returned from summer vacation, hectic with life's many demands. Getting readjusted to life at home, and prepared for another school year to begin. Then when I went to write my keyboard went crazy, it had a mind of its own. Adding spaces, capitals at will, changing letters for other letters randomly. There was the trial period, new chargers, different iPad, which would work for a moment and then back to its own double personality. I gave up. It took a short while to purchase another and then it was holiday season. Christmas shopping, travels, family...the clock kept ticking and the time quickly passed.

I started to do a post in January but got cut off. Then more time passed, I was ready to write—dead battery. Sometimes it is our will that drives our actions, and sometimes we become painfully aware of a greater will that has a direction and a purpose, and nothing in our power or will, will change that. Finally, I am back. I have had thoughts come and go. At times they almost made it to paper, and alas the moment was gone. It seems in life there are these precipices, tight ropes, that we need to seize and take action on just at the right moment, find our balance and act. Too much forcing and the joy and spontaneity is gone, too much resting and the impetus vanishes and is lost, like a cloud that forms and passes and is no more.

I thought last summer about the funny incident in our neighborhood to install a little library. How the neighborhood became an uproarious flurry of emails. Did we need it, or not? Was it worth the money? Where to put it? It was strange how this little glorified birdhouse for books became such a contentious issue. It seemed to tie into people’s deepest selves and attachments. It became about education, home, property and money. One woman even likened it to the recent Trump/Clinton election when some decisions were made without a fair vote, but rather a few emails back and forth. Really? The election? People became exasperated, and one particular email that was accidentally sent ended up being my favorite, it said "I have the $250. I am a hero, stop the F%@#@ing! "

It was quickly met with an offense at the offense, and then a response from the original sender explaining a joke. It was a mishap gone wrong—his wife grabbing the phone to stop him from sending did just that. He in fact, never intended on actually sending it. All of this to say, it revealed for me again the complexity of human beings. How something so trite is connected to such deep areas for so many people and created a whole chain of events.

I have been listening to Dr. Jordan Peterson lately, and I like him a lot. He is a professor in Canada who recently became very controversial. I am enjoying a lecture series on the stories of the Bible and their psychological significance. It is fascinating and inspiring. One girl wrote to him and said she did an ayahuasca ceremony, and he came into her vision. When she asked the plants what his purpose was, the response she received was that he was here to share the Divine Masculine with the world, for which there was a need at this time. Interesting. He speaks a lot about this balance between order and chaos, and this resonates with me a lot.

There seems to be this interwoven theme in existence of creativity and unordered consciousness, calling for order and structure in order to become creatively free, but truly free because now it is being sustained by the ordered structure. Christ says: Truly, I say unto you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdome of heaven” (Matt. 18:3). And yet Christ did not come to abolish the law, but rather to fulfill the law (Matt. 5:17). As he came into the world without sin, he was indeed the fulfillment of the law already and from there he turns the status quo upside down and goes beyond the law. However never does he just abolish the law or disregard its necessity. There are times when he shows clear authority of the law. He goes among the sinners and calls them to repentance. He does not just say, “keep doing what you are doing, none of it matters”.

In his call for us to become like children, I think about what this means. There is a difference between childlike—which is rather endearing—and childish which is mostly annoying. But why? Why is a child's innocence and charm grating and frustrating when a certain age is passed and perhaps expectation is not met? Why is an older person who can look at life with a child's joy and curiosity endearing and infectious? It seems there is a subtle and not so subtle distinction at play. It seems to be something like the difference between joy and happiness. A child who gets candy becomes very happy, or a puppy who greets you demonstrates bouncing-off-the-wall happiness. Yet that same child shortly will throw a tantrum at the crash, and the puppy will destroy your newest leather shoes. Joy is different. Joy is more profound. It entails more within it and perhaps more importantly has an enduring quality, not a mercurial spontaneity. Mercurial spontaneity may not lack in charm, but the rollercoaster ride is unlivable, untenable. There seems to be an inevitable price to pay. When I think of an analogy for joy, I think of Bach. Somehow he seems to capture all of life in his pieces. Even the most joyful piece has an element of melancholy, there is a sense of the mundane turning of the day-to-day, and a penetrating unexplainable simultaneous complexity and simplicity. It is essence captured in sound. It is full, and it is Joy.

What is this process that calls us to dive into chaos, pure creativity, the dream, the vision. Then to come out and carefully and meticulously order it, only to set it free, like a kite tethered to our hand yet freely flying in the wind. These small deaths and rebirths creating something new, something of depth, and something enduring. Christ dies the ultimate death on the cross and calls for us to do the same time and time again, the sacrifice, the death, the rebirth to something more—the giving up and away of our lives in order to actually have a life worth living—“Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matt. 10:39).

I think about beautiful glass work, how even a child could form a melted shape with color that would have allure, but the expert will come, take that charming trinket, rekindle the fire, melt a bit here, reshape a bit there, and out will come the masterpiece. The changes are subtle and yet not so subtle, something of charm becomes something of glory. The light reflects now in just the right places, its brilliance penetrates something unexplainable in words and logic, yet perhaps more real than that which can be explained. It is felt in our being and no explanations are needed.

There seems to be these two planes in life at times, one where nothing matters because it is all futile in a sense. What the material world offers will fade and perish. Our own physical bodies will become dust. The flip side, or other plane is this idea that it all matters and not just a little bit, but greatly. Our actions, our words and down to our very thoughts matters (Matt. 5: 21 ff.). He knows the number of hairs on our heads (Matt. 10:30) and we are here for a purpose.

I am back to the tightrope walking that line between order and chaos. It matters greatly, and not at all. It is out of our hands, yet we are partners with that which is greater, the cosmic dance. I am on a precipice on pointe, yet my toe through the rocks is tethered to the mountain. My hair flies in the wind reaching to the sky. My being is rocked by the breeze and cradled in his wisdom. There is a moment of freedom and bliss, until the chaos and order call, for the next death and rebirth.