I’ve been avoiding swimming in the deep end of the ocean with my muse lately. It’s not that 1,000 worthwhile posts haven’t been marching through my head. It’s just that it is more playful and requires less energy to splash around in shallow water. There I take a ride on mystic neon or a big, fat sassafras cupcake, and for awhile, nobody has to think about whether or not farming is going to collapse.
But, trust me; when I’m quiet, when my posts are the most superficial is when I’m sharpening a number of questions and ideas that pierce the emery cushion of my mind. I’m presently working on a post about Generation X and its influence on the emergent movement. It’s taking a long time, but I hope to have it finished by Sunday next year.
I have also been reflecting on the words of Jesus, and how He desires our mercy, not our sacrifice.
During this Lenten Season, I have been exploring the question, “Is my relationship with God the main focus of my life?” This has distracted me from blogging. It’s always an adventure when I stretch painfully toward the Truth and connect in new ways with my choice-making Center. When I reach it, I always discover my most authentic voice and the courage to use it. I want to choose the honest and beautiful; the great and the magnificent. Don’t you?
The past few days, I’ve been enjoying the work of Anton Chekov, the amazing Russian writer. I came across a letter he wrote his brother. Here is an excerpt:
Educated people in my opinion must satisfy the following conditions:
1. They respect a man’s personality, and therefore are always tolerant, gentle, polite, yielding…They excuse noise, and cold, and over-roasted meat, and witticisms, and the presence of other people in their house…
2. They are compassionate, and not only with beggars and cats, for they grieve in their soul for what the naked eye does not see…They do not sleep for nights so as to help their parents pay for their brothers’ studies, to buy clothes for their mother….
3. They respect other people’s property and therefore they pay their debts…
5. They do not belittle themselves to arouse the compassion of others. They do not play on the strings of other people’s souls so that they shall sigh over and fondle them. They do not say: ‘People do not understand me!’ because all this produces a cheap effect; it is vulgar, musty, false.
6. They are not vain glorious. They do not care about such false diamonds as acquaintanceship with celebrities, shaking hands with the drunken…the raptures of a well-met fellow at the salon, popularity in public houses. …Doing a farthing’s worth, they do not walk about with their brief cases as if they had done a hundred roubles’ worth, and do not boast of having been admitted where others are not admitted.
From the pages of my first blog, September 18, 2001 (seven days after 9/11)
It takes a really, really long time to change…
…After the Oklahoma bombing in 1995, everyone drove with their lights on for days. But, eventually, the lights were turned off and our grief was only illuminated in nightmares. Collectively, we met in the dark night, all of us dreaming in black and white and rubble, blood pouring from all those people, in shades of red. In the morning, our goal was business as usual. Nobody wanted to admit to change, and before it could make a difference, it had eluded us.
Change is a galaxy. The journey does not come easy. It is a long evolution that begins in the moment we embrace the Divine…
I have started to follow a new blog, Memoirs of a Heroin Head. This Generation Xer (born in 1975) lives in Lyon, France. I invite you to follow along with me. I follow a number of diverse blogs. This is part of my spiritual journey – a long, slow walk toward greater Mercy and Understanding. Will you join me? Hat tip to The Melindaville Blog.
Here is an excerpt:
The first hint of spring came today. It arrived on the breeze like a welcome kiss. Oh, its too early to celebrate the warmer seasons, I know, but this afternoon brought just the tiniest hint of romance. Some things transport me back to magical times, times that never really existed, and the changing seasons are always one of those things. I remember a few years ago, renting the upstairs flat of a Victorian maisonette in Fulham, and on warm spring or summer mornings I would flush and scrub the wooden floorboards with cold soapy water…Spring offers it all. I think this romanticism is one of my biggest problems. Heroin is also a romance… a distorted, depraved and narcissistic romance…