These have been amazing times of late. Starting back on the fall colored cliff
overlooking the Shenandoah Valley in Western Virginia, to a conference in Minneapolis
I am equally amazed; however, at the old me that still
clings, riding my back, determined not to be thrown off into the garbage
heap. It hides there, just over my
shoulder, unseen but always felt. At the
oddest moments it cries out for acknowledgement. Perhaps in the form of too many drinks, time
spent with a stranger that would be better used for sleep or reading or walking
alone along the water, failure to make it to the gym—or the fear that lurks in
unexpected places. It screams out that my efforts are in vain and that no
matter what I do I will always be a prisoner to that me that I do not love,
that I can not escape, and that I cannot overcome. It demands attention be paid
to the pages of the calendar that are long past, but on which memories are
etched in blood, sweat, tears and more tears.
It plays faces of dissapoint over and over in my rouges gallery of love thought right-- certain that the "successes" of the past are as good as it will get.
It seems that all my efforts to throw off my challengers,
both those from the self and from outside, are futile. That I will never escape the things I have
done that I regret, the people I have known that have dragged from my pedestal
into the wallow of the mud.
Or perhaps it’s like the song. A journey along a river, to a place of refuge,
joined by that past… my proverbial “..child of my first marriage…”. For me the
reminders and memories of all that came before haunt me. The person that never
left, that is still there, and that always will be. In the beautiful film A River Runs Through It, the voice of Robert Redford offers this:
“I am haunted by rivers”—they represent for him the best and worst of himself
and his life. This is a feeling I
know—for the inner me represents the best and worst of me.
As my journey to Graceland —or
my own imagined place of holy inspiration and divine connection to all knowing
power—(not really Elvis for me, but for many he is) I am left to wonder about
the reality of the metaphor. That along
this road we can never escape that which we were—and are. For they are truly one person. If the field of physics is to be believed,
the past and the present and the future are all wrapped up into one tube. Einstein and Faulkner and every spiritual
guru who ever walked, coalesced into an oneness that spans time and dimensions.
I know this to be true, for that is what is revealed to me
on the good days and the bad, which are often no more than a moment apart. A memory, a future, a joy and a regret—all
sharing one space—one time—one me.
I know now, far better, how foolish it is to ever think that
I have any chance of fighting away the parts of me that I don’t like or wish I
could ignore. I realize that the angels
and the devils will both live on my shoulders as long as I will live. For all of us the choice is a simple
one. To lean toward the angels as much as we
can, but not roll away in shame when the part that we don’t love or like calls
out for its time in the sun. We don’t have to embrace the darker nature, but by
understanding it—and loving it—we control it in the only way we ever can. To war against our own selves—it’s the height
of foolish. You might as well chop off
your own arm after a paper cut. But to
embrace it, to understand it, grow from it—that is our challenge and, perhaps,
the reason for both our competing influences in the first place.
I have often wondered about the ability of people to act
against their own best interest. Whether
in terms of choosing politicians to vote for, smoking, drinking to excess, or
dropping out of school. Why is it that
some fall prey to the fear and the self defeating choice while others work
around and through and above it? The
animals don’t do this. They follow one
course—instinctively—to do what is right for their situation.
It comes down to this choice. How to get beyond those competing
natures? How to live like the river,
flowing with everything mixed in—shrinking and expanding, but moving despite
what it’s made of. A river challenged by
a rock—given the chance— will always win.
It may take time, but the perseverance is pre-ordained. That which focuses on its purpose can
overcome the obstacles. The river does
not fight the rock. It does not attend therapy sessions, read self-help books,
or cry to friends on Facebook.
It simply flows.
Perfectly content to have as part of it all that it passes by and
absorbs. Good. Bad.
Indifferent. The rest of the
story is written in places like Niagara Falls or
the Grand Canyon . Beauty is created from the wearing down—from
the persistent flow—and the rock becomes part of the river. Carried on to someplace new, to form the
foundation of something different than what was. A new place for life—a river
delta—where once there was nothing but water.
If the rock were to fight—what would become of that? If the river were to fight? Instead, as part of a natural order the
resistance is slowly worn down—and all becomes one. The same is true for us. When we accept and learn and forgive—we
grow. And growth is the whole point isn’t
it? “Loosing love is like a window on
your heart”—and so is how you choose to look at your own rivers path across the
barriers in our lives—watched over by all the parts of us—good and bad, saint
and sinner. All part of one life—one
soul—one universe—never to be fought or battled—only acknowledged, accepted,
and loved. That is the true growth, the
true creation and the only way to move past those bumps in the night that so
often distract us from our power and our potential.