Minkgirl Muses

Saturday, October 27, 2007

HEAVY

I feel heavy this morning - a post-race-day-lactic-acid-muscle-ache kind of heavy, like I've been dragging suitcases full of lead around my flat. There is the obvious explanation that I am in fact getting heavier, day by day, as Pickle packs on the pounds during the final phase of her uterine residency. There is also something going on with the sky here. We had some lovely sunny days in early October, but this week temperatures dropped and a mid-winter-light descended. It's like the world is hiding under a blanket. You wake up at 7am and it is pitch black. By 7:30 an anemic grey light is creeping into the kitchen, but it never evolves into anything. It is just as dim at noon as it is at dawn, which gives you the nagging feeling all day that you've forgotten to lift the shades on your life.

But I think the real cause of my lethargy is the fact that I learned a few days ago that a good friend - we'll call her Isis - has been diagnosed with cancer. She is my age - young - and she has children - also young. And while no one ever deserves cancer, she is definitely at the bottom of Santa's coal list. She cooks organic locally produced food with love for her family. She is a teacher. She studies Judaism and Buddhism and is working with her husband to transform their home into a green oasis. She is one of the most thinking feeling people I know - a source of light and wisdom in the world. And while I believe she has more internal resources than most to deal with the current challenge the universe is offering her, it makes me immeasurably sad that sweet Isis now has to deal with the "C" monster.

So, between the weather and the bad news about my friend, my mind, which has been remarkably calm lately (no chattering "what about your career?!" monkeys anywhere in sight), has taken a sudden detour into nihilism. Some people have a Narnia-style trapdoor in their mental wardrobes that leads to a land of fantasy. But the rabbit hole I succumb to most often dumps me in a landscape that looks more like the battleground in the last Lord of the Rings movie - no vegetation, no buildings, and lots of grotesque Orks running around with axes and maces ready to destroy everything in their path. What's the point of making plans when we have no idea what the future holds and know that our lives could change radically at any moment? How do you deal with the fact that you can live well and make good choices and still have to endure pain and suffering? How can we be truly present to the present moment when the fear of what could happen in the future is so overwhelming?

I guess these are the central questions that most religions strive to answer. Yet, while I've always liked religion and enjoyed studying it, in my heart of hearts I'm a doubting Thomas. I secretly believe that religion is actually a beautiful, exquisitely crafted quilt that humanity has woven over centuries to keep itself warm and insulated from the truly awesome and impersonal truths that actually drive the universe. So while some people jump into the life raft secure that they are protected by their faith, I've always had the company of a mental skeptic who quips "You know, sharks are still happy to chomp on you whether you believe in G-d or not." Nonetheless, religion is the best tool I've got to push back the darkness when it comes. Just as we tell simple stories to explain complex ideas to children, the stories that religion tells about what it means to be human and to live in the world may be the only version of the truth that I will ever be able to understand.

So, in an attempt to corral and quiet the wild horses in my mind this morning, I picked up a book called Faith by Sharon Salzberg (which appropriately, Isis gave me for my birthday last month.) This book chronicles the journey of a woman from being mired in her painful past to being enlightened and emboldened by healing and self-love as she discovers Buddhism. I read a lot of books about Buddhism, even though I don't consider myself a Buddhist. Somehow, the unfamiliarity of Buddhism relaxes me and allows me to entertain certain concepts and feelings more easily than I could if they were couched in the language of Christianity (which I always wind up arguing with because of my long and emotional relationship to it).

My biggest problem with Christianity is the notion of a personal G-d, a deity who sees and cares about the details of my life, and with whom I can communicate. I believe in....something bigger than myself, but I've never been sure what to call it - G-d, universal life force, Buddha-nature? When I look at the mystery and complexity of the world around me, I just can't get behind the idea of an anthropomorphized life-force who is consciously creating and shaping the reality I experience, and with whom I can share my suffering and desires. The idea of having "faith in G-d", as in "have faith and it will all work out okay" also doesn't ring true to me. Things often don't work out okay. Bad things happen to good people. Disaster and poverty and war exist. And all the theological explanations about how these things can coincide with "G-d's plan" for the world always sound like over-intellectualized rationalization to me. But of course, none of these doubts keep me from praying, or making signs for luck, or wishing that G-d does exist, does see me, does care about my life and the lives of the people I love. None of these doubts prevents me from still having faith in...something.

What I find it easier to believe in is Nature. Whenever I find myself losing my marbles, I look at the sky - watch it changing, see what the particular quality of light is that day, chart the meandering path of birds and planes through its endless expanse. The sky calms me down. It doesn't make me feel that everything is going to go my way, but absorbing its eternal beauty makes me care less about the specific temporal challenges I am facing. The sky is something I can believe in. So is the ocean. Big things that have energy and power and beauty, but no awareness of my existence. Things that remain unchanging (or forever changing), no matter what happens to me. I've always known that no matter what happens to my life or my body, as long as I have a window to look out of with a view of the sky and a tree, I'll be okay.

So I read something in Faith this morning that resonated for me and made me feel a bit lighter:

"The first step on the journey of faith is to recognize that everything is moving onward to something else, inside us and outside. Seeing this truth is the foundation of faith. Life is transition, movement, and growth. However solid things may appear on the surface, everything in life is changing without exception. Even Mount Everest - the perfect symbol of indomitable, unyielding, massively solid reality - is "growing" a quarter of an inch a year, as the landmass of India pushes under Asia. People come and go in our lives; possessions break or change; governments and whole systems of governments are established or disintegrate. Eager anticipation precedes a meal, which soon ends. A relationship is difficult and disappointing, then transforms into a bond we trust. We might feel frightened in the morning, reassured in the afternoon, and uneasy at night. We know that at the end of our lives we die. There is change, breath, oscillation, and rhythm everywhere.

With faith we can draw near to the truth of the present moment, which is dissolving into the unknown even as we meet it. We open up to what is happening right now in all its mutability and evanexcence. A pain in our body, a heartache, an unjust treatment may seem inert, impermeable, unchanging. It may appear to be all that is, all that ever will be. But when we look closely, instead of solidity, we see porousness, fluidity, motion. We begin to see gaps between the moments of suffering. We see the small changes that are happening all the time in the texture, the intensity, the contours of our pain.

No matter what is happening, whenever we see the inevitability of change, the ordinary, or even oppressive facts or our lives can become alive with prospect. We see that a self-image we've been holding doesn't need to define us forever, the next step is not the last step, what life was is not what it is now, and certainly not what it might yet be."

I wish for lightness for you too - may whatever you are carrying today be eased by some unexpected encounter with another person or with the sky above you.

Be well.