Paths

We left Vermont yesterday; my last task was to take the compost and garbage out to their respective containers in the back of the house. We had done a lot of shoveling in front and on the side, where we put our car, but no one had been out back except the small animal who left these tracks - a squirrel, probably. The snow was several feet deep there, on the north side, but halfway down was a crust that was just willing to support my weight. I stood in the remains of my garden for a few minutes: thinking, looking, missing the birds who used to find food here all winter, but realizing I've done most of the work of disconnecting from this house.

I went into my old studio and, spontaneously, decided it was time to bring some of my meditation objects to Canada. I wouldn't exactly call it a shrine, this space where I've sat and pondered life and death and the unchangeable for several decades, but that's probably the closest word to what it actually is. I haven't been ready to take it apart until now.

In a corner of our living room, we now have a very eclectic collection of objects, meaningful to both of us: a small brass dish that was my parents', holding an incense burner and some seed pods from my garden; a small blue-and-white porcelain Chinese bowl; the carved sandalwood box that's always held my incense for meditation; a sandalwood mala and a small bottle of orchid oil sent to me by a friend, from Cambodia; several colored glass votive candle holders; and behind them, an Armenian Orthodox icon that was my mother-in-law's.

We went to our former church on Ash Wednesday, inhabiting that strange space between familiarity and feeling like guests. Old friends warmly welcomed us but many of the faces in the congregation, and even in the choir, were totally new to me. Today, back at the cathedral, we sang the Great Litany and the first Lenten hymns and I felt a different discomfort, wondering if I can feel at home anymore in a church headed by Rowan Williams and riven with battles over matters I find either totally insignificant, or so important they should have been decided and acted upon long ago. The first of the Lent adult forums was taking place after the service, and was going to be a discussion of "what we believe - and don't - and can't." We didn't attend; somehow neither one of us really felt like getting into that territory today.

"Not much," would be my first answer to the question of what I believe, after the past several years of dealing with loss and change, but I realize, glancing over at that luminous collection of reminders this evening, that would be glib and disingenuous. Like my Unitarian father-in-law, I can take refuge in saying I believe in "the good, the true and the beautiful," but I know it's more than that. It is far more nuanced and veiled than any creed, and I've also come to see and accept it as a path rather than a destination -and even to love it for being obscure, difficult, changing, and relatively un-comforting - the opposite of what I thought I was seeking when I was starting out.

Tracks made by a naked animal that seem distinct one day, are covered by fine, new snow the next, and then melt away.

Comments

[dale]

I didn't know where it would end, fifteen years ago, but I had one conviction, which I held firmly (though I didn't know it): that it would get simpler as time went by, one way or the other. Now that seems very dubious, since over time it's become more complex and problematic. My faith has strengthened where it was weak, and weakened where it was strong. (Not that we use the word "faith" in my tradition, much; I'm translating a bit.)

Time was, I could have told you exactly why I was a Buddhist and why I meditated in the shrine room on Sundays. Now, I couldn't tell you at all. But I'm still there.

Hugs. It's a queer gig, being a human being. I'm glad I got the job, but I wish the instructions were plainer.

[rr]

Yes, one of my recent realisations was that it never gets simpler. It never gets easier. There is no "destination" or fulfillment.

However that realisation in and of itself paradoxically makes things simpler and easier because it diminishes (doesn't end, maybe one day, maybe death :->) the struggle and the yearning. The struggle with complexity and the concomitant feelings of inadequacy over the inability to untangle it intrinsically; the yearning for ease and the magic extrinsic quick-fix which will suddenly resolve everything.

[Theriomorph]

It is far more nuanced and veiled than any creed, and I've also come to see and accept it as a path rather than a destination -and even to love it for being obscure, difficult, changing, and relatively un-comforting - the opposite of what I thought I was seeking when I was starting out.

Tracks made by a naked animal that seem distinct one day, are covered by fine, new snow the next, and then melt away.

I love this beautiful and true pair of lines. For me, the (short) (early) periods when I had more certainty about everything, religious faith/connection in particular, were a lot more comforting, and far less honest or mature.

Was reading some writing about drawing this morning: the writer was talking about 'traps' ('this is how you draw an eye/tree/hand/whatever'), and how they prevent the artist from seeing and being able to draw honestly what is actually there, prevent her/him from doing something startling and true and finally moving. It came back to me, reading your post. Bearing witness as both the point and the point of departure toward something useful and good.

Thanks, Beth. Love your writing so.

[Rachel]

Beautiful, Beth. Something about you standing atop your snow-covered garden, transitioning between houses, transitioning between churches, in the in-between really resonates for me.

[marja-leena]

Lovely thoughtful words, Beth, thank you again for your writings. And, about winter, I've found it harder this year too, even though it's not as bad as Montreal. The beauty of it still stirs me though. Spring will be here soon!

[ruth]

oh beth. so many hugs for you in this move. this change.this new path. this yet again embracing the fact we haven't got it sorted, that our shrine room has become a mobile home......

[Dave]

Good ending! (Well, and everything that prepared us for it, too.)