Pick a Little, Talk a Little

The transformation of our lives is not an easy process. We want to think there is a distinct “before” and “after”, a beginning and end. We want it to be something we get through and then are done with, free and clear on the other side of trouble and lack.


Time proves, however, that the transformation is never truly complete. Even our death, apparently, is not an end, but simply a shift into a new way of being, a reincarnation, a spiritual dance in another dimension, or just the leisurely nine lives of a cat, resting up before beginning all over again.

In truth, we move from these moments to moments, experiencing the highs and lows sometimes in perfect and exhilarating understanding and others mystified and oblivious. We crave purpose and meaning and sometimes act in ways that utterly defy logic. We yearn for definition in everything and celebrate magic in the most important.

Life is a mystery and our faith in everything and nothing keeps us going.

This tirade is born out of a weekend of frustration, stumbling along with no real purpose, motivation or imagination. For no understandable reason and despite surroundings of hope and prosperity, I went through the motions of participation and internally despaired.

Since my conversation with the wonderful astrologer Tom Lescher last month, I have been on a spiritual vacation. The hiatus was neither planned nor comfortable, but simply evolved out of earthly distractions and requirements that focused my attention directly on the steps right in front of me. One foot in front of the other, one moment to the next, in the now, but more drone-like than monk, I have persevered.

Having professed and committed to the idea that abundance is directly related to the pursuit of passion, it was disturbing to notice in how many ways I have been abandoning those very activities reacquired that make me feel so passionate and powerful. It culminated this weekend in a lethargy so frustrating, darkness and dawns came and went and fear mounted that my purpose seemed to wallow in a state of non-purpose.

Like an Escher print that has two different images, depending on our focus, my world hovered between two perceptions. No matter how much I celebrated the one intellectually, my heart seemed sobered by a more dismal projection.

Movement seems to be a key to relinquishing the chains. Instead of moping and staying settled in the darkness, shaking myself physically was the antidote to the doldrums that had weighed so heavily. I played soccer. I forced myself through some chores that had been necessary. I drove myself in circles around town and tried not to worry about it, but allowed the pleasure of the golden leaves to be enough.

Most importantly, in these rougher times, judgment should be suspended. If we allow the flow to stop flowing once in a while and settle in to the darkness, the dawn of a new day can seem quite beautiful and a welcome transformation from the troubled and sleep-depriving thoughts. A month without writing essays or networking emails does not necessarily portend regression, but can simply be a re-alignment, a change of pitchers or just one of those precious nine lives of resting cashed in as part of an auspicious purpose.

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