Thoughts 11.29.21
I haven’t been writing much lately. I’m not quite sure why that is. Maybe it is because I don’t like some of the answers that come up to my incessant questions. (This is true, but most assuredly another post). For me right now I think it’s because writing requires the drudging of the soul, and lately the drudging has brought up some pretty nasty sludge from the bottom. And when you know there is sludge at the bottom, it’s easier to pretend it’s not there at all. And if you don’t participate in or intend on the drudging, there is for maybe a small, or perhaps in your case a much longer, period of time involving less sludge. But the harsh reality is eventually the river ceases to flow in the ways you know it is capable of. You see the banks, far and vast apart, you know they are far because you were present when they were expanded. You know the depth this river contains because you did the difficult work of digging deep and pulling out the muck of the past. Yet somehow, unconsciously and seemingly in the dark of the night, the river has slowed. The water has become muddy, and you suddenly notice the sludge has built up to an overwhelming amount.
We have two choices when we come to this stark realization. First we can choose to escape. Those wise people always said ignorance is bliss. God they were right. But bliss is a firework in the noon sun. It makes some noise, and you have the euphoria as it begins to ignite, but it’s over as soon as it begins. Bliss can be great, but only when it is the overflow of the deep things in life, not the pursuit of the immediate and accessible.
Escapism is addicting. It’s like a drug. It’s safe. It doesn’t hurt anyone. Doesn’t cost hardly anything. And somehow in our day it has become socially acceptable, even encouraged. What’s the next show to binge? The next item buy? The next - next? Im talking from my very own experience here, but I am certain you have tendencies of escapism yourself. What allows you to forget about the debilitating pressure of Being for even a moment? Do you crave it? I do. The more I lean into it’s warm embrace of ease and comfort, the more I want it. The more I know it is killing the creative spark of God inside of me, the more I need it. It is the epitome of a double edge sword. It is a poison that can only be cured by more of itself. Or so we have been conditioned to believe.
The other choice we are given when faced with the clogged river of our soul is to get to work. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and anything worth doing will take time. The architecture of your soul, and mine for that matter, is something worth doing. It is life work. It is hard, back breaking, exhausting, emotional, spiritual and at times physicial work. But it is what leads to the opposite of ignorant bliss. It leads to conscious meaning.
Have we become too lazy to determine our own meaning? Do we rely on a social standing or a job role or a career or a relationship status to tell it for us? Is it why we are so deeply disappointed when those roles fail and the foundation we built in shifting sand crumbles?
My prayer for myself, and maybe for you today is this: Do the work. Sit down. Phone locked up. Some album that makes you feel something deep playing softly in the background, and begin the hard work of dredging your soul. It’s dirty work. There will guaranteed be times where you will slip deeper into the mire, but hold fast. For in due time, paired with good work, you and I will be the beneficiaries of a plentiful harvest. And I don’t know about you, but ignorance consistently leaves me hungry. It’s time for a harvest and a deeply satisfying meal.
“Don’t be misled: No one makes a fool of God. What a person plants, they will harvest. The person who plants selfishness, ignoring the needs of others—ignoring God!—harvests a crop of weeds. All they’ll have to show for their life is weeds! But the one who plants in response to God, letting God’s Spirit do the growth work in them, harvests a crop of real life, eternal life.”
Harvest real life my friend.