I haven’t got a clue what to write about today. I didn’t yesterday either. It’s not as if I sit here pounding my head on the wall trying to shake things around up there, hoping that an “aha” moment will fall through the cracks and land on my keyboard. No. If nothing is twirling around up there, I simply don’t write.
But it’s very unusual to have nothing at all rolling around up there in my attic. Normally there is a steady stream of clinking and clanging up there, with various old tapes, ancient voices, muddled thoughts and opinions running around and bumping into each other – then splitting off and creating their own new intriguing paths…those are the ones that are fascinating – and sometimes bewildering – to follow, those pathways where various separate thoughts have collided and colluded into whole new directions and perspectives.
But today, no such luck. It’s very quiet up there. Quite ho hum, in fact. Pleasant, I suppose, not to have to wrestle with any big life-changing decisions or tangle with weary old soul-distressing issues. Maybe this is what life is like on the plateau. I haven’t been here very long, so it’s sort of new territory for me…I’m not sure yet that I can name this land “serenity” or “contentment”, but it’s definitely a resting spot…an oasis.
To be honest, while it’s a nice place to visit, I’m not entirely sure yet that I want to live here. There’s a part of me that enjoys the foraging for evolution, the searching for new nuances to old perspectives and the adventure of exploring new pathways through to new vistas.
The difference – maybe – it might be too soon to declare this yet – is that I’m no longer FUMBLING over the rubble and shards of the past…up until very recently, all of my searching and foraging has been driven by sheer – desperate – survival instincts, the necessity to move from “what was and never can be again” to a “here and now” that I want to wake up to in the mornings.
I think I’m there. I think I’ve made it through – the grief, the agony of absence and the yearning to crawl into a deep dark hole and lick my wounds for the rest of my life. It’s not that everything’s perfect, it’s not…and I’m okay with the probability that my life will never be perfect – largely because I understand more than ever now that my own perceptions and measurements of “perfect” are constantly changing and mostly unrealistic and not worth wasting precious time obsessing and chasing after. I’ve been through enough to know there will probably always be scraps of remnant grief and yearnings to deal with here and there – and new challenges ahead – but I think it might actually be safe to say that the worst of all that I had to get through to get here is over.
Which means I’m free to – well, choose where I want to go from here. Now I can forage, search and explore just for the fun and joy of learning and stretching and becoming. I love to bask in wisdom…wisdom of God (I love my new purple Bible!), the wisdom of other people’s experiences and the wisdom of nature all around me.
For the first time in a long time, I think I’m feeling – excited – there’s a whisper of delicious anticipation rippling through my entire being.
I’m not sure I’m cut out to have a clean attic. I seem to do better with a little clutter to sort through and a little noise to keep me alert and intrigued. The difference now is that the stuff that’s up there now is MY stuff, the stuff that I choose to store there. And that noise emanating from deep within me now is the sound of creation humming through the very core of my awakening spirit.
Perhaps by cleaning out all of those jagged broken pieces of my past, I’ve made room for new treasures – new ways of thinking, new attitudes and perspectives, new horizons and new adventures.
I hope so. Because it’s awfully quiet up there right now…maybe it’s time to put my hiking boots on and start searching out all of those pathways of new possibilities that I know are just waiting out there for me.
Let the adventure begin!
Copyright © Sharon C. Matthies, Meanderings (blog), 2012. All rights reserved.