Sometimes these words ring true. But, not always. That is: Does getting to the heart of things always beget freedom? Or, sometimes (if not all the time) is that free and fresh feeling a gift given to us and not at all the work of our own hands?
May Sarton once said, "Go deep enough, and there is a bedrock of truth, however hard." I like her insight, but I'm not sure if I cling to it as tightly as I once did. Now, my affinity for a view like May's developed in and around a lot of things: a liberal-artsy education for one, a penchant for all things philosophical, my idealism, and as I'm learning, my aversion to simplicity.
I don't say "aversion" because I don't like it-- it's just a little counter-intuitive for me. I think it's hard to be simple in our culture. There's too much buzz about simple living and too many ways to "do" simplicity. Which part of simple living are you going to embrace? Recycling? Eating organic (or is it all-natural?) foods only? Committing less? Meditating every morning? Spending more time with friends and less time in the office? We have to wade through the options, which I guess is the point. I am not a very good wader. I get distracted, and see each option as too opportune to forgo. Sometimes these "opportunities" makes for lots of mind-clutter (read: anxiety), sometimes these "opportunities" make for inspiring vision (read: daydreaming).
In general I like this part of me, because I think it makes me a pretty deep person. I don't mean extraordinarily intelligent or philosophically profound, I just mean deep. To me, life never feels simple because, well, there's just a lot out there. Living is rich and full and brimming with deep suffering and joy. And I am curious about these things, and would like to feel them, and know them. Elizabeth Browning said it best: "Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees, takes off his shoes-- The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries."
I don't just want to be a plucker, I want to take off my shoes. But I wish I could find a way to make this simple in my life.
The problem (or blessing, somedays) is, I think and see and dream a lot in layers. Anyone with me here? The most concrete example I can give is that of language. In college, I studied this theory explaining words as meaningless out of context. In short, language is loaded and therefore useless at face-value. For example, the word rain is a lament when spoken by a farmer whose crops are dying from drought. This is markedly different than a child looking out the same window, lightly singing, "rain, rain, go away." The mood, the tone and the speaker all matter-- not just a tad, but significantly. And it is only when we consider this significance that we can actually glean meaning from one. single. solitary. word.
So, I do this. Not just with words. But with life. Don't worry, I'm not totally neurotic or anything; I don't think it is a diagnosis-worthy condition. But, I get a little sick of the devil's advocate game I play and the pitter patter in my head. You ask me why she said that snide remark that hurt your feelings? Well, tell me what she had for breakfast, her last conversation with her boyfriend, whether or not she thinks sarcasm is an appropriate way to communicate, and perhaps, the way that her mother addressed her growing up. Then, I might be able to shed some light on the situation. It takes some time. Not to mention all sorts of energy.
I used to get really obsessive about just figuring it out. Figuring out A through Z (then back up to L then down to Q) before drawing any conclusions. There definitely is good in that process. Like they say, it's the journey, right? But, I don't think such a journey is the only way to the one true thing-- to the rich experience that I, and I'm sure most of us, crave. Or as Elizabeth would say, to the thing that moves us to take our shoes off.
Sometimes, the reality or the end result, is just given to us, and quite quickly, without notice, preparation or due process. Sometimes the emotion is that raw, that deep, that real, that it simply does not matter. It does not matter how you got there, because it just is.
In the line of work that I am in, I have the deep (deepest for that matter) privilege and sorrow of seeing people overcome by things that just are. There is no rhyme or reason that warrants the simplicity and sincerity of grief. And sometimes, if the timing is right, I am genuinely overcome too. For them? On behalf of them? Because of them? I'm not so sure which one it is.
Still, I have no choice but to take off my shoes.
It's as simple as that.
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