SOUL WORK

Who am I? This is a  soul question. Young people struggle with this mightily as they seek to sort out their unique identity apart from their parents. The question gets accentuated as the attraction of the social groups increases. Frequently the identity claimed by a young person is shaped more by a peer group than simply grounded in a clear self-definition.

But, the problem of self does not disappear when the person has chosen another social group to affirm what they like about themselves at a particular point in life. The spiritual journey of soul is an ongoing life process. Social groups are so powerful that it is often hard to keep one's unique understanding and values distinguished from those of any given group. Keeping clear one's enduring values that reflect one's character requires continual value clarification.

This is done in the internal debate that the multiple values inside of us wage. We want to be unique and distinctive at the same time we want to belong to a group of others like us. We want to be loved and commit ourselves to care for and with others and at the same time, we want the freedom to do what we want. We want both companionship and solitude.

The soul work we each do in our daily spiritual disciplines of deciding is to determine which of the conflicting values seems most appropriate at any given time. We have to chose between the claims of the heart for self-care and pleasure or other-care and the pleasure we get from giving love to others.

Fortunately, this is part of what makes life such an adventure. Unfortunately, this is what makes it so hard to always get it right. Or maybe that is a fortunate consequence of the spiritual struggle. It makes us all humble and thus open to others who are making daily choices as well.  And that humility enhances the depth of community.  That community of humility and grace is a gift.

AN UNWRITTEN LIFE

They were con-artists. "The Brothers Bloom" started their lives as peripatetic foster children. At the ages of 13 and 10, Stephen and Bloom pulled their first con. The older (Stephen) of the two wrote a scenario and wrote roles for himself and his little brother. It was then that little brother Bloom started living a scripted life.

But, twenty-five years later, Bloom decided he wanted out of the con business. He wanted to live "an unwritten life"--not just the life his brother wrote for him. He wanted to live life as it comes, to respond to life as it happened, not plot out each episode according to some idea about what they could get out of it.

I think this is a perpetual conflict in life. What do I do that is fulfilling someone else's dreams? What do I do that satisfy my own desires? How much of who I am is what others have written and how much of my life do I write as I go?

This journey of discovery often begins around age two as children assert their "no" to a parental "yes". It is intensified in early adolescence as piercings and body art flaunt a "unique" self over against parental expectations.

This internal struggle between other's stories and our own story waxes and wanes through life as changes threaten our social identity or our soulful restlessness shakes our internal clarity of ourselves. The changes outside and inside call the self to this soul work of how much of my life is "I" and how much of my life is "we". The spiritual life is the sorting out who we are who we are in relationship to the values that shape our community.

We are all seeking balance between the pre-written lives of someone else's plot and living our own "unwritten life."

THE BRAIN

My son-in-law shared advice he sometimes gives to others—and has to give himself from time to time as he functions as a stock broker.  It is advice that make sense to me. “Don’t expect other people to think with your brain.”

 I have thought about this a lot the past few days.  We can guarantee that we will spend a lot of our life disappointed if we don’t follow this advice. After all, the way our brain works is what we know to be most familiar. The way we see things is surely the way things really are. Why wouldn’t others think with our brain?

 But, while our brains all operate with the same electrical impulses and pathways, the way they are used is as various as the kinds of circumstances we have lived in and that we live in.  When Deb and I were in Cody, Wyoming a couple of years ago, we stayed in a guest house on a ranch several miles outside the town. The closest neighbor was a couple of miles away. The sky was vast and explosive, roiling with wind swept clouds and crystal clear stars. Silence settled on the night as a warm blanket.

 Spending time in that environment where a person spent a lot of time in their own company, helped me see how different the brain works than it does when I am in a swirling, chaotic, traffic clogged city. My brain feels different in the silence of wide open spaces than it does where the music blares on my neighbor’s deck while they are taking a midnight soak in the hot tub. 

 I understood how the rugged individualistic brain on the prairie was essential for survival. But, it doesn’t seem as virtuous when  I am trying to sleep in a  neighborhood where the actions of each impinge on the sleep of the other.

 Not sure how much I can think with the brain of another, but I think I will be a whole lot happier if I don’t expect others to think with my brain.  

NECROSIS OF CLUTTER

I often run across descriptions of life that intrigue me. In reading a book by Jonathan Franzen, I saw this sentence: “The old playroom in the basement, still dehumidified and carpeted and pine-paneled, still nice, was afflicted with the necrosis of clutter that sooner or later kills a living space: stereo boxes, geometric Styrofoam, packing solids, outdated ski and beach gear in random drifts.” (The Corrections, 168)

Along with my love for alliteration, I am also fascinated by the description “necrosis of clutter”. Necrosis refers to the death of cells due to lack of blood supply.  I am sitting here at my computer imagining a couple of piles on my desk. I think of the books lining the walls of my study. Is my office “afflicted with the necrosis of clutter”? Are these items just dust collectors who are dying because of lack of blood supply.  When they just hang around me for months on end without my touching them or making decisions about them, is the result the death of a living space? 

I know that creativity requires space. I know that for the mind to imagine new realities it has to unlearn some old realities. I know that the spirit of creativity lives when it has breathing space. I wonder of the clutter limits my imagination and hinders the birth of a new future?

And, I wonder if the electronic stimuli that floods our daily life could be called a necrosis of clutter. Can I develop an idea or thought beyond the surface level of its potential.  Because there is so much electronic clutter, do I glide over surface of the ocean rather than diving down and exploring the life that roils under the water? 

I am not sure I know the answer, but I do think it is worth pondering.

TASTE AND SEE

The seasonal cathedral has returned. The canopy of green spreads its translucent leaves across the trail. The early morning storms have exited east and rain drips off still wet oak. The sky filtering arms of the maple makes my prescription sunglasses redundant. 

The trail is laced with rivulets of water. The typically dry crevices have become flowing streams, running down hill.  The creek, often flat and noisy with protruding stones is spilling over its edges as it races toward the river. 

The air is fecund—robins singing, geese grousing, blue heron gliding,  bees buzzing, pollen sneezing. Life reproducing in the thick, moist air. Spring has finally birthed from the frozen season and life is swimming all around me.

The morning cool is damp—the liquid air presages the muggy heat that envelopes us later in the day as the sun makes it’s journey across the May sky.

And my heart is singing the line from the hymn we sang yesterday in church: “Blest are those who from this table live their lives in gratitude.” I am so grateful to live this day! It is hard for a heart that is alert not to overflow with sweet thankfulness.