What to do in darkness; by Marilyn Chandler Mcentyre

Go slowly

Consent to it

But don't wallow on it

Know it as a place of germination

And growth

Remember the light

Take an outstretched hand if you find one

Exercise unused senses

Find the path by walking it

Practice trust

Watch for the dawn

That Good God Dam

Missed the Boat

By Modest Mouse

Onward

I felt empty during the Christmas Eve service, looking up at the hymn lyrics projected on the white screen over the alter. "Round yon virgin". "Citizens of heaven above". I stared at the words, longing to find something acceptable. I have become a critic of just about everything. I used to have faith. I answered any problem with, "No worries!", not only because it was a popular nineties catch phrase and I was hip, but also because I did not see the sense in worrying about things. (Simultaneously I was crippled by anxiety, but that was over really embarrassing things like the possibility of missing the bus or forgetting my homework or being noticed in any way). When it came to planning out my life or concerns larger than myself, I felt at peace. And my faith was the cornerstone of that peace. So there I stood, in this temple of that faith, staring at those words all night. Appalled. Abandoned. Worried. Worried that things are not okay. Rejecting divine providence in so far as it motivates human inaction. Seething at the apathy around and within me. The feeling is punctuated in my relationships. My social and environmental consciousness, which at one point seemed to different people a good challenge, an interesting intellectual debate, or at least a funny quirk, has gone too far and now wins me concern, if any attention at all. But I try and remind myself of three things: 1. My relationships do not nullify my beliefs, 2. My beliefs do not nullify my relationships, and 3. In the midst of changing and new relationships/beliefs, I am not empty, and I am certainly not alone. There is hope.

We call upon the earth, our planet home, with its beautiful depths and soaring

heights, its vitality and abundance of life, and together we ask that it

Teach us, and show us the Way.

We call upon the mountains, the Cascades and the Olympics, the high green

valleys and meadows filled with wild flowers, the snows that never melt, the

summits of intense silence, and we ask that they

Teach us, and show us the Way.

We call upon the waters that rim the earth, horizon to horizon, that flow in our

rivers and streams, that fall upon our gardens and fields and we ask that they

Teach us, and show us the Way.

We call upon the land which grows our food, the nurturing soil, the fertile fields,

the abundant gardens and orchards, and we ask that they

Teach us, and show us the Way.

We call upon the forests, the great trees reaching strongly to the sky with earth in

their roots and the heavens in their branches, the fir and the pine and the

cedar, and we ask them to

Teach us, and show us the Way.

We call upon the creatures of the fields and forests and the seas, our brothers and

sisters the wolves and deer, the eagle and dove, the great whales and the dolphin,

the beautiful Orca and salmon who share our Northwest home, and we ask them to

Teach us, and show us the Way.

We call upon all those who have lived on this earth, our ancestors and our friends,

who dreamed the best for future generations, and upon whose lives our lives are

built, and with thanksgiving, we call upon them to

Teach us, and show us the Way.

And lastly, we call upon all that we hold most sacred, the presence and power of

the Great Spirit of love and truth which flows through all the Universe, to be with

us to

Teach us, and show us the Way.

-A Chinook litany

Worry

Sometimes I wake up, shortly after falling asleep, with my heart beating so fast I am convinced the entire earth is tumbling down. I lay on my fingers to still the shaking and think of all the horrible ways to die. It seems twisted that the only way I can calm myself after these nighttime horrors is to think of all the horrible ways to live. My fear of death or loss or loneliness or pain does nothing for tomorrow. It only empties today of its strength, as Corrie ten Boom says. And so I vow, again, to appreciate the slow, sleepy breath of my husband by my side, the colors that fill our room, the soft sound of rain, the smell of our pillows, and that violent beating of my heart that reminds me I love my life.

Relationships

Most people busy themselves with air or thorns

To tarry in the thorns one hopes, at best, to claim a rose

but more oft finds their plotting painful and vain

To tarry with the air leaves one light headed and empty handed

I most often aim to busy my hands with industrious work that proves some useful gain. But even higher than this is to still those hands.
Listen. Observe.

But even this is loneliness.

In my listening I come only to know myself,
and fear that in this common truth, I will never be known
which is sad, since I make terrible company