– Parker J. Palmer from A Hidden Wholeness
I think we over think things. Maybe it’s a symptom of getting older.
When I look back 15 years, I was more about just living. I did what was in my heart and I didn’t question it. I followed roads without knowing where they lead and felt no anxiety in it. I climbed tall trees without the fear of falling.
These days I feel the fear. I think it’s simply because I’m older. I’ve had more rugs pulled out from under me. But I’ve given too much power to those rugs, too. I will turn things over in my mind sometimes, searching for answers when sometimes the answer is simply, “shit happens.”
Once you start to give your good energy to the thing that doesn’t deserve it, you tilt the scale in the wrong direction. You tell the rug, “Okay, you got me, rug. You win.” But that rug is just a rug. And you? Well. You are a sharp blade of grass bursting up into sunlight.
Change the script. Delete the part about the rug. Black out the lines that say anything other than “you are just as you are meant to be and you are a miracle.” Maybe that’s how we get back to 15 years ago. Or maybe that’s how we get to a place we’ve dreamt of being but not yet been.
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
from Mary Oliver’s Thirst: Poems