Blog for Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Rain is falling steadily outside, and I am grateful. The last two weeks of sun have been welcome after the long winter, but I am tired and achy from working hard on the Heron, sanding and painting. My hands are dry and cracked, full of splinters and my soul feels just as parched.
Rereading Wayne Muller’s book called “Sabbath” I am reminded of the importance of time off. I am always forgetting. I have driven myself hard in past seasons, trying to get the boat work done in a small window of good weather, before the charter season starts. I have often lost sight of everything else, concentrating so narrowly on boat maintenance. The work is physically challenging, but more than that, my spirit starts to starve when I refuse to look up from my list of tasks.
This year, I have been trying to work at a slower, steady pace. Taking time off to visit with friends, to go down to Camp Island, to write, to go for walks. I am bucking my own obsessiveness, and the whole culture of busyness, what Thomas Merton calls “The violence of the times”.
Most women I talk to describe their lives as a whirlwind of responsibilities and activities beyond their control. If I had a dollar for every person I talked to that described themselves as being chaotically busy, I would never have to work again.
How do we get this way? How is it that people with and without children, in cities and in rural places, all find themselves caught up in a frenzy? It is definitely a matter of perception, some cultural vision dictating that our value and redemption lies in direct proportion to the busyness of our schedule.
What burden would you put down? What could you cross off the list? What would that cost you? More importantly, what would you gain?
This rain is giving me a good excuse not to rush to the boat. For all my intentions to live a more balanced life, I am still driven by my “To Do” list. Rest restores my soul; the way water quenches and softens the ground, and nourishes the plants. I feel so small and foolish, that I can forget such an important lesson. Rest. Replenish. This is a cycle repeated in the natural world that surrounds me. I am surrounded by reminders. My beautiful crocuses slept all winter under a bed of kelp, before bursting into bloom. The trees are budding out at last, and yawning bears are starting to wander the beaches after the long quiet winter. Dormancy serves a purpose. Even my sander has an “off” button.
Wayne Muller talks about the importance of observing some kind of Sabbath time in our lives, whether it is a creative or spiritual space. His book is full of poetry and traditions from around the world. I reread this book from time to time to remind myself that there is another way to live, and it can be a richer, kinder way. I do not have to live on the edge of my nerves running on an ever faster treadmill. This can be a choice I make.
On this rainy day, I am listening to birdsongs and watching the falling tide. Choosing not to chase a list of errands, and rest for a while. I have seldom looked at the rain as anything but a nuisance, an obstacle to my plans. In a rainforest, that can amount to a fairly combative relationship with a major factor in my environment. If life is a battleground where our agenda fights constantly with the reality of the world around us, what can flourish there?
Weeks of rain can drive me crazy, but this gentle afternoon shower is bringing peace to my heart.
