I so get why Morning Pages are an important part of the creative–and, for me, spiritual–process. I haven’t been doing them in ages, but this a.m. I woke with an incredible grasp of the issues of the day–an incredible religious grasp of the issues of the day. And I should have captured it. But I got up and did what you do when you first get up and then took a shower and then …. the day began. Three girls to get up and out the door, not to mention my own self. And here I am, hours later, with only a sliver of the power of that moment feeding me.
It’s nothing new. It is as old as dirt, this revelation. But the process of writing it down would have committed it to heart, to mind, to soul. Instead, it wafts away, a flash of brilliance never recorded, never seen again.
I went to bed thinking about the Principles and Purposes review on top of the news of the day and the work still piled up, and the reading I’m doing about leadership. And I woke with this idea so old that it may have actually been written down somewhere, somehow–about the kingdom of heaven and where it rests. And all my UU living brings it down to this: it’s here, it’s now, and it’s my (our?) job to reveal it. Not pile onto it, but strip away and reveal it. We, as a culture, have done our best to pile “it” on, lately, have we not?
I’m really struck by the video shared on Will Shetterly’s blog, Foreclosure Alley. Ignoring that this is where I grew up and that it all looks like the new subdivision built right down the block from my mother’s house, it is the image of all that is left behind when people leave a house, a life, that haunts me. I’m made to wonder: if this can be left, can it also not be purchased in the first place? If what we are left with when our house of cards comes down is each other, a can of tuna, and the clothes we need to shelter us from the elements, is this, then all that we need?
I’m not talking about homelessness with reckless abandon here. I’m talking about people who will walk away and will find a new place to live, a new job to hold them up above the rising water. I’m talking about resourceful people who got in over their heads with things. Just things. And I’m talking from the perspective of someone who just gutted and rebuilt a bathroom that she absolutely loves. I’m invested in things, in place, too. I’m invested in owning, adding, having. But am I as invested in living, loving, being?
What would I walk away from? And what would I be walking toward?
That kingdom, I think. That place where there is more because there is less. And that sounds like a dream right now–a dream to me; a nightmare to others.
Ah, I should have written it down, that piece of englightenment. And I should be carrying it with me. That’s the thing you never leave behind, isn’t it?