Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Something that many of them experienced as well was isolation and loneliness. I have letters from several of them which speak of friends who've moved away, perhaps never to be heard from again. Others, having themselves moved away, wrote to friends and loved ones back home and spoke of how much they missed them.
My great-great-grandmother Mary Ann's homesickness and loneliness on the prairies of Illinois was so great and so lasting that I can feel it to this day, when I drive between the river and the upland fields there, through the stretch of woods that reminded her of her Pennsylvania home. I wonder if she ever quit missing the old place, though she lived for more than fifty years longer, and raised her family, among the cornfields.
What made me think of all this today was, of all things, facebook. I felt lonely this afternoon, working at home by myself. But I can go online and see what my friends are up to, what they're reading, what they're laughing about, what they're working through. Yes, I'm lonely, but I am not isolated in any but a physical sense.
How different this is from anything human beings have experienced ever before, in all the long millennia of our existence as a species. I wonder, as have many others, what this all means in the Grand Scheme of Things....
Meanwhile, join me, friend, for a cup of tea. A place is set just for you.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Things are beginning to stir, though I still don't know what they are. Waiting in uncertainty is such a difficult skill. I hate not knowing what comes next. I want to rush forward to some kind of resolution. What's my path in life? What's the answer to the puzzle posed by all the bits and pieces of seemingly unrelated events, people, feelings, information?
It's an active waiting, for me, not a passive one. I'm trying to refine my skill at the art of active receptivity, which has been my way of being-in-the-world for some years now. It's a matter of waiting while watching for the next hint to appear, the next door to open, the next part of the path to become visible among the weeds. It's a balance. Too hasty, and I risk getting sidetracked; too slow, and an opportunity may be missed.
And all the time, of course, I don't know exactly what it is that I'm looking for. I hate it, but I have to trust that I'll know the right moment to act when that moment arrives, and the right moment to remain still, watching and waiting.
Why couldn't this be easier? Sigh....