Strange Angels

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential, is invisible to the eye."

St. Exupery, The Little Prince

When I first saw this ridge there wasn't a road. We had walked along it's length with my parents, who had found this land and were building a home above the lake. To reach it, we had abandoned our cars and hiked the rest of the way on foot. For months before the road was cut through, this line of red clay and moss and mountain laurel was the only signpost directing us to the next ridge where the house would be built. Once the road was in, the going was only marginally better. It wasn't paved and very steep. In heavy rains or icy weather it could become impassable. Not many folks ventured down it unless they knew where they were going.

There's a phrase for reflection: knew where they were going.

When we are in the jaws of life, it's hard to remember some days where we did intend to go or when we left off going there. We know we dropped the kids off at school or daycare, went to work, ran in the grocery before heading home. Those kinds of worthy obligations so easily crowd out the more soulful parts of living. Along the path of everyday, often the first things we shed to lighten our load, are the very things we probably needed to hold most tightly. Practicality, whose voice is always so full of authority, seems to cast a jaundiced eye on dreams or wishes or longings.

Have you ever wondered if all the wrong turns in life were a form of directions? Have you ever thought the choice to wander off the beaten track or away from the expected destination, in the end gave us an important piece of ourselves? Did you ever wonder if the joy or hardship experienced in those travels deepened and enriched a part of who we eventually became? Have you ever heard someone say, after enormous struggle or heartache, that they would not have had it any other way? Now that is something to consider.

What part of ourselves causes that feeling?

Moving through life is a bit similar to our walk to the ridge. There are seldom any real signposts. Sometimes we do have to abandon our cars and move ahead on foot. Sometimes we mark the various ridges along the way, comforting ourselves we will be able to find our way back if we get lost. There is a sense of security to be found in what has always been. But others learn this is a short lived vapor for the thrust of life is forward and it does not backtrack. Trust of this truth can be incredibly difficult when we have experienced what appears to be a lot of wrong turns. Arriving at the bottom of the heap doesn't feel very much like going forward. But perhaps within that paradox lie the directions we so eagerly seek. Could it be no matter where we are in our lives, there is something essential for us to discern in that place? How differently would we feel about our lives if we believed the numinous part of ourselves drew us to those experiences over and over again if necessary, until we learned to see not just with our eyes, but with our hearts as well?

I wonder if there is a map after all, but it has to be discovered. Perhaps it exists in everyone; a treasure map of gifts and possibilities. Could it be that the destination is also the journey and the only way to find the map, is to stay close to our hearts? What if we had the directions with us all along?

If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge
Driven by invisible blows,
The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.
***
What is the knocking?
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody wants to do us harm.

No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them.

D.H. Lawrence
Song of a Man Who Has Come Through