Too Much of a Good Thing

Behold, I say—behold
the reliability and the finery and the teachings
of this gritty earth gift.
The witchery of living
is my whole conversation
with you, my darling.
All I can tell you is what I know.

Look, and look again.

This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.

from "To Begin With, the Sweet Grass" by Mary Oliver

It has been raining consistently in North Georgia for several weeks now. After witnessing a 2 year drought, it's hard not to feel guilty about wishing it would stop. The trees and woodlands are in need of a long extended soak. Water management has become a hotly contested topic in our state. Anything that helps restore the watershed is welcome. The humidity hovers around 80% a good bit of the time. It breathes like it's raining even if it isn't- I call it liquid air syndrome. The August spider population is having a hard time keeping their webs intact, although they are beautiful filled with raindrops. The woods are full of mushrooms in every size and shape and color. When I noticed however, the small mushrooms growing out of the deck railing the other day, then I began thinking we might have had enough…

The natural world is very good at balancing out what happens within it. Left undisturbed, it can regulate it own excesses and losses back towards balance—that place where life continues on in relative harmony with everything around it. That doesn't mean the law of the fittest is no longer applied, it means there is an equanimity in the give and take of the animal and plant kingdoms. It is achieved because each part of the whole is needed and used in ways that benefit the individual and the whole. To our eyes, things do get out of whack—drought, insect infestation, massive storms, fires—the list seems endless; but given time, the losses they cause are used as creative spaces for another cycle in nature. Seen from that perspective, nature isn't destructive except to human eyes. We do not like to have our creations uprooted or disturbed in any way. It is our nature to resist—even if the change at hand is more good than bad. We experience pain and sorrow standing in the wreckage of our lives and rightly so. We risk our humanity when we do not respect destruction and violence and suffering. It is only later as our wounds heal that reflection can take root and we have the opportunity to learn from what we have salvaged. Over the past few years, I have taken comfort in my belief that what holds true in the natural world can hold true for us. We are experiencing a balancing out of excess and self interest. We are learning, painfully, that the way we live our lives, impacts everyone else. We are discovering despite continued attempts to believe otherwise, we are all connected and the weakest links among us are equally important to the strength of the whole.

I believe the natural world is the mirror for the real 'last frontier'. Our relationship with it, in many ways, reflects the development of the one we have with ourselves and each other; for when I think of the last frontier in humanity, I think of the life of the soul—our inner natural world, our interior landscape. Instead of cultivating or nurturing it we have attempted to pacify or forget it with too much of everything imaginable: money, sex, drugs, self aggrandizement. And just as culture is subject to its own tsunami's and earthquakes: war, abuse, epidemics, food shortages, dictatorships, so is our inner world subject to upheaval through health issues, violence, relationships and self-esteem. Those events sweep as destructively across our lives as any natural disaster. The list for either is long and heartbreaking. Like our natural world cousins, blows to our inner selves leave just as lasting scars as well as an invitation to gain wisdom and growth. Like the world around us, there is a constant inner search for balance through whatever means are available. When it is stifled and smothered we all suffer.

When I was in my late thirties, I wrestled for a number of years with depression. Part of it I see now was a physical inheritance—it was a force in both my parent's lives —but a bigger part of it was a barometer reflecting the too much of a good thing in my own inner and outer worlds; a sign of the sadness I created in myself by my forfeited allegiance to my own genuineness. The demands of life and work, young children are often singled out for blame. But the truth is, my lack of belief in the value of myself was what was at the heart of my deep sighs. Now I can grasp all the "whys?" and "how comes?" that taught me to distrust myself. Not then. Then it was only a nameless dark that wrestled mightily within me, sabotaging my desire for solitude, self awareness and soulful expression. The life I had made for myself had created a persona that reflected mostly what I thought I needed to be instead of flowing out from who I really was. Because it was so successful in the outer world, it was powerfully seductive; yet why was I so sad? Why the hollow sense of disconnect? I had everything but the essential element: a loving acceptance of myself that could naturally generate aliveness. Does this sound familiar? That's because it is. When so many people are experiencing alienation in their interactions with life then it becomes indicative of how far our culture has drifted out of balance. It also creates a subtle but powerful, numbing acceptance of that condition. Strength in numbers carries its own leash of conformity. As the familiar story goes, rescue for me arrived with my own mostly inner, tsunamis. They wrecked the artificial framework I had always referenced. Some people encounter far worse in their process, others less. They are not to be compared. They all matter. Afterwards, for all of us, rebuilding on the bare ground left behind is painful and often lonely work. You can get support and it is often essential, but the work to rebuild must come from within. There is no other way to discover you have all the power you need to do it. Now, years down the road, I would not give anything for that struggle or for the grace filled support I received along the way. I believe most who undertake it, would not either. It is part of what I call 'my treasure' because it enabled me to reclaim myself. I became alive.

As I begin to move closer to old age, I am feeling the power of perspective more and more. It is one of the truest, best parts of aging, for older generations are the memory carriers. It bestows on us the opportunity on occasion to witness and share our own experiences grappling with too much of a good thing. Everyone as they say, is carrying a burden. Our compassionate understanding and encouragement to those who follow us may be the most hopeful and precious gift we ever provide. We may unknowingly provide that 'essential support' for someone else. It may be part of the mystery of why everyone's life is valuable.

Yes, I agree, our lives, as Mary Oliver so aptly points out are indeed a 'gritty earth gift'. But this 'witchery of living' is as much a bewitching as it is a devilment. In between the two I believe there is a center, a bit of solid ground that we can depend on. This place welcomes our return time and time again, until one day we are finally able to stand firm and remain. It isn't found outside our bodies, but is the treasure in our hearts. 'Look, and look again'.