As the new year gets rolling, I’ve been trying to make room for what I call “the soul.” To me, this means being more receptive to those mysterious synchronicities, insights, and feelings so easily missed when I keep myself busy and distracted. Sometimes this energy comes from within, and sometimes it’s a “postcard from God,” as Walt Whitman would say.
Bernie With His Plough & The Great Horned Owl
It could be a lyric that aligns with something on my mind. The other day, I heard Elton John sing the lyric about the howling old owl in the woods (from “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”). Though I’ve heard the line many times before, this time was different. Recently, each night when I take my dog out, I hear the haunting sound of a great horned owl in the woods behind my house.
But what do I do with that synchronicity? Is it the owl itself - a symbol of wisdom, intuition, mystery, and the ability to see beyond illusion- that I should listen to? Maybe it’s the lyric Bernie Taupin wrote for Elton about a desire to leave the superficial ego-driven world behind and return to a more grounded life - a more authentic self. Bernie was ready to leave the yellow brick road of striving for success. He wanted to go back to his plough and back to the howling old owl in the woods.
Maybe it’s both - the haunting sound of the owl and a longing to return “home.” Maybe the owl’s saying, “Leave me alone already and just honor the mystery.” Maybe Bernie is telling me he’d love my simple, quiet life in rural Kentucky, a life that at times doesn’t feel full enough.
Contemplating Solitude With Merton
A couple of days ago, while doing Qigong (meditative movements similar to Tai Chi), I wondered if there is a place nearby where people gather and move in these gentle ways. The first place that came to mind was the Abbey of Gethsemani, which is not far from here. Finding a group of monks, at least Trappist monks, doing Qigong, would be quite unlikely. Maybe if Merton were still around.
Gethsemani was made famous by Thomas Merton, an influential spiritual writer and Trappist monk who lived at the monastery for 27 years. Four of those years, he spent mainly in his hermitage - a secluded cabin in the woods.
“Not all of us are called to be hermits, but all of us need enough silence and solitude in our lives to enable the deeper voice of our own self to be heard at least occasionally.” - Thomas Merton
Before entering the Abbey at 26, Merton was worldly, raucous, and rebellious. Like Bernie and many of us, he struggled with the tension between a simple, humble life and a desire to engage with and influence the outside world.
While at Gethsemani, Merton wrote over 70 books about contemplation, prayer, Eastern religions, interfaith dialogue and social justice, including his famous autobiography, “Seven Story Mountain.”
What do I do with that? Merton did all of that while living a quiet life right here in my neck of the woods. Hmmmmmm….
Reclaiming That Girl That Used to Be Mine
Sometimes the soul provides a shift in how we think about ourselves and our lives. Sometimes, however, a postcard cuts right through all the analysis and goes straight to the heart.
Yesterday, I saw a video reel of Sara Bareilles and Rufus Wainwright singing, “She Used to Be Mine.” Though I’d heard parts of this song before, I never stopped long enough to listen. Last night, with my reclaimed intention of receptivity, I did. Instead of landing on some great insight, I found myself in tears. Quickly, I pulled myself out, before sliding right back into those tears, tears that I realized I was grateful could still flow.
When was the last time I cried? And why was I crying? And, why were so many of the people in the audience crying? The song is about losing one’s self, and losing the connection to the child we once were - a universal loss that can make some of us ache, even at the age of 58, when we think we’ve done such a brilliant job of putting all of those parts of ourselves back together.
Though no longer recognizing herself, she still remembers the girl she used to be. She sings with tenderness about that girl’s imperfection, effort, goodness, and self-reliance. She questions what life would have been like if she could rewrite the ending for that girl.
Sara Bareilles wrote this song for the 2016 Broadway musical, “Waitress.” The lead character sings it at the end of the second act when she has hit rock bottom. She is lost and struggling to remember who she is. Through the song, she mourns the loss of herself before starting to gain footing and for a moment taps into the strength and grit of that child she starts to reclaim.
The story isn’t over. We all have an opportunity to write the next act and to extend unconditional affection for the child that she describes as messy, but kind, lonely most of the time, but more, she is all of this “mixed up,” and “baked in a beautiful pie.”
Why Here & Now?
My long-held hope in sharing information online has been to balance the mind and spirit (the right and left brain). In recent times, I’ve leaned into the left-brain science. That’s what people tend to read or listen to. That’s what people need and can’t easily find elsewhere. I’d forgotten, however, that expressing myself from my heart is something that I need. It is who I am. My own health and healing required much more than scientific information. It would be dishonest to only share part of that story.
Even as a child, writing was my lifeline. It helped me find my place in the world. It gave me peace. That child wouldn’t need to make sense of why the owl speaks to me at night. Or, why Bernie showed up with a plough in hand. Or, why Merton put down his pen and stepped out of his cabin to greet me in the woods. Or, even why Sarah, dressed as a waitress, crossed my path while singing a song I’d be sure was written just for me.
But, I’m not only that child. I’m all grown up and can’t help but wonder why these particular energies showed up now, beyond the fact that I created some space for them to do so? What would they have me know? I think, to embrace paradox and to remember that we are physical beings of this world, and also spiritual beings who transcend it. We need connection, and we need solitude. We are adults shaped by a lifetime of experience, and still vulnerable children filled with wonder and sometimes hurt. We are light, and we are shadow. And as Sara would say, we are all of this “mixed up and baked in a big beautiful pie.”
Wishing you wholeness as you make your way through this year,
Courtney
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