This Lenten season is rapidly spinning it's way down into Holy Week and most of my discipline during this year's season has consisted of regular acknowledgment to myself that I have not been particularly good at keeping any discipline.
As usual, I have had many intentions on my list. The most serious (and at the same time most traditional) was to stop eating meat during this time. While I have certainly cut down considerably, I have certainly not remained true to this chosen discipline.
I also had - as with so much of what I have talked about in this blog - many personal and professional goals I was desiring to wring out of my recalcitrant psyche, only to discover that, as my friend George Williamson likes to say, "I was born in sin."
It's my thought at this point that there may be something worthwhile in that awareness. Like the liturgical discipline in which one kneels to ask forgiveness for the things "we have done, and the things we have left undone." My greatest repentance this year certainly lies with what I have left undone and perhaps that's the way the universe really is, most of the time.
I could go on and on with regard to the things in my life (both recent and longstanding) that I have left undone, but I've decided that for my purposes here, I really have a single confession, and step of repentance, to make.
I have not loved writing with my whole heart.
I have spent pretty much all of my adult life imagining myself as some kind of writer, hoping to be that writer, and regularly pretending that I am, or was, or will be... that writer.
But something that I learned a very long time ago is that there is one thing that defines you as a writer and it's not the articles, essays, scripts, poems, and books you've written (and at one time or another I've written a fair share... clearly... I feel the need to find a way to defend myself even against my own accusations). There is one thing and one thing only that makes me - or anyone - a writer.
A writer... writes.
SO... today I am beginning again. I am dedicating myself to a daily "words on paper" (or screen) discipline of writing. From time to time different people have commented here about what I might, or might not, do. More than once it has been suggested that perhaps picking a SINGLE thing to work on would be of help in the process.
This time around, I'm taking that advice.
I've made up my mind on a schedule, a plan, a trajectory and an expectation, but THAT I'm not going to write about. I'm going to keep that to myself.
As I have with the other attempts at growth and discipline that I've delineated in this blog, I'll report back on my progress.
Dispatches, as it were, from the front lines of my personal literary (and disciplinary) war.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Lent - Day 8
One week of this deep 40 Day season and where am I?
As I sit at my computer, I am looking out at the giant oak tree in my back yard as the sun filters in through clouds and leaves and a lovely sun shower (something that I always remember fondly from childhood, but which rarely happens in Northern California) pelts down on the gables just beyond my window.
On the one hand, I am on the verge of economic panic as I struggle to find a way to pay my rent. On the other hand, I feel an incredible sense of peace.
For much of the last week I have been anything but calm. I have, like much of the culture, been captured during the last week in a frenzy of Twitter and that has done what so much of that type of thing does. It has left me feeling strangely detached and disjointed; much of the time I experience myself in a sort of disembodied cyber-tunnel.
I wonder what it would be like to truly remove myself from technology for a period of 40 days (or even a period of 3 days!). Many of these 40 Days posts have talked about my attempts (more or less successful) to remove myself from technology for ONE day and the fact is such experiences really do seem to help me reconnect to the earth and spirit at the center of my being. I can't help but imagine that a greater separation of the silicon based universe would lead to a greater connection to the carbon based universe. Moving away from the virtual world almost always reconnects me to the real world.
But then, even addressing things in this way raises (or more precisely re-raises) the basic existential questions at the core of everything we are. What is real? How can you tell? What will you do about it?
To me, this is the jewel at the heart of Lenten practice. It is a time for taking a look into the cave of existence to see what might be hiding in the shadows of your life, coaxing it out of it's hiding place and asking it to tell you something you don't already know (or that you have forgotten). It is my deepest belief that this is the heart of existence; this is what brings meaning to my life. It's not the rules I follow, the things I give up, the plans for new work and new goals and new things. It's finding the center and hanging out there for a while.
Then again... I still have to pay my rent.
As I sit at my computer, I am looking out at the giant oak tree in my back yard as the sun filters in through clouds and leaves and a lovely sun shower (something that I always remember fondly from childhood, but which rarely happens in Northern California) pelts down on the gables just beyond my window.
On the one hand, I am on the verge of economic panic as I struggle to find a way to pay my rent. On the other hand, I feel an incredible sense of peace.
For much of the last week I have been anything but calm. I have, like much of the culture, been captured during the last week in a frenzy of Twitter and that has done what so much of that type of thing does. It has left me feeling strangely detached and disjointed; much of the time I experience myself in a sort of disembodied cyber-tunnel.
I wonder what it would be like to truly remove myself from technology for a period of 40 days (or even a period of 3 days!). Many of these 40 Days posts have talked about my attempts (more or less successful) to remove myself from technology for ONE day and the fact is such experiences really do seem to help me reconnect to the earth and spirit at the center of my being. I can't help but imagine that a greater separation of the silicon based universe would lead to a greater connection to the carbon based universe. Moving away from the virtual world almost always reconnects me to the real world.
But then, even addressing things in this way raises (or more precisely re-raises) the basic existential questions at the core of everything we are. What is real? How can you tell? What will you do about it?
To me, this is the jewel at the heart of Lenten practice. It is a time for taking a look into the cave of existence to see what might be hiding in the shadows of your life, coaxing it out of it's hiding place and asking it to tell you something you don't already know (or that you have forgotten). It is my deepest belief that this is the heart of existence; this is what brings meaning to my life. It's not the rules I follow, the things I give up, the plans for new work and new goals and new things. It's finding the center and hanging out there for a while.
Then again... I still have to pay my rent.
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